The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-05-22

nurse, played with him, sang to him,
helped put him to bed, slept anywhere,
like little dog
Yancey pointed out the definiteness
with which the land changed when
they left Kansas and came into the
Oklahoma country. "Okla- homa," he
explained to Gin. "That's Choctaw.
Okla-people. Humma--red. Red
people. That's what they called it
when the Indians came here to live"
Suddenly the land, too, had become
red: red clay as far as the eye could
see. When the trail led through a
cleft in hill the blood red of the
clay on either side was like gaping
wound. Sabra shrank from it. Its
glare scared the eyeballs.
1t was hard trip for the child. He
was by turns unruly and listless. He
could not run about, except when they
stopped to make camp. Sabra, Curl
ously enough, had not the gift Of
amusing him as Yancey had, or even
Isaiah. Isaiah told him tales that
were negro folklore, handed down by
word Of mouth through the years.
Often the days were gay enough.
They fell into the routine, adjusted
themselves to the discomfort. Sabra
got out the sunbonnet which one Of
the less formidable Venables had jok-
ingly given her At parting, and this
she wore to shield her eyes from the
pitiless glare Of sky and plain. The
sight of her in that prairie wilderness
engaged in the domestic task of beat
ing up bowl of biscuit dough struck
no one as being incongruous. The
bread supply was early exhausted She
baked in little portable tin oven that
Yancey had fitted out for her.
AS for Yancey himself, Sabra had
never known him so happy. He was
tireless, charming, varied. She herself
was fascinated by his tales Of hidden
mines, of Spanish doubloons, Of iron
chests plowed up by some gaunt home
steader's hand pillow hitched to
stumbling mule.
The wind. at certain periods Of the
year, blows almost without ceasing in
Oklahoma. And when 1t rains the
roads become slithering bogs of
creased red dough, so that wagon
will sink and slide at the same time.
They had two days Of rain during
which they plodded miserably, inch by
inch. CHM squalled, Isaiah became
just shivering black lump of misery,
and Sabra thought Of her dimity-hung
bed back home in Wichita; Of the
garden in the cool of the evening; Of
the family gathered in the dining
room; Of the pleasant food, the easy
talk, the luxurious ease.
At Pawnee Yancey saw fresh deer
tracks He saddled horse and was
off. They had, before this, caught
bass in the streams, and Yancey had
shot prairie chicken and quail, and
Sabra had fried them delicately. But
this was their first promise of big
game. Sabra welcomed this unex-
pected halt. She and Isaiah carried
water from the creek and washed
few bits of clothes and hung them to
dry. She bathed Chm. She heated
water for herself and bathed CRATE
fully. She set Isaiah to gathering fuel
for the evening meal, while Gin played
in the shade Of the clump of scrub
oak. She was quite serene. She lis
tened for the sound Of horses hoofs,
that would announce Yancey's trium-
plant return. Vaguely she began to
wonder if Yancey should not have re-
turned by now. She brushed her hair
thoroughly, enjoying the motion,
throwing it over her head and bending
far forward in that contortionistic at
titude required by her task. After
she had braided it she decided to leave
1t in long thick plat down her back.
Audaciously, she tied it with bright
red ribbon, smiling to think Of what
Yancey would say. She tidied the
wagon. She was frankly worried now.
Nothing could happen. OF course
nothing could happen. And in another
part Of her mind she thought that any
one Of a dozen dreadful things could
happen. Indians. Why not? Some
wild thing in the woods. Broken
bones. A fall from his horse. He
might lose his way. Suppose she had
to spend the night alone here on the
prairie with the two children.
In sudden panic she stepped out