-4-

steerage, doubt and distrust at Ells Island. They drifted to Minne-
sota together, and when Nick's father was not drunken with raw whisky,
and not beating him and cursing him, he told Nick that in the land of
free farms, they would become wealthy land holders, greater than the
barons at home. But they were Bohemians, with more than a dash of
gipsy blood, and they were not greatly welcomed among the steady,
forward-looking Germans of Minnesota. In all of Prairie County they
found but six persons who spoke the Bohemian tongue, and Nick's
father fell into a fury of lonely, whisky-soaked brooding. They lost
their farm, when Nick was ten years old, and moved to a wretched
clearing near Lost Lake.

By this time the harshness, the gory, the poisonous food, the ill-treatment,
and a feeling of being barraged out from both the old country and the new,
by their gipsy-Bohemian blood, had made the natural strength of young
Nick harden into a grim cruelty. He tormented dogs, beat inoffensive
girls and boys, fought back when his father beat him. He was as
hardy, as ruthless, and as ignorant of softer arts as any Alaskan
brown bear. Because of their migratory life, he had never had the chance to learn
either to read nor to write. He spoke a mixture of Bohemian, German,
English, and guttal gestures. His chest was enormous, his shoulders
unnaturally wide, his forehead crushed down into a width of hard flesh
that was more like a clenched fist than like a human brow, and before
he was ten his ear had been flattened and thickened by constant fight-
ing. By the time he was fifteen, he began to walk limping with a
stupidity and slowness of conscious strength which despises quick
gracefulness. Not so much the long armed ape as the slow rocking
and bone crush bear was he.

Before this, when he was twelve, Nick's father died in a flame
of alcohol, and Nick was taken in as man of all work and boy of all
shameful chores, by a half-witted farmer of Lost Lake. Being half-

["witted, this farmer added a certain naive wickedness to the hardness of Shadow, & Nick leaved that here was all that degenerate folk, and Nick was superbly tutored in brutality.", "### Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm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-12-

The two big men -- the man-boy Nick and the lazy, competent, now faced and circled. Their shoulders were low, their hands Romanum opened and closed as though preparing to grasp something. Ferdy stuck out his foot. Nick avoided it. Ferdy reached for his shoulder -- a cat-like reach. Nick threw off the grasp with a backward glance -- and just then he kicked Ferdy full in the big pampered stomach. That ended the fight. Ferdy groaned and doubled, while Nick threw himself on his soulders, pounded his kidneys, choked him. Ferdy begged for mercy.

"Who's boss?" Nick demanded. His tone was not boyish. It had a matured commando diabolism, in its cruelty.

"You are," groaned Ferdy.

The French-Canuck rose. He walked to the edge of the woods. He looked back on the gaping gang. "I would have meek you/a great bunch," he said, wistfully. He disappeared into the bush. No one called after him. His shoulders were bent.

In the long bitter stretches of winter, while he was husking corn, Nick had planned every step. He did not now challenge the gang. He minsteedfully busied himself with rubbing a sore shoulder, drawing a cup of beer, yelling to the newest recruit of the gang, "Get some wood." But afterward, when they were wrestling, he entered every bout, and politely congratulated every winner. Sullenly, the gang began to ask his opinion, to show that they were ready to yield the proposed a raid on the private trout stream of a fishing club. They consented to his leadership to him. He was the hated chief of a band of mud-mouthed rustic thieves, but he was content. He was master.

["-13-", "## IV", "Nick Zossa had less imagination and affectionate good nature than Ferdy the Canuck, but far more determination and precision of mind. Consequently, mmmmmm for baser reasons, he better effected accomplished a permanent mmgamm organization of the Lost Lake mmng gang. Ferdy would doubtless have led the gang if such an organization, during exploits that the county authorities would have been stirred from their lazziness, politically to power us warm nests, to end them. But Nick made sure that there would continue to be a gang which he could lead. He drove out the lazy, the mm blab-mouth, the incautious, and hammered an iron ring of sage, dependable thieves--dependably cruel, but dependably cautious. Leadership had merely amused Ferdy's colored mind, but to Nick it was a great responsibility which satisfied him. For the first time in his life there was something that demanded the best stuff in him -- not merely the heave of his shoulders and the labor of his hands. He was welling to settle down at Lost Lake, while Ferdy had neglected them all for six weeks, and then for two had thought up ways of stealing a whole beef to roast, a whole barrel of beer, and other amusements less savory, Nick was always there; always saw to it that there was food and drink, and a stout farmer lad or two to beat each other, on cocks to fight -- even if they had to go so far, in their new policy of system, as to have some of the things honestly!", "At this time in his career, had the state not been indifferent to old Mike Zossa's little boy Nick, he would have been a young lieutenant, brilliantly devoted to his men; perhaps a salesman joyously developing whole new territories; a labor leader putting into the movement mmmmmmm a new vitality and determination invincible.........", "In order to devote himself to the mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

-15-

and sixty <u>second-growth</u> poplar, that was beginning to be worth cutting.

All week Nick toiled as though he were as conscientious a citizen as "the man with the hoe." His corn was well cultivated, his cattle well bedded, and even though he spent all of each Sunday with the gang, and caroused with them on at least one wet Sunday evening of the week, he steadily pursued the clearing of his timbered acres. His strength seemed inexhaustible. He did not sleep more than six hours a night, and he took his meals standing by the cook-stove. In addition he began to build a new house.

For in <u>ministration</u> the dark crevices of the rock that served him as a mind, an idea worthy of Ferdy himself was slowly sprouting. He would make a place that could be a permanent headquarters for the gang, where they sould gather in storm and winter, instead of <u>ministering</u> neglecting their duties, and where they could hide out when the sheriff came hunting for one of them, as happened once or twice a year. Also, he would make it by himself, secretly, and present it to the gang, thus cementing his position.

The house of the half-wit had been a two-roomed log cabin, each room small as a double bedstead. Nick laid out a great hall, and a kitchen at the other, thirty feet by thirty, with a fireplace at one end, and a left above, where refugees could hide among chests and grain-sacks. He did not plan to make the hall very lofty, nor did his way of living <u>infruct</u>ck him. think to provide many windows nor much air, but an uninformed, uninstruted longing for spacious grandeur in him made him conceive that hall as possessing, in comparison with all the other hovels of Lost Lake, a baronial vastness. He bought, out of the money for his first autumn's the wood-rights on some acres of oak forest crops, some of which were left untouched by the big fire; he cut the trees himself, and hauled them with oxen and stone-boat; trimmed them and hired the neighbors to help him set them in impressive place.

-24-

He was disgusted with her for keeping up this pretence.

"Say, what's the matter with you?" he demanded. "I love you, sure! Why there ain't a girl at Lost Lake that wouldn't be tickled to death to marry Nick Zossa. But I don't love them -- not that way. Maybe you wouldn't hardly believe it, but you're the only one I love." He tried to make his voice *softer* and his leer comforting. "Why, say, course you're older than I am, but I like you! You're ejucated and, uh, gosh, you might be one of these Duluth ladies, up on the hill, with an automobile and God knows what! Sure! These boobs around here think you're skinny, but I know! I've traveled -- been clear to Cleveland! *Hobbing, Superior, every place!* I know a lady! I'd give you a fine time, and say, you bet Nick can keep you warm on a winter night."

He bulked over her, his big hand clutched her shoulder, he
chuckled kittenishly.

"Please, please, go away, oh, please go away!"

"Why say, you don't know what you're saying. Course your man is dead, but bawling ain't going to bring him back to life -- and let me tell you, he never had a farm a fist like Nick Zossa!"

Nick was bewildered. He couldn't believe that she, the contemp-
tinually helpless, could possibly refuse him.

"Why say," he snorted, "you won't last here past spring. You can't
make a go of farming any more 'n a rabbit. You'll be running
the City and telling 'em you're licked. Now be sensible. Lis --"

"You go!" The small woman had risen, and pointed to the door.
There was the aristocratic strength of a clean will-power in her;
she seemed tall and formidable.

But there was the democratic strength of a vast surly
stupidity in Nick Zossa. He looked at her and complained, "No man
sense at all, by gollies." He looked immobile, immense. When he
rose she was half fainting with relief. But -- Nick did not go.

-25-

"You don't know what I brought you!" he chuckled.

a...

From his great baggy pocket he drew out a paper of small sausages; from another pocket a package of coffee.

"I bet you ain't got enough to eat," he said, and while she stood deliberately at the stove, making the sausages brown, he rolled over to the stove, stoked it, took the frying pan, and deliberately began to fry the sausages.

She watched him in paralyzed fear. She was dreadfully shut in with him by the ice curtain of winter, by a temperature of thirty below zero, and a snow-pointed wind straight from the plains of Saskatchewan. He paid no attention to her attempts to be scornfully dignified. He deftly fried the sausages, made coffee, set them on the table, and turned to her.

"There, I ain't such a bad fella, heh?"

"No, no, you probably mean very well, but really -- I'm not hungry, I couldn't eat --"

"Aw, I know these skirts. They eat just the same like a fella, when they don't think their fellas is looking at them. Come here!"

He picked her up before she knew what he was doing, and gently set her down in the chair before the table.

"Now you eat that grub, and then Nick will go off and leave you alone, Aggie. I tell you, he's a good provider, every time! Got the best farm in this neck of the woods."

She contrived to swallow two sausages, while he was away, immense, immovable.

"Well," he said, "I guess I got to be going."

He was gone, abruptly.

Thereafter Agnes Kenny barred the door, evenings, and did not answer knocks. But he hid, waited for her when she went out, and then, before supper, to bed down the cows, and was in the kitchen, cooking supper, when she returned. So she gradually became accustomed

-37-

assisted
in her games, Nick attended her with a reverent seriousness. He was
a priest attendant on a baby god. She ordered him about, and with never
a smile yet never an angry word, he obeyed. In the afternoon, if his
work could be left for an hour or two, he came home, and made forts for
her in the sand of the yard, or played animals. She thought of
so many different animals, while while
a little child, and he bent over him, in the crook of his arms,
so in the misconception that he really was a bear or an elephant,
and a bear, he could feel no pain through his thick hide, rode his
shoulders and prodded his back with a sharped stick.

Despite her imperiousness, she adored him. He could swim for
miles, with her upon his back; he could ride anything, break anything
with his hands. And when she demanded new animals to play, he suddenly
sent intomorrow clear to Minneapolis for an animal book, and read it
to her. Picture them in the evening, before the fire in the gloomy
room; the child perched on his knee, a light, gay, shining-haired
child, sitting on a tibon, her head nestled against his chest
or sitting with excitement, while he arduously read: "Thee
beast
Ben-gul ti-ger iss the first-vest animal of all thee an-i-mul
kinga-dome -- -- -- -- --"

Sometimes, when she threw out her arms in a make-believe of
scolding a tiger, and a burning flame-like mark on her wrist
caught the fire-light, he would stop, and seem suddenly to grow
smaller, until his chest sinking in feel his shoulders collapsing, while
his limbs quaking as with malaria. But she was used to this. Daddy had
always done it.

Though he never smiled with the contemptuous interest of the adult
in child-play, did not lessen his charm as her companion. He took their
play seriously (as though he himself were another child. When he
was a growly bear and leaped upon her, his forehead furrowed with
the most terrific wrinkles, till she shrieked with fear, then

-53-

And once or twice, "If I get kilt by the snow -- that don't
make no never minds, by golly -- we get the little girl there to the
doc, sure!"

He almost smiled with the exultation of having clean defeated
the fear of death -- death's older and more terrible brother.

Three miles off Joralemon. His arms were stiff. He wondered
if they were frozen. He leaned his head forward to peer over the
blanket wrapped bundle at his legs; for there was no feeling in them,
and yet, by themselves, they seemed to keep pump handling, keeping
the skis going.

"Pretty soon I freeze all up," he sighed.
He was drowsy. He had to fight to keep his vision clear.

He was near the end. The cold seemed to burn him more violently
as he fell, and his feet were ludicrously tangled with the long
skates of the skis, he held up the child in her wrappings so that he
might not fall upon her.

He could not get up. He was asleep. Yet he did get up. He
fell again. The snow about him was warm; it was a kindly refuge from
the razor edge of the wind. Then his numbed mind was amazed to find
that his body -- which he had lost back there in the snow, someplace,
was getting up, and getting back on the skis. Now he did smile,
smile, roared with laughter. It was so funny, that lost and frozen
body blundering about in the scurf of snow, trying to get back on
the skis. And it couldn't make it! It was too ridiculous! That fool
body had fallen off the skis again, and was helplessly sunk in the
snow. And here was something more absurd yet -- there were people
coming toward him, and enormous blacked man bigger than all the sky,
a black apparition, a could, yet for seconds showing the likeness of
a man on snow shoes.

-54-

The doctor looked at Nick, over his glasses. "What's the matter with you, Nick?" he prosily demanded.

"Doc, I ain't right in my mind."

"I know that. I've been watching you. The more comfortable you are, the better you feel. What's the trouble with you."

"Doc ---" Nick paused, afraid at first, and then he blurted, "Doc, I've been a black sinner, the worst sinner that ever lived, and the Lord has sent a one a warning to me -- you can see it, on Agnes' arms (flames, it is, hellfire) and He wants me to make a blood sacrifice, and I been ready, I'm all ready to die, and yet He won't take me."

The doctor's voice was more prosy than ever. He even yawned. He seemed about as much startled by Nick's outburst as by the mewing of a new born kitten. "Nick, be soft. People like you make me tired. You're such confounded egoists -- you, well, you think you're so blame important. First you think you're a committe when you're young, you want to try out all the sins going. I know. You certainly were a hell hound, all right. And when you expect the Lord to let you do every rotten mean thing you can think of. And then when you turn serious, you expect the Lord to stop all the rest of the business of the universe to think up specially cute punishments for you. Why, that's idiotic, man. You aren't worth arguing with. Only it does make me tired to see a nice little girl like Agnes having to see you gloom around all day. Nothing to it, Nick. I don't know all you've done, and I don't want to know -- probably pretty bad. But I've been watching you, and I know you've made up for it -- whatever it was -- and all this divine warning stuff is just pure imagination."

"But doctor! The portent! The warning! On Agnes arm ---"

"Oh, you make me tired. Why you hog, do you think God cares

-57-

and Reno, though between the prairie schooners the eight-cylinder cars dash out easily for an outing in the Yellowstone. Indians still ride it, in multicolored blankets, and along the road are pioneer log houses and pioneer women with the rifle behind the door.

Over this highway creaked a lumber wagon, roofed with canvas, and followed by a string of horses. In the wagon a huge, care-worn man, young yet very old of eye, sat talking to a child who was mad with joy as he went on and on, into new lands. The sun was warm about them, and the wind clean of Lost Lake miasma.

They passed through a grove of sagebrush, through a grove of cottonwoods beside a dried up stream, and from among the trees an American magpie suddenly fluttered -- an impudent, bold bird, cockily clad in staring black and white, chattering his curses at them.

"Oh see!" shrieked the child, "ain't he fun-nee!"

Then the care-hardened wrinkles of the man's face, which had been widening and smoothing through day after day of broad sun, suddenly billowed, and he was actually smiling, laughing a little, roaring with laughter, excited to find himself shouting with boyish joy.

"Why, I never heard you laugh like that, daddy!" cried the child. "You know this funny red mark on my wrist?"

The man sobered, shivered.

"Yes?" he fearfully whispered.

"Well, teacher said, she said that meant laughter; it meant that people would laugh where I was."

"Yes," the man said, "I will laugh, now." I laugh and I help make a good new land where all the folks can laugh, and little kids like Nick Zossa will be good. Blood and sweat and laughter, that makes the new land."

-58-

"Why, I don't know what you mean, daddy. You used to talk like
that last winter."

"Yes. Well. Well, I guess daddy is like that mm funny bird --
we like to hear ourselves talk, eh?"

And then, in sheer good spirits, health and joy of the road,
the man and child laughed together.

But it is a curious fact that within two years from the time
had taken up his claim in Washington and become a success at dry
farming, the Fleming mark entirely faded from Agnes' arm.

THE END