OCR Text |
Show if to jab him with the manure fork. The homesteader dropped the post back in his wagon and fled. Father chased him in wide circles around the yard. Being younger, the man won the race. After a lap or two chasing, Father was winded. He really couldn't have been serious about striking the offender because basically he was too kindly, also too law-abiding. But he made the man drive away with his scraggly stovewood which other settlers had rejected in the picked-over junipers. The homesteader moved away without paying his bill, I believe. But he probably reasoned he had tried! Underneath his flareups at dishonesty and injustice Father had a fund of steady courage that stood him in good stead. Out there in the desert we were far from lawmen. There was no telephone. There were no real roads. The Beaver County sheriff lived in Beaver 40 miles away. The "city marshalls" in Milford and Minersville were 20 miles away and besides, they had no jurisdiction in Nada. Our store was two miles from the nearest neighbor. But Father was unafraid. To be sure, the danger of robbery was lessened by the nature of the homesteaders. Most of them were solid family men or fun-loving but honest bachelors. The few miscreants contented themselves with sneak-thievery at houses left for the five months of absence allowable each year on a "claim." These rascals were not holdup men or burglars willing to take an actual risk. A few lone wayfarers wandered among the hills. They were mostly gray-bearded survivors of a vanishing breed of prospectors seeking gold and silver. They came plodding behind their packburros. They never gave trouble. They bought crackers and cheese or sardines and munched the lunch in the shade of the store. Then they wearily went their way toward their sunset. |