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Show had a turned-up front. El Vera got a couple days off from her Salt Lake job to attend the funeral. Before the event, since there were no other flowers, we gathered wildflowers, Indian paintbrush, "slippery elm" with its coral-colored bells, red and yellow cactus roses. We piled these on the coffin before several men lifted it into a "lumber wagon" for Grandfather's last ride in this wasteland where silently he had suffered the end far from his native Copenhagen. Our nearest approach to a minister was John Bangle, lanky lay preacher and trapper from the Ozarks. More than a hundred homesteaders gathered in sage and rabbitbrush to hear him reassure us that Grandfather was already enjoying the bliss of resurrection and heaven. As I've suggested, death was all around us every day in the dying of our crops, in the destruction of the gophers, rabbits and coyotes we killed as predators. But few human lives were lost. Although threats of gunfights flared out, nothing deadly came of them. Two young blades claiming adjoining homesteads were pals until one trusted the other with too many loans that were never paid. Then we heard rumors that both were carrying guns with intent to settle the quarrel in typical western style. Once the larger, who looked sufficiently tough for any purpose, came driving his team to the store. But when he learned that his rival was inside he whipped his horses into a gallop and fled. We were told that both scrambled in opposite directions on any hint of the other's presence. The strain grew too much for them. Both abandoned their claims and we never heard of them again. One person did die of gunshot but the shooting was accidental. Near the south end of Blue Mountain a girl of 18 lived with her parents in their first |