The Westerners

by Stewart Edward White

  XIII

  THE DISSOLVING VIEW

  While things have gone on, we have conducted our business and returnedeach evening to our armchairs by the fire. There we have sat at easeand reviewed the world. Events have come to pass. Diplomats havequarrelled gravely over the wording of a document. From our eveningpapers we have gathered a languid interest in the controversy. Sixmonths later we pick up the paper and find that the dispute is stillgoing on. A German and an Englishman play a game of chess over thecable. This too is reported in our journal, and we follow its progresswith attention through the weeks of its duration. Somebody agitatesthe establishment of a new industry in our native town. It will raisethe value of our real estate, so we attend meetings for some months andtalk about it, after which the industry is assured. Two years later itis in operation and we congratulate ourselves. Friends of our youngerdays marry; and before we know it their houses are noisy with theshoutings of children. Leisurely we grow older. Our ideas becomefixed, often by the most trivial of circumstances. Africa meanstangled forest; India, a jungle; Siberia, broad snow plains; all SouthAmerica, a dripping stillness of tropical verdure; simply becausesomewhere, some time, a book or paper, the woodcut of a child's lesson,has so generalized them for us. Against these preconceived notions theevents we read about are cast.

  In very much this way the constant facts of the West have been to usthe Indian and the buffalo. Before our eyes the Master Showman hasheld insistently this picture. Against the background of theoccidental hills or the flat reach of the grass-nodding prairies hasposed in solemn gravity the naked warrior, leaning from his pony uponhis feather-bedecked lance; or, in the choking dust of its ownprogression, has lumbered heavily the buffalo myriad. These haveseemed permanent--the man and the beast.

  Then, before our protesting conservatism, the scene has dissolved in amist of strange shapes and violent deeds, only to steady a moment laterinto a new picture. The mounted figure has disappeared, and in hisplace, against the glow of sunset, the sturdy form of the husbandmangrasps the shaft of his plough, gazing past the tired horses, andbrooding the slow thoughts of his calling. The last rays catch thesheen of grain--a sea of it--and shimmer lightly until they losethemselves in contrast with the square of ruddy light that marks thewindows of a farmhouse.

  This is the new West. We rub our eyes and wonder. The diplomats stillsquabble; the chess game dawdles its languid way; the factory isgetting ready to pay its first dividend; our friends' children areabout to enter the high school. Everything has developed along theusual lines of growth, and yet this greater change has come about in anight. We turn back the files of our paper, and find that it hasoccupied in the world's history just fifteen years! In that littlespace of time the institutions of untold ages have been overthrown andnew ones substituted for them.

  Deadwood was founded in 1876. In 1890 Sitting Bull and his tribe wereutterly destroyed in the mid-winter fight at Wounded Knee. Betweenthose dates, the Dakotas have manufactured at home an article of quiteadequate civilization.

  To be sure, the product is perhaps a little crude. Although enormousgrain fields attest indubitably that the farmer has tamed the soil,equally enormous Indian reservations as indubitably dispute toosweeping an assertion of it. Electric railways may be instanced insome towns. The sprightly six-shooter is in others the quickest roadto the longest journey. Hot Springs has a modern hotel and an improvedbar; a scant thirty miles north is the unsheriffed log-mining campwhere the "bad man" terrorizes in all his glory.

  These things are true, but they count for little. The great factsremain, and they are these: a cowboy named Tenney tried to lasso thelast buffalo some years since and got himself yanked over severalirregular miles of country; the Sioux are herded nicely on theirreservations and shoot at nickels with bows and arrows for theamusement of passing tourists. The old frontier conditions have gone.If you want trouble, you must go out to look for it; it no longer comesto you unsought. In a word the broad sea of the wilderness hasshrunken to bayous and bays surrounded and intersected by dried areasfit for the cultivation of paper collars and tenderfeet. The frontierstill exists, but exists in its isolation only because it is not ascommercially desirable as the rest.

  This is true of the country at large. It is also true of Pah-sap-pah,the Black Hills. Already a railroad has pushed its way up the mainvalley. The folders show a map with the usual blood-red artery ofmathematical straightness, passing through myriads of small-type towns,clinging desperately by their noses to the blessings of commerce, andsundry dignified, large-type cities, standing more aloof on their ownmerits. It all looks imposing enough on paper; but in reality the linedoes little more than keep itself warm in the narrow valley of itsroute. On closer inspection the myriads of towns disappear.Minnekahta is a station in the midst of a vast plain, Pringles asawmill, Stony Point just nothing at all. For the Black Hills aregreat of extent, and one county of the Dakotas could swallow an easternState.

  All this, from border warfare to comparative order--say from Canute toElizabeth--not in a thousand years, but in the brief age of a man-childgrowing out from his kindergarten into his college!

  To one who has lived with the country, the process has been aneducation more thorough than that usually vouchsafed men. It haslacked in the graces and accomplishments, perhaps, but it has broughtto the highest pitch the two qualities of self-reliance and of power ofinsight into men's characters. Whatever blunders a frontiersman maycommit when visiting his neighbor cities in the East, they are neverthe bashful blunders of a countryman. Bunco men can clean him out in agambling joint, but who ever heard of their selling him a gold brick?He has lived through all this hundreds of years ago, when Wild Bill waskilled at Deadwood, or perhaps a century or so later, when, the yearfollowing, Alfred took the Caldwells to the Hills and was so nearlyrushed by the Sioux. His life has been an epitome. He has met mostconditions at one time or another, and is no longer afraid of them.

  In a tale dealing with this period of the dissolving view--when inchanging from one slide of the lantern to the other the Master Showmanhas permitted us a little glimpse of hurrying, heroic figures anddazzled us with the clouds of great deeds swiftly done--the teller mustadopt one of two methods. He must either generalize, or be content tospend his space on single episodes. In that period, every day was abook. Men counted as nothing experiences filled with an excitement ora pathos or a beauty intense enough to render significant the wholelife of a quiet New Englander. Acts were many, and trod close on oneanother's heels, yet to each act there was a sequence of motive, ofdesire, of logical effect, as well capable of being sought out anddescribed as though they were not entangled and confused in the rush ofthe moments. The story teller could find his task in the dissection ofthese, and the task would be interesting. But to one who is concerned,not with a period, but a life, this is impossible.

  The fifteen years saw a marked change in the fortunes of the half-breedknown as Michail Lafond. During all that time he had led an apparentlyhonest and law-abiding life. No man could say that he had been cheatedby him or that he had been favored; but one and all with whom thehalf-breed had come into contact could speak with admiration and fearof the latter's power of seizing the best of the main chance. He hadleft the child at the Spotted Tail reservation, giving her name asMolly Lafond and making arrangements for her maintenance. He turnedsome gold claims to advantage, but abandoned that sort of thing as toouncertain. He participated mildly in the prosperity of several of themushroom towns of the period, but soon drew out of booms as possessingalso too much of the element of luck.

  He did the hundreds of other things to which men in a new country canalways turn their hands, and in each he made his profit; but in each hefound something lacking to the elaborate scheme of power he had buildedone evening before a prairie camp fire. Finally he hit upon whisky anddance halls and there he stayed. Abandoning all other enterprises, hegave his individual attention to these two, for he found in them notonly t
he surest and largest monetary returns, but the certainpopularity which men accord to those who minister to their pleasures.From Deadwood to Edgemont there gradually grew up a string of saloonsbearing the name of Lafond. Some of them were paying, some on thepoint of paying, some merely lying latent for the boom which Lafondthought to see in the near future. For, as of old, he delighted indiscounting the future. He liked long shots in his investments.

  Over each of these various establishments their owner was in the habitof placing a man chosen according to the needs of the place, and thisman fell more or less under Lafond's personal supervision according asthe exigencies of the case seemed to demand it. The half-breed'spolicy was to keep in actual touch with the most prosperous, and togive personal effort to the most promising. The others could take careof themselves until their time came. So at Mulberry Gulch, where thecamp consisted only of a number of grub stakers, he owned a little logcabin which he had never seen. At Deadwood, an old and prosperouscamp, he was proprietor of a begilded and bemirrored splendor so wellestablished that it needed only a periodical supervising visit to keepit running smoothly. At Copper Creek was also nothing but a log-cabinsaloon; but Copper Creek bade fair to amount to something. Perhaps thespirit of the three kinds was best indicated by the signs over theircounters. Mulberry Gulch exhibited a rudely lettered device informingthe public, "Pies, Whisky and Pistols for Sail Here." Deadwood thirstyones learned that they should "Ask for Our 1860 Old Crow; the Finest onEarth." Copper Creek sententiously remarked: "To Trust is Bust."

  All this symbolized nothing more or less than the commercial history ofa successful man in the West. It meant nothing except that Lafond hadthe instinct and the cleverness, and so was getting rich. Moreinteresting than the change of his fortune was the change of the manhimself.

  In the old days he had been crafty in a subtle way; but he had beenimpulsive, eager, excitable, inclined to jump at the bidding of hisintuitions. Now his character seemed to have expanded and modified. Apowder explosion had slightly bent his straight figure, halted hisgait, and seamed his face with powder marks. To hide these last, hewore a beard. The effect was one of quiet responsibility, and acertain geniality, though a keen observer might have hesitated to callthis geniality kindly.

  His manner was very quiet. He never reproved his subordinates oraddressed a hasty word to anyone, unless he became thoroughly convincedof the culprit's incapacity. Then his anger was at white heat. Hecould forgive deliberate attempts to evade his commands or consciousefforts at rascality, for with them he could cope; but mistakes henever condoned. An occasional slight inversion of the natural order ofwords or phrases was all that remained to him of his old accent.

  Altogether he was a personage whose public position wasunexceptionable. In the West no man has a past, unless that past ispersonified and carries a rebuking six-shooter. He had wealth,popularity, an acquaintance as wide as the Hills themselves. All thatmeant power, especially when combined with a shrewd ability to readmen's characters.

  But of the old order one thing remained--his religion. In the stormand stress of a period hot with events, his life work was conceived andlaid out. The lines of its plan had been seared into his soul bycrime. He no longer felt the smart, but the cicatrix was there, and hedaily bowed to its symbolism, often without a thought of what it reallymeant. His was like the future of a boy who has entered the army; hisline of conduct was all prearranged, and his independence of it neveroccurred to him. There was no glowering hate in this; only a certainsense of inevitability. In other words, it was his religion.

  "COME ACROSS, OR I'LL..."]

  Certain things were to be done. First of all he must become wealthy.Very well; wealthy he became. He must become popular. Agreed; hecultivated his fellow men. He must know how to read character and tohit upon weaknesses. Exactly; he bent his cleverness to the task.There was a larger end to which these three were but the means; butthat would come later. Just now life meant quiet, earnest compassingof the three things. Until they were quite within his grasp, he couldafford to shut into the background what their ultimate significationshould be. Lafond lived tranquilly a perfectly moral existence.

  But without his volition the great idea crystallized into some sort ofshape. It was always in the background, to be sure; but, after all, abackground fills the picture. _That which men hold to be most dear_!The years had taught him what it was, without his actually demanding itof them. Men hold most dear property, reputation, honor among theirfellow men, and the love of women. Women hold most dear virtue and agood name.

  About fifteen years after he had quitted the Indians, Lafond suddenlyrealized that he had gained the power and knew how to use it. Quitedispassionately he looked ahead to the next step.

  There were Jim Buckley, Billy Knapp, Alfred and the doctor's family.The latter now included only the girl, whom Lafond had himself causedto be raised to young womanhood. Of the others, Jim Buckley and Alfredhad long since left the country--Alfred for Arizona, where he had goneinto cow punching; Buckley for Montana and Idaho, in whose mountains hewas supposed to be prospecting. These two, then, were out of the wayfor the present. They would never be difficult to find, and incomparison with Billy they had held quite a secondary place at the timeof the half-breed's molten state, before he had cooled into the fixedforms of his conduct of life.

  The reason for this throws not a little light on Lafond's character.The feminine streak in him hated Billy Knapp personally, simply becausethat individual was loud in talk, great in size, and blustering inmanner. He could restrain his resentment against the bashful Alfred orthe imperturbable Jim; but not that against a man who seemed always, tothe high strung half-breed, the potential bully. He would havefollowed Billy Knapp to China, if necessary.

  But it so happened that that individual, after a checkered career, hadsettled down in the village or camp of Copper Creek, not forty milesfrom Lafond's headquarters at Rapid. Billy's vicissitudes were thoseof many of his class. Trained in the liberal give and take policy ofthe early frontier times, he found himself, on their ebb, stranded highand dry without appropriate means of progression. Billy was used torelying on his plainscraft, his courage, his skill with firearms, andhis personal strength. Such qualities as economy, accuracy ofestimate, frugality, and patience in the overcoming of abstractionswould have been, to his early life, practically useless. He came to bea big-hearted, generous fellow, without the slightest idea of the valueof money or the burden of debt. He was apt to be seized by many whims,which he was wont to gratify on the spot.

  "Know Billy Knapp?" ruminated an old plainsman once. "Billy Knapp?Seems to me I do; he's the feller that would buy the co't house yonderif he could get trusted for it, ain't he?"

  It described him. And as in the old days his prestige had depended onindividual prowess of a rather spectacular order, it came about thatBilly was just a little fond of strutting. He liked to play thepatron, he liked to distribute favors, to treat to drinks, to stand asthe representative of great unseen forces, whether of military power inthe old days, or of extensive capital in these latter.

  For a great many years this vanity had remained ungratified. Billy hadnot the virtues to succeed in the rising commercialism of the new West.After the last great campaign against the Sioux, he found his usualoccupations almost wiped from the slate. The plains were as safe asIllinois. He picked up a livelihood still, mainly by reason of hiswonderful gift of persuasion, for Billy could talk black white, if onlythe particular shade and the discussion were situated in the West. Hedrove stage, broke horses, bossed cattle outfits, and finally driftedinto prospecting.

  There his chance came. By a lucky stroke of trading he becamepossessed of some really good quartz claims and a small sum of readycash. Two weeks later he was in Chicago. It was his first trip eastof the Mississippi, but he knew just what he wanted, and he got it.Three days of Billy's golden oratory led to the purchase by an Easternsyndicate of an option on his group of claims, and the un
derstandingthat toward the middle of the following summer a committee of ownersshould visit the property in order to discuss ways and means ofdeveloping the various quartz leads.

  The delighted Billy returned to Copper Creek. There at last he foundhimself the important figure he had always dreamed of being. He posedto himself and to everybody else. The camp gradually filled, and theclaims round about were snapped up greedily.

  Lafond had easily kept himself informed of all this. It wassufficiently notorious. Now when he came to a realization that thenext move in his game of life was due and that he should put to itsappointed use the power he had so long amassed, he decided to studyBilly Knapp in order to see which of the four--property, reputation,honor or love--that volatile individual held most dear. He could makea shrewd guess, but he wanted to be on the ground. And as he thoughtabout it, there came to him a great wave of enthusiasm and eagernessover this game he was about to play; a delight in the magnitude of thestakes and the power of the instruments employed, an intellectualglorying quite different and separated from his personal feelings inthe matter, or that religious obligation of it which lay at the back ofhis soul.