by Lois Lenski
Then came Grandma Wagner’s treats—a paper sack for each grandchild which contained one orange, one apple, nuts, cookies, Russian peanuts, a candy bar and a popcorn ball. Grandma sent a new tie for Papa Johannes and for Mama a pretty pincushion crocheted on the wishbone of a chicken.
At the last minute, Papa tossed a small box into Mama’s lap. When Mama opened it, they all gathered round and gasped in astonishment. It was a pretty gold wristwatch on a gold-chain bracelet.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mama. The kiss she gave Papa was a resounding smack. “Look at me here now, with this! A wrist-watch! Don’t that beat the Dutch! And I thought I was lucky to get coal for Christmas!”
CHAPTER VII
The Lasso Rope
“HEY, DARRELL! KONRAD! BET you can’t catch us!” cried Peter Hummel. “All three of us.”
Peter, Hulda and Ruby ran in three different directions across the prairie, which was the play-yard of the school. Darrell chased after them, lasso rope in hand.
“I’ll catch Peter,” he called. “You get the two girls, Konrad.”
A minute later, the two big boys had captured the three younger children and had tied the long rope in loops and knots around them in a squirming mass.
“Now, you’re hog-tied!” said Darrell.
“We’re hog-tied! We’re hog-tied!” they repeated. They tumbled on the ground in a helpless heap, roped together, laughing as hard as they could.
Ding dong! Ding dong! Delores stood at the schoolhouse door and rang the bell.
“It’s time for school to take up,” said Ruby. “How we gonna get loose?”
“Konrad, come and untie us,” called Peter.
But Konrad ran in, and it was Delores who came and untied all the knots. “Bring Teacher’s lasso rope inside,” she said to Peter.
“That’s not Teacher’s lasso rope,” said Ruby. “It’s my jump rope. I brought it from home.”
“You never!” said Delores sharply. “This is Teacher’s rope. Your old jump rope’s a short one. It caused so much trouble, Teacher told you to take it home. You took it home your own self.”
“I brought it back again,” said Ruby sullenly.
“Well, this is not it,” said Delores. “Teacher bought this one at my Uncle Gustaf’s hardware store in town. See how long it is—thirty feet. Reason why I know is, my Uncle Gustaf told my Pop that Teacher asked for twelve feet, and thought that was long enough for a lasso rope.”
“Huh! Shows how little she knows!” sniffed Ruby.
“She comes from the East River country,” said Delores. “That’s why she don’t know any better. She never rode horses or lassoed cattle in her life. She can’t help it. You don’t need to blame her. My uncle sold her thirty feet instead of twelve. Was your rope thirty feet long, Ruby Englehart?”
Ruby hesitated. “I guess not…”
“Hurry, children,” called Miss Martin. They came running in. “Hang the lasso rope here in the hall and take off your wraps.”
Christmas vacation, with the first bad blizzard of the winter, was over. Delores was glad to be back in school again. There had been no snow since New Year’s, but the weather still stayed cold. She and Darrell had come together on Sugar.
“Our horse didn’t want to come to school today,” said Delores. “She kept trying to turn around and go back. Don’t know what got into her.”
“It’s a good thing our blizzard didn’t come at New Year’s, Miss Martin,” said Darrell. “You’d a been stalled in Aberdeen.”
“In the real bad blizzards, all the trains stop running on the main line,” said Emil Holzhauer, “even the flyer, that Olympian Hiawatha too, headed for Seattle, Washington. Diesel engines are no good in blizzards.”
“I was lucky to get back to Oak Leaf safely,” said Miss Martin. “My train was on time, and the road out here was frozen hard, so I had no trouble with my car. I wonder how long it will be before I get to town again…Our big snows always come in January and February.”
“Maybe we’ll have a warm winter this year,” said Peter Hummel.
“A warm winter!” All the children laughed.
Although none of them realized that the worst winter in the history of the Great Plains was ahead of them, every West River child knew that winter could never be warm. Winter was a rugged battle to be fought and endured. Seven-year-old Peter knew it as well as the others.
“Don’t you fool yourself!” laughed Darrell. “I can feel it in my bones, this winter’s gonna be a humdinger. It hasn’t got a good start yet.”
“I’m prepared for the worst,” said Miss Martin solemnly. “Hans Holzhauer rode up to my back door yesterday and brought me a big loaf of homemade bread…”
“Hans Holzhauer?” asked Delores.
“Hans is one of my old boys,” said Miss Martin. “He never forgets his old school or his old teacher. He likes to come and sit down and visit every so often. And Sam Englehart brought back one of my boxes of canned goods—the box he kept over Christmas for me.”
“Then we won’t starve,” said Konrad Snider.
“Our daddy brought you a can of water this morning,” said Peter Hummel, smiling proudly.
“So we won’t get thirsty,” added Hulda.
“And a box of spuds,” added Peter.
“So we won’t get hungry,’’ said Hulda.
All the children were glad to be back in school again. It was a change from the isolation at home during the stormy holidays. They showed a lively interest in their lessons and Miss Martin was pleased. Since there were no story or reference books in their homes, they enjoyed looking things up in the school dictionary or encyclopedia. And they liked reading the story books borrowed by mail from the county and state libraries.
The day passed happily and busily. It began to snow in the afternoon, but no one thought anything of it. Snow came every day. It was as inevitable as morning and night. Just before the afternoon recess, the wind began to blow hard from the east. The large east windows of the schoolroom, never too tight, began to rattle.
“The wind sounds like someone screaming!” giggled Fernetta Sticklemeyer. “Screaming at the top of their voice!”
“No,” said Konrad Snider. “It’s more like a siren. I heard a fire engine when I was in Aberdeen once.” He began to imitate the sound.
“Oh, stop it!” cried Darrell Wagner. “It’s bad enough to have the wind whistling outside. We don’t need it inside too.”
For the afternoon recess, the children bundled up in their wraps and ran outdoors to play as usual. At the end of fifteen minutes, Miss Martin rang the bell, but they did not come in. She went to the window and looked out. She could see the school barn and the deserted house, but the storm was worse than she had thought. Through the blur of swirling snow, she could see the children’s figures moving. She wondered what strange game they were playing.
Perhaps they had not heard the bell because of the wind. She went to the door and rang it again. Then, from the window, she could see them still milling around. It looked as if they did not know where they were going. She saw Delores Wagner standing under the window, close up against the building. Suddenly she realized that the little ones were lost and could not find their way to the door. They were blinded by the snow blowing in their faces.
Miss Martin ran to the front hall, took the lasso rope from the hook, opened the window and threw it out. “Delores,” she shouted. “Take the rope and bring them in.”
Miss Martin was not sure that Delores had heard her. She closed the window and latched it tightly. Then she watched anxiously as Delores ran out with the rope and rounded up the little children. Thinking it was a new game, each child took hold of the rope. Delores pulled them around the corner of the building and brought them in at the front door.
“Didn’t you hear the bell, children?” Miss Martin called out. “I rang it twice.”
“We got lost!” cried little Hulda and Peter.
“We couldn’t see the schoolhouse anywhere,�
�� said the little Sticklemeyers.
There was no fear—it had all been a gay adventure. But Miss Martin’s heart skipped a beat, and her face turned white.
Delores saw and understood. She knew what Miss Martin was thinking: What if it had happened while the children were walking home from school?
The older boys came tramping in.
“There’s a big bunch of cattle over by the elevator,” announced Darrell. “I think they’re ours; We only brought one horse…”
“I guess we’d better go home early today, Miss Martin,” said Jacob Sticklemeyer. “It’s gettin’ bad, so I hitched up Buckskin’s out in front with the cart.”
“Yes, go right away,” said Miss Martin. “Don’t wait a minute.”
The Sticklemeyers, big and little, bundled up and went out, calling good-by. Then in walked Oscar Meyers, the Wagners’ hired man.
“Darrell, you come and help me get the cattle home,” he said. “I got the truck outside.”
“I just knew those cows over by the elevator were ours,” said Darrell.
Konrad Snider called out, “Can I go with you, Ozzie?”
Oscar nodded. “Sure, we need all the help we can get. Come on, boys.”
As they hurried to put on overshoes and sheepskins, Darrell turned to Delores and said: “You can get home all right on Sugar, can’t you?”
“Of course,” said Delores. “Why not?”
As the truck drove off, Sam Englehart appeared on Silver and took Ruby up behind him. After that, the crowded schoolroom seemed empty. Only Miss Martin, the two little Hummels and Delores were left.
“Well, I guess we better start walking home,” said little Peter.
“Oh no” said Miss Martin. “You wait here. Somebody will come for you.”
“Daddy can’t come.” said Peter. “He went to Selfridge in the truck this morning, and said he wouldn’t get back tonight.”
“I think we better stay here,” said Hulda. “We’ll just stay all night and then we’ll be here tomorrow. Daddy won’t have to bring us.”
“Oh, she just wants to sleep on the camp cot,” explained Peter. “She never slept on a cot before.”
“By golly! What a wind!” cried Delores. “Those crazy guys left the front door open.”
The wind, blowing hard from the east, swept through the front hall and into the schoolroom. It sent school papers flying in every direction. Miss Martin hurried to close the front door. It opened out and she had to go outside on the porch. She tried to shut the door but couldn’t. Just as she got it halfway shut, a strong gust of wind came and swung it back, almost taking her off her feet.
“Delores! Come and help!” she called.
Delores put her head out the door, and the wind almost tore her hair off. She yelled something, but Miss Martin did not hear.
“The rope!” gasped Miss Martin. “Throw me the lasso rope.”
The next minute Miss Martin had the end of the rope in her hand. She tied it to the doorknob, and threw the other end back of her. “Grab it and pull,” she managed to shout.
Delores stepped back inside, pulling on the rope. “Hey, you kids, come help pull the door shut!” she cried.
The rope reached into the schoolroom, and the little Hummel children pulled on it from there. They could not pull steadily, as they had to let Miss Martin step up in the doorway and get inside before the door came shut. At last the door came to, and Miss Martin latched it with a sharp blow. The children inside fell to the floor laughing, as the pull on the rope was relaxed.
“Positively no one can go out this door again tonight!” Miss Martin announced in a loud firm voice. Then she sat down on a chair, gasping for breath, and trying to fix her wind-blown hair.
The words were scarcely spoken, when the door was flung wide open again, and Pete Hummel stumbled in. Miss Martin was so astonished, she cried out: “Man alive! What a night to be out!”
Pete Hummel shook the snow off his rubber raincoat and tight fitting cap.
“It’s not bad,” he said, “only about zero.”
Peter and Hulda frowned when they saw their father. They stood on the register and whispered to each other. Miss Martin knew they did not want to go home.
“You haven’t come for the children, have you?” she asked. “They said you couldn’t get back from Selfridge tonight. So they thought they’d just stay here.”
Little Hulda sat down on the register and quickly pulled off her shoes, and socks. “I got my feet wet outside at recess,” she said, frowning. “I got to get my socks dry or Mama’ll spank me.”
She made a great fuss getting her socks dried. When she put one on, she took the other off. She never seemed to get two on at the same time.
Pete Hummel grew impatient. “That team won’t stand much longer,” he said.
“Didn’t you come in the truck?” asked little Peter.
“No, I got the saddle horses hitched to the bobsled,” said Pete. “I shouldn’t be driving them, but it’s hard for the larger horses to go through the snow.”
“You won’t take the children home in a storm like this, will you?” said Miss Martin nervously. “They’ll get terribly cold, won’t they?”
Pete Hummel’s answer was short: “They can take it.” Then he added, “I have some blankets out in the sled.”
Little Peter put his sheepskin cap with fur earlaps on, then his sheepskin-lined coat and high buckle overshoes. He stood ready. But Hulda’s feet were still bare. Her father frowned at her.
“Do you want to stay here?” he asked.
“Yah,” said Hulda. “It’s too cold to go out.”
Pete Hummel took little Peter’s hand. “O. K.,” he said. “We’ll leave the baby!” They walked toward the door, where he turned and added: “No tellin’ when I can come and get you. It might be a week.”
“I don’t care,” said Hulda stubbornly. She did not mind being called a baby, or being left behind at the school. Now at last she could sleep on Teacher’s cot.
The man and boy went out. Miss Martin and Delores and Hulda looked out the window. Little Peter sat up on a board placed across the one-box sled, but he was covered entirely with two blankets. He and his father slid away into the grayness of the night and the storm.
“Little Peter’s trying hard to be a man,” said Miss Martin softly.
“No way to know whether they’ll get home safely.”
Delores took Miss Martin’s hand and squeezed it.
There was a great deal to do, and Delores was glad she had stayed to help. The front hall door had stood open all the time Pete Hummel was in the schoolhouse. The front hall was filled with snow which had to be swept out. The door had to be closed again, and only the lasso rope could pull it against the wind. The furnace had to be filled and coal brought up for the Heatola in the kitchen.
“Can I set up the camp cot for Hulda?” asked Delores.
“No, she can sleep with me,” said Miss Martin. “Then she won’t get lonely or homesick.”
“Well, I guess I’ll be going on home then,” said Delores.
“Oh—you’re not going?” cried Miss Martin. “You can sleep on the cot. I thought we’d eat supper first before we set it up. The kitchen is so small we can’t get to the stove when the cot is up.”
“Ozzie and Darrell told me to ride Sugar home,” said Delores. “Mama will be looking for me. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Then you should have started long ago,” said Miss Martin. “Do you think you can find your way all right?”
“Sugar won’t let me get lost,” said Delores. “She can find her way home blindfolded. I’ll look for the elevator and get over to the railroad tracks, and follow the tracks all the way home.” Already the girl had her snowpants, jacket and overshoes on. A twist of her scarf under her chin, a pull on her mittens, and out of the back teacherage door she slipped.
“I hate to see you go,” said Miss Martin,
Delores smiled back. “It’s no worse than hundreds of other
times.”
But before she had gone very far on Sugar’s back, she knew it was worse. She had ridden horseback in many storms in previous years, but it had never been like this. She kept looking for the elevator, but could see it only now and then. Sugar kept her head down and did not want to hurry. Delores leaned over, patted the horse and kept talking to her.
At last, she saw the elevator close by, and was able to find the tracks. She followed the telegraph poles south and kept going. Each time when she found she had wandered off to one side, she pulled Sugars back to the flat level of the tracks again. Then she saw that the wind was covering the tracks with snow and was piling great drifts across them. The wind blew the snow in her face, so she could not see. Sugar turned around several times, and although she could see the telegraph poles, she could not tell which way she was going.
For a moment she was filled with panic. Then she spoke to herself sternly: This was the way home from school. She could walk it herself alone, at midnight, blindfolded. She knew every inch of the way. There was nothing to be frightened about. Sugar knew the way too. A horse could always find its way home by instinct, even in the worst storm. She would stop worrying and trust to Sugar.
With head bent low against the snow-laden wind, the horse plunged steadily on. Suddenly Delores noticed the wind was at her back. Had Sugar turned around and was she going back? Was she lost? What building was that ahead? The barn at home? The house? No—she could hardly believe her eyes. There before her was the elevator.
“Oh, you silly old Sugar!” cried the girl angrily. “What do you mean, bringing me back here? Take me home! Take me home!” She slapped the horse’s rump sharply, and started again, following the telegraph poles.
This time Sugar seemed more sure of herself. She walked briskly into the wind, and kept steadily on. Delores’ hands and feet grew cold. Then the pain in her side began.