Prairie School

by Lois Lenski

  “We thought Rudolph must have got his jeep stuck,” said Papa. “Couldn’t understand why he didn’t come. Man alive, we’re stiff from all this walking.”

  “The cattle—where are they?” demanded Darrell.

  “Can’t find ’em anywhere,” said Papa. “We walked over to the stacks where they were before the blizzard, but they’re not there. We walked over to Arlo’s place, then to Burgard’s, and down to our old dam and they’re not there.”

  “Maybe they got drownded,” said Phil. “That ice has got deep water under it.”

  “Don’t think so,” said Papa. “More likely to be buried under a big drift. They’ll be alive if they don’t choke from snow plugging their noses. But this soft wet snow is bad.”

  “Ozzie’s gone over to Holzhauer’s,” said Phil.

  “We’ll go back to Burgard’s again,” said Papa. “I think the wind must a blown ’em over that way. We’ll ride Patty and Queen to save our legs.”

  “Oh Pop!” cried Darrell. “Can’t I go along? It’s no fun stayin’ here all by myself.”

  “You want the furnace and the kitchen fire to go out and freeze everything up?” growled Papa. “Who’d do the chores if you wasn’t here?”

  “Oh, shoot!” cried Darrell in disgust.

  Papa and Philip rode the horses out of the barnyard and were gone.

  About two that afternoon, Darrell went upstairs and looked out the windows on all sides. To the south he saw two small specks.

  “The horses!” he cried. “That’s Sugar and Nellie. I’ll go get them and ride south and look for the cattle. Maybe I’ll find ’em before Pop does. Then won’t he be surprised!”

  He put on his wraps, found a rope and started walking south across the snow-covered prairie. It was not snowing and there was no wind, but it was bitter cold. He knew it must be below zero. Rover came part way with him, and he chased him back. In some places, the snow was as high as the fence posts, in others, it had drifted in ridges ten or fifteen feet high. It was hard walking and he had to stop often to rest. He saw the two horses ahead, not far away.

  He walked more slowly now. When he got to the horses, they acted frightened, ready to turn and run. He came up quietly, talking in a low voice. Now they knew him, but were still afraid. They tried to walk away, but a high snowbank blocked them. He walked up to Sugar and caught her. He threw himself up on her back and chased Nellie over to the railroad track, where there wasn’t so much snow. He chased her up the track till he got close to home. Then he rode ahead on Sugar, and Nellie followed.

  He put the horses in the barn and fed them oats. He felt happy to have them back. “Sugar and Nellie,” he said, “you’re awfully thin. That comes from riding you to school and having nothing to eat up there.”

  The horses whinnied eagerly. Darrell patted their noses as they ate. He talked to them as if they were people. Then a sudden thought struck him—how would Delores get home from school without a horse to ride? But he pushed the thought into the back part of his mind. Delores was all right up there in the warm school, with Miss Martin looking after her. He’d go up and get her—as soon as they found the cattle.

  There was no hay for Sugar and Nellie. He wished he could get some from the haystacks out on the range, or from the hayrack, wherever it was.

  “The cattle,” he thought. “I must help find them.” A terrible thought struck him, that after the long search, they would find the cattle dead. Mom was always pessimistic, but maybe she knew. “If Pop loses them all, we will lose three thousand dollars—and that’s no chicken-feed money.”

  “I’ve got to find the cattle,” said Darrell to himself. “Which way shall I go? No use going where the men have been…” Suddenly, the thought of Delores came to him—Delores sick at school. Maybe the cattle were up by the elevator. They often came there. He’d go up and see. He’d ride Nellie instead of Sugar. Nellie was stronger and could bring them both back through the deep snow. He could bring Delores home, anyhow.

  Definite purpose gave him courage. Nellie moved along steadily, and by following the railroad, it did not take too long. The boy’s distant sight was good. He had “the far look in his eyes,” like all West River boys. Long before he reached the elevator, he saw that no cattle were there. So he took a diagonal shortcut across to the schoolhouse.

  Looking ahead, he was surprised to see no smoke coming out of the chimney. He knew Miss Martin had plenty of coal now. Could something have happened? Snow covered the open front porch—it had not been swept that morning, nor the front door opened.

  “They’re just lazy,” he said to himself. “They’ve been living in the two rooms at the back. They’ve let the furnace fire go out—they’re too lazy to shovel coal.” But even as he said the words, fear clutched at his heart.

  He rode quickly around to the teacherage door and tied Nellie to the railing. Miss Martin never locked any doors. He ran up the snow-covered steps and without stopping to knock, opened the door. The fire was out, the room was cold. It was so cold that even with his sheepskin on, he shivered. “They’re not here!” he said aloud.

  One step, a glance in the bedroom and the unmade bed, and he knew that something had happened. Where were they? Where had they gone? He put his hand to his head and tried to think. To one of the neighbors, of course. Which house was the nearest—the Sticklemeyers or the Hummels? Where had they gone and why? Delores was sick when he last saw her. Her cold must have grown worse. Miss Martin must have taken her…

  The car! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He rushed out. The car…it was gone. They’d gone off in the car. Which direction? When? How long ago? It stormed all day Thursday and half of Friday, and the wind had never stopped blowing since then. If they went before the storm was over, there would be no trace of their tracks in the snow.

  He ran out to see. He could make out faint tracks running from the teacherage door toward the deserted house. Had they gone there, or on out to the Hummels? Then he looked over toward the elevator and saw the car. It was stalled in a low place, half-hidden by the depot, and the snow had drifted, almost covering it. He jumped on Nellie’s back and rode over. He got off the horse and walked all around the car. It would take a tractor to pull it out.

  Where had they gone from here? To the Hummels? That was three miles further on, and the worst road around. It would have meant hard walking. On the train? But no trains had been running for days…He ran to the depot and looked in. The waiting room looked just the same as it had always looked. There was not a single clue that a woman and a girl had spent agonizing hours there such a short time before.

  Darrell came out, jumped on Nellie’s back and scanned the horizon. Once he thought he heard a strange moaning sound. Was it the wind? It couldn’t be a person, could it? Somebody in pain or trouble? The cattle—did it sound like cows? He looked all around but saw not a living thing. He stopped to look under the loading chute of the stock-pen where he had found the Indian woman. Then he came back to Miss Martin’s car. He could not understand it. Quickly he rode back to the schoolhouse. Maybe they had left a note.

  He tied Nellie up and went in again. He hunted carefully, but found no note. There was nothing to indicate where the two might have gone. The rooms were cold and empty.

  “I’ll build up the fire in the furnace,” Darrell said aloud. “That will keep the building warm and keep Miss Martin’s food from freezing. Then I’ll go first to one neighbor’s, then to the other’s.” He had to wait a long time to get the fire started, to check it before leaving.

  When he came up from the cellar, his task completed, he went into the little bedroom. He looked out toward the elevator, to assure himself that Miss Martin’s car was still there. But he never saw the car at all.

  “Cattle!” he gasped. A bunch of cattle were scattered around the elevator. “Where did they come from? They might be ours!”

  He tore out of the building at top speed. In his anxiety over Delores and Miss Martin, he had almost forgotten the cattle. And
there they were, right under his nose. He could have kicked himself for not finding them so near at hand. They must have been huddled in the corner against the elevator on the far side, to keep out of the wind. Dunderhead—why didn’t he have sense enough to go look on the other side? That sound he heard must have been their bawling—faint because they were weak from cold and hunger.

  He rode over and looked at them, and the sight made him feel sick. They were caked in snow and ice, body, head and eyes. Soft snow had frozen in their hair so hard and stiff they could hardly walk. They were Pop’s cattle all right. He was sure of that. The wind had changed and they had come out to look for grass. How could they rustle grass when they could hardly stand up? But they were still alive. At least, some of them were. What luck for Pop!

  Darrell stared at the cows and tried to think. He felt first relief to have found them, and found them safe, then anxiety—how could he get them home? He would need help to get them home alive. Pop and Ozzie and Phil would all have to help. The cows were so weak, they might have to be carried home in a truck. He’d have to ride home first and find the men—no telling where they were, off on the prairies each in a different place, searching. Would the cattle stay where they were, or drift with the wind and get buried in snow?

  He could only hope. The thing to do now was to get home as quickly as he could. He slapped Nellie sharply and started off. Going south along the tracks, he heard what he thought was the sound of a motor. Could it be Uncle Rudolph had come back with the jeep and was bringing the men? He turned and faced the other way. He wanted to be sure the cattle were still there. He wanted to be sure it was not all a dream that he had found them. He could see them, more scattered out now, staggering from hunger and weakness. Some had fallen down. Golly! If he didn’t hurry, they’d all be dead soon.

  Then above, he saw an airplane flying and he heard the roaring of its motor. He stared. Was it Paul Kruger? No, it was a much larger plane. Perhaps some pilot had seen his signal, after all, and had come to help. The plane was flying very low. Was it in trouble, trying to make a forced landing? Or, was it coming down to pick someone up? The thought of Delores and Miss Martin hit him so hard, his heart started pounding. Maybe he’d missed them the way he’d missed the cattle. He felt like kicking himself. Dunderhead! Why couldn’t he find them, if they were around somewhere, near?

  He watched the plane. Whoever he was, the pilot was flying too low. He was flying over the elevator now.

  “Criminy sakes! He hit it! Something fell off the top!” shouted Darrell. “He’s taking the roof off the elevator, the crazy fool! He’s going in circles! Hey, you!” Darrell waved his arm and shouted. “What the heck are you doing? Stunt-flying?”

  Then he saw objects falling one after the other—big, heavy, dark objects falling to the ground. The pilot had not hit the elevator at all. He was not trying to land. He was flying over the herd of cattle and dropping bales of hay for them to eat.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered! It’s the haylift!” Darrell had heard about it over the radio. Now he was seeing it with his own eyes. “He’s dropping baled hay! Hay for our cattle to eat!”

  He waved and waved his cap in the air, and shouted as loud as he could, while Nellie danced around. He wished the pilot would see him and come over and land, so he could thank him. Gratitude engulfed him as never before in all his young life. But the plane circled the elevator once more and then disappeared in the sky, flying south.

  “Let’s go home, Nellie.” Darrell took a deep breath. “The cattle will stay there now, all right. Won’t Pop and Phil and Ozzie be surprised!”

  But all the way home his heart was heavy. “Where are Delores and Miss Martin? Why couldn’t I find them too?”

  When he rode into the barnyard, he saw Patty and Queen tied to the fence-posts and knew the men had come back. He left Nellie at the barn and ran in, bursting with eagerness to tell his story, but he had no chance.

  Uncle Rudolph was standing there by the kitchen stove, talking in a low voice. He must have just come. No jeep was outside—how did he get there? Had he walked? Something was wrong. Darrell could tell by the serious look on the men’s faces.

  “Christy’s burns?” he blurted out. “Did Mom do something wrong?”

  Uncle Rudolph turned and looked at Darrell. “The burns are bad, but they will heal all right—in time. It’s Delores we’re worried about.”

  “Delores?” gasped Darrell. “She’s not at school and Miss Martin’s not there either. I went there to bring Delores home. Where did they go?”

  “Delores is in the hospital in town,” said Uncle Rudolph. “She was operated on for appendicitis this morning. The appendix had burst twenty-four hours before.”

  Papa Johannes just sat there, his hand covering up his face.

  “Is she…bad?” asked Phil. “Is she going to die?”

  “How did she ever get to town?” demanded Darrell.

  “She’s still on the danger list,” said Uncle Rudolph, “a very sick girl.”

  “But how did she ever…” Darrell could not finish his question.

  “Miss Martin took her to Oak Leaf depot in her car and waited there I don’t know how many hours,” said Uncle Rudolph, “until the Galloping Goose finally came. It got stalled a dozen times, another snowplow banged into it and wrecked the end of the caboose where they were riding. The train men got word to the dispatcher. The doctor rode out on the tracks in his car and brought them in—that last mile, after midnight, last night. They operated this morning. Miss Martin stayed with her through it all.”

  Papa Johannes took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Here I thought we was havin’ things hard.”

  “Where’s Mom?” asked Darrell. “Does she know?”

  “It took us most of the day yesterday to get to town,” said Uncle Rudolph. “Even the jeep can’t take drifts over four feet high, so I had to stop and shovel a hundred times. Christy screamed the whole day, but we got there…late, about dark. The doctor at the hospital fixed Christy’s burns up and told Minna to bring him back this morning, so he could dress the burns again. She was just going in the hospital, when she met Miss Martin coming out.”

  “Before, or after?” asked Papa.

  “The operation was over,” said Uncle Rudolph. “The doctor said Delores is holding her own. Minna’s going to stay in town. Lavina hasn’t room for her. She and Miss Martin will be sleeping at Gustaf’s. You boys will have to do your own cooking.”

  No one smiled. Cooking seemed, just then, a little thing to do.

  “Where’s Christy?” asked Darrell. “He staying too?”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Uncle Rudolph laughed. “Where’s your tractor, Johannes?”

  “Out by the barn,” said Papa. “I finally got it back.”

  “Come and pull me out of the ditch then,” said Rudolph.

  “But where’s Christy?” cried Darrell. “Is Mom keeping him in town?”

  “No,” laughed Uncle Rudolph. “He wouldn’t stay, the little wretch. Not at Lavina’s nor Grandma Wagner’s nor at Gustaf’s. He yelled and fussed. He wanted a jeep-ride home, so I brought him.”

  “Where is he?” asked Phil.

  “In the jeep, in the ditch,” laughed Uncle Rudolph. “Asleep—at least, I hope he’s still asleep, all wrapped up in blankets. About three miles east. I left the jeep there and walked over.”

  “He might wake up and drive it off,” laughed Oscar. “Remember that time he turned on the ignition and the tractor started going, and scared his poor Mom half to death?”

  “Yes,” grinned Darrell. “I jumped on, pulled the switch and stopped it. That’s once Christy got a licking.”

  “Criminy sakes!” cried Johannes. “You go, Phil, get the tractor quick. Hurry, before he wakes up and yells his head off. Ozzie and I will start out again up north, lookin’ for those pesky cattle.”

  “The CATTLE!” shouted Darrell. “Jeepers! I’d forgotten all about them for once. Why, I…I FOUND THE CATTLE!”
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br />   “You sure?” demanded Papa. “Where?”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” asked Phil.

  “How come?” cried Oscar.

  “This was one time I thought of Delores and Christy first,” said Darrell. Then he told the whole story of the empty schoolhouse and the haylift by the elevator.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” shouted Phil.

  “Let them eat hay!” cried Papa Johannes.

  “I’ll sleep tonight,” said Ozzie, “for the first time since this blizzard began. How many weeks has it been blizzarding, anyhow?”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Digging Out

  CHRISTY WAS NOT HARMED by his three-hour nap in the stalled jeep, but as soon as he got home, he cried for his mother. Every day Darrell had to explain that Mama was in town and would be back soon. Every day Darrell had to dress the boy’s burns, using medications sent out by the doctor. Soon Christy was running about as usual.

  The big boys missed their mother too, especially at mealtime.

  “Hope she’ll bring some groceries,” said Darrell, “so we can have something decent to eat.” He turned the burned potatoes in the skillet.

  “How about pigs-in-blankets and sour cream knipfla?” asked Philip. “Will that do?”

  “I want kuga, I want kuga!” cried Christy.

  “And sour cream custard kuga and pickled watermelon and ripe olives,” Phil went on.

  “When do we get it?” demanded Darrell.

  “Not till the blizzard’s over,” said Phil complacently. “The roads are plugged now for good. It’ll take an airplane to get Mama home.”

  “Which blizzard? The next one or the last one?” asked Darrell.

  “There’s always a new one blowing in while the last one’s blowing out,” said Phil.

  “I don’t mind the blizzarding so much,” said Darrell. “It’s exciting while it lasts. What gets me is what comes after—this eternal waiting, when the roads stay plugged for weeks, when the storm keeps slapping back at you, when the coal gets low and the groceries run out…no telephone, no newspaper, a dead radio. Cut off from the whole world, penned up in the house…”