CHAPTER I
THE DROUGHT
Jean Baptiste jumped from the bed and went quickly to where his trousershung on a chair, and went through the pockets hurriedly. He laid themdown when through, and got his breath slowly when he had done so, andthe perspiration stood out on his forehead as he concluded that he hadbeen robbed.
After a time he raised his hand to his forehead, and appeared puzzled.He was positive he had seen some one enter the room, go to the chair,and take the money from his pockets. It was rather singular, however, henow thought; for if such had happened, and he had seen it, then why hadhe not stopped the robber? He was deeply puzzled. He had seen the actcommitted, he felt sure but had made no effort whatever to stop thethief. He scratched his head in vexation, sat down, and as he did so,saw that his coat hung also upon the chair. Absently his hands wanderedthrough the pockets, and found his purse and the money in an outsidepocket.
He was awake then, and went to the basin, removed the bandages, andbathed his face. The swelling had gone down considerably, but theinjured eye was dark. He realized then, that nobody had entered theroom, for the door was locked with the key inside; but he couldn'trecall having his money in his coat pocket. He was awake at last to thefact that it had been a dream.
When he had bathed and dressed, he slipped quietly down the stairs, andinto the street, and found his way to the Thirty-fifth Street "L."station. He had no plans. He considered that his relations with his wifewere at an end, and from his mind he dismissed this in so far as it waspossible--and as far as future plans were concerned. But since he hadmade no plans, whatever in the event of failure, and since failure hadcome, he was undecided where he was going or what he would do at once.
He decided not to return home directly; he wanted to go somewhere, butdid not care to stay in Chicago. He took the train that was goingdown-town, and when he reached the Twelfth Street station, suddenlydecided to go to Southern Illinois, and visit the girl Jessie, with whomhe had been corresponding.
While walking toward the Illinois Central Station, he purchased a paper,and was cheered to see that his candidate had carried the state in thepreferential primary by an overwhelming majority. The train he was totake left at nine-forty, and he was able to forget his grief in the hourand a half he waited, by reading all the details of the election.
The journey three hundred miles south was uneventful, but when hearrived at Carbondale, the train that would have taken him to where hewas going had left, and he was compelled to spend the night there. Thenext morning he caught an early train and reached the town in which shelived, his first visit there since he met the one he had married.
He found Jessie, and her kind sympathy, served to revive in a measurehis usual composure, and when he left a few days later, he was muchstronger emotionally than he had been for a year, and on his returnWest, determined to try to regain his fortunes that had been graduallyslipping from him in the past two years.
When he had digested the state of his affairs at home he had a newproblem to face. Decidedly he was almost "in bad." For a time hisinterest had been paid by his bankers; but they had left him to themercy of the insurance companies who held the first mortgages. And thesehad been protesting and had lately threatened foreclosure. Even so, andif the crops be good, he was confident he could make it. But before hecould even sow that year's crop, he would have to see a certain bankerwho lived in Nebraska. This man was represented by a son who conductedthe bank he controlled at Gregory, and the son had issued an ultimatum,and if Baptiste would keep his stock that was mortgaged to the bank assecurity, he realized that it was best to see the boy's father, sincethe son had made plain his stand.
The banker was out of town when he arrived, and to save time, Baptistejudged that it would be best to go to Sioux City, where he could meetthe banker on his way home, and on the way from Sioux City to the littletown where the banker made his home, he could consult with him, and getan extension. In this he was successful, and returned home with anassurance that he would be given until fall to make good--but in truth,until fall to get ready.
To work he went with a sort of fleeting hope. The spring had been good.But he was apprehensive that the summer would be dry as the last, and itwas with misgivings that he lived through the days and weeks thatfollowed. Seed wheat and oats had been furnished to the settlers inTripp County that spring by the county commissioners, and he had sowed aportion of his land with it.
Conditions in the new country had gone from bad to worse, and if theseason should experience another drought, the worst was come. Alreadythere were a few foreclosures in process, and excitement ran high. Thecountry was financially embarrassed. To secure money now was almostimpossible. Any number of farms were for sale, but buyers there werenone.
A local shower fell over part of the country in the last days of May,wetting the ground perhaps an inch deep, and then hot winds began withthe first day of June. For thirty days following, not a drop of rainfell on the earth. The heat became so intense that breathing was madedifficult, and when the fourth of July arrived, not a kernel of cornthat had been planted that spring, had sprouted. The small grain cropshad been burned to a crisp, and disaster hung over the land. Everywherethere was a panic. From the West, people who had gone there three andfour years before were returning panic stricken; the stock they weredriving--when they drove--were hollow and gaunt and thin. Going hitherthe years before they had presented the type of aggressive pioneers. Butnow they were returning a tired, gaunt, defeated army. All hopes, allcourage, all manhood gone, they presented a discouraging aspect.
From Canada on the north, to Texas on the south, the hot winds had laidthe land seemingly bare. Everywhere cattle were being sold for a trifle,as there was no grass upon which they could feed.
To the north and the south, the east and the west in the country of ourstory, ruin was in the wake. Foreclosures became the order, and suitswere minute affairs. From early morn to early morn again, the hot windscontinued, and the air was surcharged with the smell of burning plants.
And with the hero of our story, he saw his hopes sink with the disasterthat was around him; he saw his holdings gradually slipping from him,and after some time became resigned to the inevitable.
So it came to pass that another change came into his life, hence anotherepoch in the unusual life was his.
The Homesteader: A Novel Page 54