Son of the Gamblin' Man: The Youth of an Artist by Mari Sandoz

Author:Mari Sandoz [Sandoz, Mari]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Non-Fiction, Biography, Autobiography, History, Nebraska
ISBN: 9780803258334
Google: p9sn_RS82YMC
Amazon: B001D76J9U
Publisher: U of Nebraska Press
Published: 1976-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

XIV

ALTHOUGH THE SUMMER was one of rain and crops, it was also a season of extremes. When a total eclipse of the sun in late July darkened the heavens, a couple of settlers from the north breaks happened to be in town trading eggs and garden truck. As the sun whitened into a chilly disk of blank ice and a duskiness spread over the town, the men fell to their knees in the middle of the street, praying and shouting, trembling, sweating in their awe and fear.

“It is the end of the world as foretold!” one of them was repeating over and over, tears of dusty water streaming down his face.

“Confess your sins, Brothers and Sisters! Embrace your Lord Jesus before it is too late!” the other entreated.

Sam Schooley and Gene Young, out watching the sun through smoked window glass, became concerned about the weeping men and those who gathered around to taunt them, shouting exaggerated warnings of fire and brimstone.

“It’s the years of starvation and hard times,” Sam said. “Enough to unbalance almost anybody.”

The two men were even more pitiful when the sun was clear again and Mrs. Gatewood’s chickens got off their roosts and ventured out into the street again, looking around foolishly. Slowly the men lifted their bottoms up to the layer of willows laid over the old running gears of their wagon and started their ponies homeward.

There was much violence of man against man too, this summer. Not that anybody seemed to be shooting many of the horse thieves who came fanning down from their headquarters up along the Niobrara. Doc Middleton, their leader, had regular places that put him up for the night along the Loups and at the Olive Ranch. From there his pony boys swept off stock to sell in Iowa or Wyoming, the horses stolen there taken to the other end of the runs. They sent Indian herds flying toward Kansas and brought angry Sioux warriors on their trail to the Platte and beyond, scaring the timid settlers. Some counties tacked up reward notices for capture of the horse thieves. Extra guards were stationed at the trotting circuits and yet some good stock was stolen, including fine sulky horses, one whole stable emptied right out at the track—three prime pacers gone.

All the gold talk drew more agents to the Black Hills trails, and every new report of holdups attracted more hopefuls. Even the Iron Clad, the gold coach with Winchester-armed guards riding shotgun, was held up, men killed.

August brought a mad-dog scare throughout the country, with wolves, coyotes, and skunks rabic. Theresa cautioned the boys to be very careful, stay on their horses when out this hot weather. But she knew they could not, particularly with the work at the bridge and the hay flats.

Then one afternoon a homeseeker whipped into Cozad shouting for a madstone to apply to his arm where a stray dog he tried to pet had bitten him. No one knew of a mad-stone nearer than down at Fremont and the new doctor just settled at Cozad was away on a forty-mile call.

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