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THE DROUGHT

BY ELIZABETH CHERRY WALTZ

"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."

HROUGH sun-scorched pastures a small man led and drove a dozen thin cattle to the few remaining spots where hidden springs kept alive a bit of grass or weed. The September sunshine was hot, its glare brassy and unnatural. In tree- and shrubhung waterways the baked ground was cracked and gaped open. There were ominous rattling sounds in the air from the breaking branches of trees in the hedgerows and dry stalks in the corn-fields. The earth, shamelessly gaunt and repellent, showed everywhere. What grass remained was but wispy strings of brown, and the weed stalks were seedless. At this season the birds should have been noisy and joy ous, riotously social. They had deserted the Long Valley as if it were a place accursed. It was the ninth week of utter drought, and certain it was that there would be no corn crop or any provender for man or beast even if the very floodgates of heaven opened.

To save the cattle, in the hope of rains and late pastures, was the problem that confronted Pa Gladden and a hundred Valley farmers. The hardships of the future, the provision of food for the winter months, were wholly forgotten in the terror of the present hour, that, unless rain soon came, the cattle would die of hunger and thirst, and men and women be forced to leave their homes.

The farmers' wives faced the fact that there was at hand a winter without a food supply and reserve. There were no wellfilled shelves of neatly labeled preserves and jams and jellies, no barrels of apples, no earth-cellars filled with potatoes, cabbages, beets, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, and

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sweet-smelling bunches of savory herbs. These women had been through like experiences, though never to such an extent. They were sturdy-hearted and contriving, and devised ways and means to fatten their porkers and fowls on the scanty beechmast of the woodlands.

Day after day passed with no relief. Sabbath after Sabbath the aged Father Wister rose in the Crossroads Settlement church and exhorted his flock to patience and resignation under severe discipline. Through the wailing Valley rode Elder Becks of Pegram, always anxious and earnest. After the incredible labors of the day, nightly prayer-meetings were held in isolated neighborhoods, and every petition sent heavenward bore the burden and cry for rain. Rain to freshen the late pastures was all that could be expected-rain to fill the creeks and start the springs flowing throughout the Valley. The watersupply was the sole topic of gossip since the early drying up of the northern creeks.

Cattle and children were the first to feel the effects of a scarcity of water. The day before Pa Gladden drove his cattle across the fields, the cry of fever on Little Dutch had gone up and down. Utterly cast down, that night Pa Gladden bowed his soul in humiliation before his Maker until the strange moonlight of those times gave way to darkness.

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wood-asters, with joepye-weed, red-purple ironweed blossoms, and goldenrod standing up as a gorgeous embroidery to the cliff. Now the pool flashed defiance to the sun-glare, unembellished, yet dimpling, and bubbling up a plentiful supply.

Pa Gladden's dark mood fell from him. With the uplift of the fountain from under the rock his soul soared on spiritual pinions. He blessed the water before his creatures drank:

"God-God bless the spring! God keep the spring!"

Among the brownness of the rank weedstalks a woman stood expectant. She had scrambled down a footpath off the cliff, leading a stubborn pony with a strong arm. A wood-nymph, she stood there, frankeyed, rough of garb, broad, red-cheeked, and cheery. A mouth, curved and scarlet, added sweetness to features otherwise a little pronounced. This girl looked at Pa Gladden with a wonderful light in her eyes. "Ye 're Pa Gladden."

"Waal, I shorely air, my darter. Howdy, howdy? I hain't met ye afore, hev I?"

"I could n't miss ye much arter Elder Becks laid ye off so well."

"Oh, the elder sent ye, did he? I'm shorely 'bleeged ter him fer drawin' me so plain-like. Wull ye stop up an' see yer Ma Gladden a spell?"

"Mebbe I would n't like ter rest awhile," cheerfully replied the girl; "but it don't 'pear ter be a time fer visitin', Pa Gladden. I'm a-ridin' down the Valley. The elder sent me. Thar air lots o' sufferin', ain't thar?"

Pa Gladden took off his hat and wiped his brow in amazement. Who was this young creature, breathing life and health, who rode afar to seek the suffering? His doubtful look amused the girl.

"Ye don't know me, do you? The elder does. I live over Olive Ridge. I'm Dellybella Smoots."

erbout breakin' me in same ez a colt. It makes the elder opsot, an' I promised him ter ride up here to keep myself busy. Natchully I come airly an' rode quiet-like."

Further explanations were unnecessary, for the old man's heart yearned toward her. Like a message of cheer the word had gone through the Long Valley, the week before, of the spirited deed of Dellabella Smoots. All the Valley-indeed, all the county-knew the miser, Keppel Smoots. He was the only man who had held over thousands of bushels of corn, and who would not now sell a bushel even to save his tenants' cattle.

"Hit'll be vorth its veight in goold afore spring," he cackled in the market.

But his only daughter had opened up a crib, and she herself helped to load and drive a wagon-load of corn to a woman whose husband was dying and who had hungry children. More, she had stood at the cabindoor when the old man came post-haste for the recovery of it, and the tale of that encounter was told by the frightened hill woman herself.

"Her hed a gegollager an' her held 'im up, ye bet-tell he turned yeller-white an' turned tail laike a skeert dog, 'im did!"

Which gave a graphic picture to the Valley folk of the girl Dellabella's defiance with a revolver; of the neglected little maid, whose French mother had died at her birth; of the untutored girl, the old man's heiress, who had nothing to make her a marked figure save her heart of love and her splendid courage.

Before her present cheerfulness Pa Gladden's spirits rose. If ever fate seemed hard upon a woman, that one was the daughter of the greedy and miserly hill farmer. In his mind Dellabella had no right to existence because she was born a woman. Until she was old enough to rebel, he used her strength unsparingly; but after an experitence or two with her at sixteen, he allowed

Pa Gladden broke into a comfortable her to rule the household, and found that laugh.

"Shorely, shorely, I am losin' my wits, if ever I had any. I'm proud to know ye, hearin' o' ye an' yer heart o' grace. We know ye over here, an' we air allers yer friends, cl'ar from Pegram ter Sinai way. Did ye run off?"

"In a sort o' way. Pa hev been ript'arin' all week, an' I keeps outen hearin' much ez I kin. He says lots o' things ter market

rule more saving than his own, if she did feed the hill people now and then. He could not understand, nor could any one else, where she had acquired ideas of kindness, liberality, and humanity. Why had the daughter of Keppel Smoots a tender heart that responded to any cry of human or animal suffering? Why did she regard with indifference the accumulation of gold or broad acres, and ever raise her voice for

honorable deeds and good intentions? No womanly upbringing had she, the only other female in the Smoots household being a stuttering negro mammy who always stood in mortal fear of her employer. No neighbors had they, for Keppel wanted no interference. High on Olive Hill, in the sunshine, wind, dew, and rain of summer, and in the storms of winter, grew up a bright creature with her mother's name, and surely guarded by that mother's pure spirit to the noblest impulses of charity.

So roughly clad was the girl that she rarely mingled with the Valley people, confining her long rides and her ministrations of kindness to the needy ones of the hill slopes. It was from these people and among them that Elder Becks came to know her and to wonder at her. Almost as rough in speech as were they, there was always about Dellabella that splendid redeeming cheerfulness that lifted her above the world and was the reflection of her heart. It was years before the elder fully realized the strength of her character. He heard that she sometimes brought her father home from riotous revels in the county town, respectfully assisted thereto by every masculine being within hail. He learned that she took abuse patiently and without resentment, and ordered well the ways of a once slovenly household. Suddenly there drifted through the Valley a tale like a bit of farce-how Keppel Smoots had bargained with Inskeep Amrine for Dellabella, and even took up a justice of the peace and a marriage license; how the girl snatched at and tore up the license, derided the justice, and picking up Inskeep Amrine bodily, lifted him over the porch-railing, and dropped him ten feet. Thereupon the wedding was declared off by Inskeep himself, and Dellabella uttered some such decisive words upon the subject of matrimony that no other suitor for her hand had ever come forward, at least publicly.

This was the young woman with whom Pa Gladden now walked in desolated pastures. He glanced at her now and then to note the clear color in her rounded cheek, the smooth, plentiful braids of dark hair, the lovely dewiness of her large brown eyes. Her cheap gown, rough jacket, and cap but emphasized the rustic freshness of her beauty. It was her atmosphere that charmed Pa Gladden; so openly wholesome and hearty, yet so womanly and

gentle was it, that his heart went out to her with a great yearning and pity.

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"I want to ride cl'ar through this Valley up ter Sinai way," she said decidedly. Air things purty bad, Pa Gladden? How air they up Marrerbone ? "

"Wholly onaccountable," quoth Pa Gladden;" the fust time in a hull cent❜ry thet crick hez run bone-dry. The sufferin' air everywhere, but the folks on thet crick hain't no wells, ye see, dependin' ontirely on them upper springs, an' now air ez bad off ez the cattle. Some o' them hez to drive three mile fer a leetle bit o' water. It air boun' ter breed sickness, fer man must hev water, ye see, ter live at all."

"An' Bear Camp, Pa Gladden?"

"'Bout gin out the day afore yestidday. Thet air pecoolier worryin', ez Father Wister hisself declares thet Bear Camp brung down water fer all the county in thet dry spell in the thirties."

Dellabella raised her face to the northern hills. They stood gaunt and withered. Her voice was less buoyant.

"An' Leetle Dutch, Pa Gladden? How air Leetle Dutch doin'?"

"Layin' wide open in cracks," responded Pa Gladden. "Water so skeerce over thar thet Jake Borger hed ter sell one o' his cattle inter market, an' lose a heap 'count o' their bein' so thin. It air not for us to question, my darter; but oh, ef the Lord God 'd only order the rain, it would be a movin' thing! He air in the cloud an' the whirlwind an' the rainfall. Some one's cries must move him, darter; but the hull Valley air tormentin' Heaven ter fill the hill springs with rain an' send us down water."

A queer spasm passed over the girl's

face.

"It may rain any day-any day." "Please the Lord, thar 's awful sufferin' right ter hand to-day. I hev ter let Salmon Ritter drive in his cattle here to drink, an' to-morrer this spring may run dry, ez other springs hev," continued Pa Gladden, sadly enough. "It air plumb bad enough to keep me wide awake all larst night thinkin', but it may rain to-morrer, ez ye say."

They stood sorrowfully together a few moments; then the girl, flushing painfully, spoke in hesitating sentences:

"Brother Becks sets great store by yer lifted-up prayers, Pa Gladden. Would ye mind sayin' one now for rain? I'm jes

like you, Pa Gladden. My mind air workin' all the time on these folks an' the cattle. Law, Pa Gladden, I 'm only a gal, an' it 'pears laike I never could speak up in any meetin'. I hain't uster Valley folks, an' don't git to prayer-meetin's none. 'Pears laike a prayer 'd do me a heap o' good jes now."

In the sullen and brassy glare of the sun Pa Gladden's face looked white and pinched as he lifted it.

'Lord, who withholdeth the rain, look down on the sufferin' to-day. Let us hev assurance thet ye remember man in his affliction. Bless us all, an' this young sister thet air so brave to do in thy speerit o' justice an' marcy! Wrop her in the arms o' thy redeemin' an' onfoldin' love! Amen."

Dellabella's eyes were wet.

"Ye don't know how much good ye hev done me, Pa Gladden. Ye made me feel strong to do anything. I 'm ridin' down the Valley to see fer myself, to jedge fer myself. I may need some help from the Valley folk, Pa Gladden, an' I wanter ast ye ef ye wull come to me when I send fer ye. It won't be no fool's errant, but a solemn aim to do good to the people down here."

Long Pa Gladden gazed at her, his shrewd mind groping about for a clue to her words. Suddenly he looked to the north, suddenly he gasped and grew pale. A great wonder was born; something like a great terror followed. He whispered hoarsely:

"Air it true?"

She shook her head, a trifle saddened. "I think so, but I must make sure, Pa Gladden-must make sure. Ef it air true, I must make it right ter oncet. I can't let 'people suffer. You understand it. The elder knows."

Pa Gladden gazed at her with something like awe. "Dellybella, yer pa wull most suttinly hurt ye ef ye interfere with him. Thet air my solemn belief."

"Not ef I gits all ye men to stand by me," she announced as cheerfully as ever; not ef he air afeard of the lor, an' I hev witnesses. Ye see, thar air lor-breakin's a-goin' on continooal in the out-o'-the-way places up yon. Some on them pore men an' women don't know whut air right an' whut air wrong. I hain't been taught nothin', but I jes feels it somehow. I can't stand

fer wrong-doin'. I can't let folkses suffer. I wull share the larst bite with any one, anyhow."

Pa Gladden choked up as he tried to speak.

Dellybella, ye air more the Lord's child than yer daddy's. I don't hold with disobedjunce to parents, but it 'pears to me yer paw war in the hands o' Satan in this contrivin'. It explains all them fearsome happenin's with the cricks, it do. I'm feelin' more hopeful a'ready, darter. Wull ye stop ter rest a leetle, Dellybella ? "

She was mounting her pony at the fence

corner.

"No; I can't rest with the sufferin' goin' on. Ef I must holp, I must holp to oncet. Pray-pray fer rain when whut I kin do air done."

Something in Pa Gladden's breast seemed to give way as he watched the last flutter of the faded skirt out of sight. He sobbed dryly and blew his nose vigorously and long.

"The fust time I ever felt the burden o' years," he sighed; "an' it air jes from kerryin' sech ongodly sin on my mind. But the Lord"-here his martial spirit awoke -"the Lord God Almighty, the Onspeakable, air shorely raisin' up deliverance. He air armin' Dellybella to fight the wrong. He air workin' out the etarnal word in thet gal frum the hills. I can't tell whut she air aimin' to do, but I 'm standin' at her right hand when she gives the call. I hain't ez young ez I oncet war, but I kin foller the trumpet sound o' the Lord's hosts."

"Hev the gov'ment seen any rain comin'?" queried Ma Gladden, anxiously, over hot biscuit and sorghum molasses at the dinner-table. "Ye look sort o' uplifted."

"It 'pears to me," returned Pa Gladden, "thet same old ache in my lef' knee thet means rain air twistin' round a leetle. I'm hopin'. I hain't heared how the gov'ment air comin' out huntin' rain fer us, but I hev heared somethin' thet sounds like a message from heaven. I b'lieve we air goin' ter hev rain."

"We shorely do need it," said Ma Gladden, wearily. "The hand air pressin' heavy to-day. Salmon Ritter brought word, in passin', thet thar 's fever over on Leetle Dutch, an' Billy Borger's third died at sunrise."

II

THE parched earth lay white in the strange moonlight. Fast and furiously a gipsyish hill boy rode a good horse like the wind past farms and through woodlands for many miles. He stopped at Pa Gladden's stile with wild clatter and savage whoop, and surveyed with scorn the farmer's scantily clad figure at the front door.

"I got a word fer yer ear," he hallooed, "an' I hain't lightin' none, 'cause yer foxdog 'll eat me, stranger."

Pa Gladden went barefooted over the crackling turf to the fence.

"Miss Smoots warnts ye airly to-morrer up to Marrerbone Head-ye an' yer friends. Bring yer guns, an' hesh up. Thet air the

word."

Pa Gladden looked the ragged tatterdemalion over.

"Yer a nice limb, ain't ye? Whar ye boun' now?"

"Ter the big physicker at the Crossroads. Elder Becks sent me. Hit air shorely a long night ridin'"; and with another whoop the rider was away.

There was little sleep for Pa Gladden after that. He rose before the dawn and performed his morning chores with expedition. Ma Gladden heard of the proposed ride with suspicion, especially as it involved the oiling of the old shot-gun and the loading of a revolver.

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P'rhaps ye air goin' to shoot rain out o' the hills," she said dryly; "an' in these times o' trouble I don't keer to be alone an' the guns away."

"Fer oncet I'll shorely hev to leave ye," stated the farmer, tersely; "an' ef I don't bring down rain on this errant o' mine, I may be able to bring down water. It air other folks' business, Drusilly, an' we air boun' to consider other folks er the Lord 'll not consider us."

THE Olive Hill Ridge ran well out of Long Valley to a great cone called Marrowbone Head that had upon its northern sides Keppel Smoots's broad acres, vineyards, pastures, orchards, and fields. These were entirely shut off from the view of the Long Valley by a fringe of heavy woodland and also by an abrupt bit of cross ridge. From these heights came the head waters of Marrowbone, Bear Camp, and Little Dutch creeks, those watercourses that freshened

the whole northern side of the Long Valley. Of these Marrowbone was the largest and the most important. Never, in the memory of man, had it or Bear Camp gone dry in times of drought; but along its banks were now unlooked-for discomfort and even suffering. The Valley folk were ever unsuspecting of evil, but of late the people in the county town slyly remarked that Keppel Smoots was buying up the Valley cattle that had to be sold, and that his horses were as sleek and fat as ever. The hill folk knew many things, but between them and the Valley people was a great social gulf, one bridged alone by the vigilant earnestness and ministrations of Elder Becks.

Seven men the hill boy guided up Marrowbone's bridle-path the next morningseven men of the elder's own choosing. There were the two Adam Imbodys, Elder Becks, and Caius Stamats of Pegram. From the Crossroads settlement came Pa Gladden, Doc Briskett, and young Henry Norman, who was to read law in the winter. The men, even to the elder, carried shotguns, and most of their hip-pockets bulged suspiciously. They were a martial troop, but Elder Becks relied more on the weight of public sentiment that they represented than on shot-guns.

The bridle-path was steep and stony. Near the top another rider stood in wait. Tall, serious, narrow-shouldered and lantern-jawed, he sat upon his horse as one early bred to it. He wore a uniform with a large number on the cap, and presented to the eyes of the Valley men a most imposing figure.

"Thet air shorely Ben Dyke!" exclaimed Pa Gladden. "I hain't laid my eyes on him afore this fer a month o' Sundays. Regimentals on, hain't he? Must hev struck somethin' big up in Chicagy, elder." He came home on a short visit," replied the elder, smiling a little; "and I sent him up to look after Sister Smoots until we could gather together. Well, Brother Dyke, is all prepared?"

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The lean jaws worked nervously, a red flush came over the long face.

"It air a rank blamed shame!" he exclaimed savagely. "An outrage on every one in that Valley down thar. I could n't believe that any one wanted to be so mean. Jes come round here, friends an' strangers, an' see what old Kepp Smoots has been

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