The Land of Lure: A Story of the Columbia River Basin

1920 PRESS OF SMITH-KINNEY COMPANY Tacoma, Wash.
Copyright, 1920 By ELLIOTT SMITH
DEDICATED TO MARIE SMITH—HIS WIFE
Although I was one of those who Tried, failed and went away to try and forget, if possible, her unfaltering faithfulness, and endurance, made it possible for me to see and feel the things that I have written in this—HER BOOK.
—ELLIOTT SMITH.

The early March wind was blowing with its usual force, and white wisps of clouds were scurrying across the barren waste that lay between the rough canyon, through which the raging torrents of the Columbia River forced its way to the Pacific Ocean, and the range of hills thirty miles farther south. The clouds seemed to mount higher, and take on greater speed, while crossing this scene of desolation, and graveyard of buried hopes, as if anxious to leave behind them the glare of the desert sands, and the appealing eyes of the few unfortunate homesteaders, who were compelled to remain on their claims until they had complied with the demands made by a beneficient Government before they could become sole owners of the spot upon which many of them were now making their last efforts for a home of their own.
The ever present sage brush and tufts of scant bunch grass, dwaft by the ages of drouth and the pitiless glare of the hot sun's rays, bowed before each gust of the sand ladened wind and emitted weird and unearthly sounds, as if the deported denizens of the desert were warning the white man against the hopeless task of trying to wrest from the jack rabbit and coyote the haunts over which they had held undisputed sway for ages.
Deserted shacks, formerly the homes of earlier settlers, broken fences posts, with tangled strands of barbed wire, each told their story of a struggle for existence, defeat and departure, more pitiful than all the stories of Indian massacres ever written. Here was a battle field, the opposing forces being poverty, courage and determination, arrayed against the elements.