Cole of Spyglass Mountain

by Arthur Preston Hankins

It was very early in the morning; the sun had not yet risen. The air was cool and the strips of steel that would sprawl eventually to all corners of the continent were wet with dew. Birds were singing in the treetops. The blood of the earth throbbed with the tonic of spring.

Joshua trudged along, whistling. His doubts had vanished with the birth of a new day, and he thrilled at thought of his grand adventure. He came to a pool of rain water in which he washed his hands and face, allowing the soft morning breeze to dry them. Then he walked on and on, and at times he felt like running from the sheer joy of living, but was reminded that he was now a man and must carry himself sedately.

He came to where the buildings were few and far between, and smaller and more disreputable and smoke-stained they became as he forged on. And now far ahead, in a flat open space, he saw the near-white tents of a camp.

This quickened his steps despite his new religion of decorum, and before long he was approaching his destination, and saw men washing in tin basins that were set on a bench beside one of the larger tents. From a listing chimney that topped this tent blue smoke arose and was whipped away on the breeze. And as the adventurer drew closer the odors of cooking that floated to his nostrils reminded him that he was hungry.

There were several tents. One of them—a large one—had no walls, and under the canopy top Joshua saw horses and mules eating hay and grain and switching their tails in anticipation of the onslaught of flies which would begin when the morning was a little older. The clanking of the metal parts of their harness Joshua somehow liked to hear. It suggested all that he hoped might lie before him in the West.

The men were now going into the dining tent, one by one, or in pairs. All were within before the boy entered the camp. He saw nobody now, but from the tent came rough voices and an occasional burst of coarse laughter, mingling with the metallic sounds of knives and forks.

Though the exterior of the camp was deserted, Joshua was seized by a sudden backwardness. For worlds he would not have gone to the door of that dining tent, and he feared to move about lest some one challenge him. So he walked away to a respectful distance and sat down on the ground, watching the horses and mules in the stable tent and speculating over the uses of the various implements that he saw about.

For some little time he sat there, then the men began to come from the tent singly and in small groups. Two or three of them glanced his way, and this made him rise and move farther off. He decided that he was foolish to have come. He dreaded ridicule, and these tramplike workmen looked capable of any form of rude word-torture. He would go back to the city and wait until Madge came to the skating rink that afternoon.

And then as he cast a last look toward the camp he saw her coming from a small tent in the rear of the dining tent. Next instant he heard her calling.

She came to meet him as he turned and made slow steps in her direction. The men had for the most part gone to the stable tent, and before the girl reached Joshua somebody began pounding a ringing tattoo on a large triangle. Then all of the men trooped to the tent, and were leading forth the teams as Madge began surprised remarks over his coming.