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

by Elliott Smith

CHAPTER V.

As the season approached for the exodus of homesteaders for the harvest field, hurried preparations for the departure was made, the cistern was completed, huge piles of sage brush was gathered for fuel and placed conveniently near the house. Thus was Travis Gully's time taken up for the next few days following the arrival of the campers at the well. Many were the inquiring glances that were cast in the direction of the group of glistening white tents. Parties of men could be seen going and coming, morning and night, some walking, others mounted or in vehicles. Once a band of what seemed to be loose horses was seen to be approaching the home of the Gullys, but when within a short distance of the house a mounted man, emerging from the tent village, followed them and turned them westward, soon being lost in the sea of gray sagebrush, but not before it was discovered that it was a pack train, going out for supplies.

At last the day came when the mystery of their purpose was to be solved. On his first trip to the well for water with which to fill his now completed cistern, Gully noted a fact that had been overlooked by him on the occasion of their visit to his home; each wagon and all the equipment was stamped U. S. G. S. This fact, however, left no clue in his crude mind as to who they were, and not until he saw one of the party with an instrument on a tripod, mounted upon a small knoll near the road to his home, did he awake to the realization of the fact that they had something to do with a survey.

The task of filling the cistern consumed many days, and required numberless trips to and from the well. During these frequent visits the acquaintance of some of the men around camp was made and the information was volunteered by one of their number that they were a party of United States Geological Surveyors sent out by the Government to make a survey of the desert with the view to ascertaining if it was feasible to irrigate the region by gravity from some of the numerous lakes and streams that lay hidden away in the mountains that surrounded the entire valley.

Irrigation! So this was the reason for all this activity. Gully's heart leaped at the sound of this magic word. Here was the realization of his dream. It was to be—and why not? Was not the Government making the survey, had not the authorities awakened to the fact that here was a country of some seven hundred and fifty thousand acres of valuable land laying idle. Why not convert it into homes for thousands, who, like himself, though less venturesome, were dreaming of a home of their own. With gladdened heart, forgetful of poverty and past disappointments, he hurriedly filled his barrels with water and drove home eager to tell his wife the good news.

"I knew it was coming," he told her. Had he not talked with the men who had been sent to bring about this transformation? "Just think, Minnie," he exclaimed, "we are among the first. Others may follow, but we have our land."

Water, bright sparkling water, flowing in rippling streams; all they wanted; no more wearisome trips across the dry parched waste, with the constant drum, drum of the empty barrels dinning in his ears—no more return trips with the barrels filled at starting, but now sadly depleted, and the wagon box reeking and dripping with the waste caused by the splash, splash of the precious fluid. Irrigation—and a home of his own.

A few days after the discovery of the object of the party encamped at the well was made, it became generally known, and the glad news was being discussed in every home throughout the sparsely settled neighborhood. Men could be seen loitering around the camp or mingling with the surveyors in the field, eagerly gathering such scraps of information as was given out and hastily departing to add fuel to the already inflamed imagination of the settlers.

It never occurred to them that even though the survey resulted in a favorable report, it would probably take years before the accomplishment of the purpose for which it was being made, and the added strain of uncertainty, waiting and watching made the life of the homesteader more unbearable.

When the morning came for the departure of the little band of harvesters for the broad wheatfields of the big bend country, it was an unusual sight that greeted the vision. It had been previously arranged that they should assemble at the well and make that the starting point for their journey. Small puffs of dust might be seen arising miles away, each marking the approach of one or more of the sturdy homesteaders, many of whom had made the trip the fall before and knew of the many long hours of toil that awaited them. Yet they were marching forth, with grim determination to put as many hours into each day as mortal man could stand. It was their harvest as well as the wheat growers; their season for retrieving the few hard-earned dollars lost in seeding and planting during the spring just passed; theirs, to accumulate the necessary food and clothing for the wives and little ones they were leaving behind in the desert, to watch longingly for their return when the harvest was ended.