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[Illustration]




  The Conquest

  _The Story of a <DW64> Pioneer_

  BY THE PIONEER

  1913
  THE WOODRUFF PRESS
  Lincoln, Nebr.




Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1913,
  by the Woodruff Bank Note Co., in the office of the
    Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.

First Edition, May 1, 1913




_To the_
_HONORABLE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON_




_INTRODUCTORY_


_This is a true story of a <DW64> who was discontented and the
circumstances that were the outcome of that discontent._




INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS


                                      PAGE

  Became number one in the opening      56

  Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to
    celebrate      113

  Made a declaration that he would build a town      128

  Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production
    of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on
    either side were great mountains of sand      133

  On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek
    their level      140

  The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader      145

  Everything grew so rank, thick and green      160

  Had put 280 acres under cultivation      177

  Bringing stock, household goods and plenty of money      192

  Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in
    Tipp county      209

  As the people were all now riding in autos      241

  A beautiful townsite where trees stood      251

  Ernest Nicholson takes a hand      256

  The crops began to wither      289

  The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I
    cared for the stock      304




LIST OF CHAPTERS


                                              PAGE

        I Discontent--Spirit of the Pioneer      9

       II Leaving Home--A Maiden      18

      III Chicago, Chasing a Will-O-The-Wisp      24

       IV The P----n Company      34

        V "Go West Young Man"      48

       VI "And Where is Oristown?"      54

      VII Oristown, the "Little Crow" Reservation      61

     VIII Far Down the Pacific--The Proposal      67

       IX The Return--Ernest Nicholson      72

        X The Oklahoma Grafter      74

       XI Dealin' in Mules      79

      XII The Homesteaders      86

     XIII Imaginations Run Amuck      91

      XIV The Surveyors      94

       XV "Which Town Will the R.R. Strike?"      104

      XVI Megory's Day      108

     XVII Ernest Nicholson's Return      117

    XVIII Comes Stanley, the Chief Engineer      123

      XIX In the Valley of the Keya Paha      126

       XX The Outlaw's Last Stand      132

      XXI The Boom      134

     XXII The President's Proclamation      140

    XXIII Where the <DW64> Fails      142

     XXIV And the Crowds Did Come--The Prairie Fire      148

      XXV The Scotch Girl      153

     XXVI The Battle      164

    XXVII The Sacrifice--Race Loyalty      168

   XXVIII The Breeds      175

     XXIX In the Valley of the Dog Ear      182

      XXX Ernest Nicholson Takes a Hand      186

     XXXI The McCralines      193

    XXXII A Long Night      201

   XXXIII The Survival of the Fittest      208

    XXXIV East of State Street      216

     XXXV An Uncrowned King      233

    XXXVI A Snake in the Grass      241

   XXXVII The Progressives and the Reactionaries      251

  XXXVIII Sanctimonious Hypocrisy      265

    XXXIX Beginning of the End      273

       XL The Mennonites      280

      XLI The Drouth      284

     XLII A Year of Coincidences      294

    XLIII "And Satan Came Also"      297




The Conquest




CHAPTER I

DISCONTENT--SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER


Good gracious, has it been that long? It does not seem possible; but it
was this very day nine years ago when a fellow handed me this little
what-would-you-call-it, Ingalls called it "Opportunity." I've a notion
to burn it, but I won't--not this time, instead, I'll put it down here
and you may call it what you like.

    Master of human destinies am I.
    Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait.
    Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate
    Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
    Hovel, and mart, and palace--soon or late
    I knock unbidden once at every gate.
    If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before
    I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
    And they who follow me reach every state
    Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
    Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
    Condemned to failure, penury, and woe
    Seek me in vain and uselessly implore,
    I answer not, and I return no more.

Yes, it was that little poem that led me to this land and sometimes I
wonder well, I just wonder, that's all. Again, I think it would be
somewhat different if it wasn't for the wind. It blows and blows until
it makes me feel lonesome and so far away from that little place and the
country in southern Illinois.

I was born twenty-nine years ago near the Ohio River, about forty miles
above Cairo, the fourth son and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by
the name of Devereaux--which, of course, is not my name but we will call
it that for this sketch. It is a peculiar name that ends with an "eaux,"
however, and is considered an odd name for a <DW52> man to have, unless
he is from Louisiana where the French crossed with the Indians and
slaves, causing many Louisiana <DW64>s to have the French names and many
speak the French language also. My father, however, came from Kentucky
and inherited the name from his father who was sold off into Texas
during the slavery period and is said to be living there today.

He was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land and was, therefore,
considered fairly "well-to-do," that is, for a <DW52> man. The county
in which we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles, and took its
name from an old fort that used to do a little cannonading for the
Federal forces back in the Civil War.

The farming in this section was hindered by various disadvantages and at
best was slow, hard work. Along the valleys of the numerous creeks and
bayous that empty their waters into the Ohio, the soil was of a rich
alluvium, where in the early Spring the back waters from the Ohio
covered thousands of acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding
left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and clay which greatly
added to the soil's productivity. One who owned a farm on these bottoms
was considered quite fortunate. Here the corn stalks grew like saplings,
with ears dangling one and two to a stalk, and as sound and heavy as
green blocks of wood.

The heavy rains washed the loam from the hills and deposited it on these
bottoms. Years ago, when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the
excessive rainfall had washed away the loose surface, the highlands were
considered most valuable for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable
as the bottoms now are. Farther back from the river the more rolling the
land became, until some sixteen miles away it was known as the hills,
and here, long before I was born, the land had been very valuable. Large
barns and fine stately houses--now gone to wreck and deserted--stood
behind beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old oaks, where
rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made their homes, and sometimes a
raccoon or opossum founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days.
The orchards, formerly the pride of their owners, now dropped their
neglected fruit which rotted and mulched with the leaves. The fields,
where formerly had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy and
clover, were now grown over and enmeshed in a tangled mass of weeds and
dew-berry vines; while along the branches and where the old rail fences
had stood, black-berry vines had grown up, twisting their thorny stems
and forming a veritable hedge fence. These places I promised mother to
avoid as I begged her to allow me to follow the big boys and carry their
game when they went hunting.

In the neighborhood and throughout the country there had at one time
been many  farmers, or ex-slaves, who had settled there after