B. M. Bower

“ So he waited, and smoked, and put more wood in the stove, and thought his own thoughts.
Down the bare, brown hills came another song, the howl of the gray wolf as he sniffed the coming storm. Eerie it come, and mingled with the wailing of the Wind. Olafson lifted his head and listened to the cry, and his eyes, though they still stared unseeingly, were no longer dreaming eyes; intent they were, seeing more than the ears could hear.
“That—it iss not of the dead years. It iss of the ages to come. It iss the Song of the Ages. I weel play.” ”

“ And after that he frequently rode alone to One-Man Coulee, and sat quiet by the broken stove and listened to the wonderful music which Olafson drew from the violin he handled so tenderly, caressing the strings with the light touches a mother gives to the face of a sleeping child. ”

“ For the first time since he appeared in Dry Lake, Olafson smiled, and Pink sat abashed before him. Like a gleam of sunlight on the storm reflections in a lake, it was. “Weel you tell me of a place—a hut—never mind how small and mean a hut, or cabin, if you like, where one might live in the midst of the solitude; alone weeth all the peopled wilderness——” He caught himself. as it were, from rhapsodizing, and smiled again reassuringly at Pink. “I am not mad, young friend,” he said gently. “I am weary; weary weeth the soul weariness which makes one sick for the great solitudes. ”

“ In the armchair by the window Olafson settled himself again and caressed abstractedly the whittled notches on the chair arm with those white, supple fingers, and gazed out at the hills. Pink pulled up a chair and sat down, and waited.
“It iss a wild, silent land,” said Olafson, and turned his dark, unfathomable eyes upon Pink. “You know it well, do you not?”
“Yes,” Pink answered docilely.
“Do you know of a place where it iss far from other; no person would come often; where one might live alone, and see no face, and hear no voice unless he should choose—do you know such a place?” ”

“ He was a bartender primarily, and the guests who lodged oftenest in that hotel were the men of the range land all around. They waited upon themselves as a matter of course. The duties of a porter, therefore, went hard with Mikey, but he did not say anything; and though his ears were strained to catch the laugh of derision, there was silence—the silence with which men pay tribute to death, strange femininity, and greatness.
Dry Lake, with all the self-sufficiency of little towns and little people, was not much given to paying homage to God, man, or devil. ”

“ Pink meditated for a moment. “If it’s lonesomeness you want, and straight-up-and-down God-forsakenness, I'd say, try One-Man Coulee. I wintered there once, so I know. The shack there is pretty fair, considering nobody ever lives in it if he can help himself, and the water is good. But it’s away off from the road, and except when we ride circle over there in. round-up, or the outfit uses it for a line camp, I don’t suppose three men a year ever see the shack.”
“That iss good!” The fingers of Olafson beat a nervous tattoo upon the chair. ”

“ He stopped as if his thoughts had grown too vague for speech.
“It iss enough,” he said, with haughty finality. “I am not a slave. My violin, it iss not a slave. I weel not go.”
He sat down again before the stove and brooded there, and gave no further heed to the expostulations of the man. So, finally, they drove away and left him there, the giant who refused longer to plow the furrow for hire.
When they had been gone for some time, Olafson raised his head and looked around the tiny cabin; saw Andy sitting there, and smiled vaguely upon him.
“It iss good. They are gone, and you remain ”

“ Pink and Andy carried in the supplies and unpacked them. Pink also made Olafson’s bed upon the board bunk in one corner, while Andy chopped wood with the new ax, and started a fie, and put some coffee on to boil.
“Say,” began Andy in the tone of one who has worked out a problem to its logical conclusion, “a helpless son of a gun like him ain’t going to make out very well alone, here. I’ll bet he never made a bed in his life, or washed a tin plate, or boiled a pot of coffee. We can’t hang around and be his hired girls all the time. ”

“ Always it iss money of which you speak. The peoples, they do not love the music—they love to sit weeth others and listen to Olafson, because Olafson iss the great violinist, and haff won much fame. All my life I haff played for money. ”

“ He did not make the blunder of offering them money, and they were more kindly disposed toward him because of the omission.
“Peoples I do not care to see,” he said simply. “But you gentlemen weel be always welcome. ”