The land of the straddle-bug was gray and sad.
One day a cold rain mixed with sleet came on, and when the sun set,
partly clear, the Coteaux to the west rose like a marble wall,
crenelated and shadowed in violet, radiant as the bulwarks of some
celestial city; but it made the thoughtful husband look keenly at the
thin walls of his cabin and wonder where his fuel was to come from. In
this unsheltered land, where coal was high and doctors far away, winter
was a dreaded enemy.
The depopulation of the newly claimed land began. Some of the girls went
back never to return; others settled in Boomtown, with intent to visit
their claims once a month through the winter; but a few, like the
Burkes, remained in their little shanties, which looked still more like
dens when sodded to the eaves. The Clayton girls flitted away to
Wheatland, leaving the plain desolately lonely to Bailey. One by one the
huts grew smokeless and silent, until at last the only English-speaking
woman within three miles was old Mrs. Bussy, who swore and smoked a
pipe, and talked like a man with bronchitis.
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