ilomene explained. The
"fence" was merely a string of barbed wire, miles long, which marked the
boundary of our territory and separated it from the Indian reservation.

I glanced at the paper announcing the great opening of the Lower Brule
by the United States Government which was to take place that fall, some
hundred thousand acres of homestead land. Here we were at the very door
of that Opening and had to be told about it by eastern newspapers, so
completely cut off from the world we were.

"What good will that do us?" practical Ida Mary inquired.

"It will help develop this section of the country and bring up the price
of our land!"

That was worth considering, but Ida Mary and I were not dealing in
futures just then. We were too busy putting away winter food--corn and
the chokecherries we had found along a dry creek bank; patching the tar
paper on the shack. Like most of the settlers we were busier than
cranberry merchants, getting ready for the long winter. But there is a
great satisfaction in doing simple, fundamental things with one's hands.

That evening, however, I picked up the pamphlet on the Opening which
Wilomene had left. It announced that the United States Government would
open the Lower Brule reservation to entry for homesteading on a given
date. At this time any American citizen eligible as a claimholder could
register "as an entry" in the Drawing for a homestead. And after the
registrations were closed there would be a "drawing out" up to the
number of claims on the reservation. Eligible persons were to register
at the United States Land Offices most conveniently located--and
designated by the General Land Office in Washington--for a
quarter-section of the land.

The next day I was a stage passenger on the return trip to Pierre to get
detailed information on the Lower Brule Opening from the United States
Land Office. With a new and reckless abandon I listed the expenditure
and received a prompt reply from the proof magnate. "I note an
unauthorized expense of $10--trip to Pierre. You are getting to be an
unruly outlaw of a printer."

Then I forgot the coming Land Opening. There were days, that early fall,
when McClure was lifeless and I would work all day without seeing a
human being anywhere over the plains. In the drowsiness of
mid-afternoons the clicking of my type falling into the stick and the
pounding of the form with the mallet would echo through the broad
silence.

And one day in Octob