ilver Falls Project, a fine body of rolling land, suitable for either
grazing or farming. It was laid out in convenient tracts for
homesteads. Each parcel was a half section. If there was rough land
adjoining a tract, that was included for good measure. It was opened
for settlers and many came, but none stayed. There was no central
organization to hold them--no church to rally around--no one
established a central trading post--no outstanding personage to
collect and hold, as is always the case in community building in
America. Then, too, there were no roads; therefore no market outlet.
The road over which we are going, is the only inlet and there's no
outlet. A half mile of blasting and building would have made an
entrance to the Tranquil Meadows district and to trails and highways
that led to market towns in two states, but the blasting and building
was never done. The Silver Falls Project never grew big enough to make
its decline noticeable.

"Of those who came to try it out, only four stuck to a final deed. Two
of these are at this end of the project. Carter runs a filling station
at the forks of the road and Withrow, next to him, hunts, traps, and
plays a fiddle. I acquired the two tracts at the far end of the
project and Gillis, our enterprising neighbor, owns two parcels next
to me and operates the abandoned tracts under grazing allotments. This
is a real ranch; small, as compared to others, but modeled as a farm
in the East, for Gillis is a real farmer. I make the guess that when
you grow homesick and tired of the loneliness at my place you will
headquarter at the Gillis place, in fact I have made that kind of
arrangement with them. They have a telephone, a radio, a phonograph,
and take plenty of newspapers and magazines, and, best of all, there
is a kindly, enterprising woman there to manage, to cook and can the
fruits and vegetables, and do the homey things that makes life fit to
live.

"They have cows, chickens, turkeys, pigs, and raise plenty of feed.
But they are an oasis in a desert. Except for our place, they have no
neighbors within fifteen miles. Mrs. Gillis is a worker and a planner.
She sells pigs, turkeys and calves, in Laramie and Cheyenne, more than
one hundred miles away; she has a working arrangement with the
filling station down at the roadside, whereby they sell quite a lot
of her canned stuff and preserves. She's always got something to sell
and sells it, market or no market.

"I depend on