Part Two - ONE

by Willa Cather

　　It was two years before Niel Herbert came home again, and when hecame the first acquaintance he met was Ivy Peters. Ivy got on thetrain at one of the little stations east of Sweet Water, where hehad been trying a case. As he strolled through the Pullman henoticed among the passengers a young man in a grey flannel suit,with a silk shirt of one shade of blue and a necktie of another.After regarding this urban figure from the rear for a few seconds,Ivy glanced down at his own clothes with gloating satisfaction. Itwas a hot day in June, but he wore the black felt hat and ready-made coat of winter weight he had always affected as a boy. Hestepped forward, his hands thrust in his pockets.

　　"Hullo, Niel. Thought I couldn't be mistaken."

　　Niel looked up and saw the red, bee-stung face, with its twopermanent dimples, smiling down at him in contemptuous jocularity.

　　"Hello, Ivy. I couldn't be mistaken in you, either."

　　"Coming home to go into business?"

　　Niel replied that he was coming only for the summer vacation.

　　"Oh, you're not through school yet? I suppose it takes longer tomake an architect than it does to make a shyster. Just as well;there's not much building going on in Sweet Water these days.You'll find a good many changes."

　　"Won't you sit down?" Niel indicated the neighbouring chair. "Youare practising law?"

　　"Yes, along with a few other things. Have to keep more than oneiron in the fire to make a living with us. I farm a little on theside. I rent that meadow-land on the Forrester place. I'vedrained the old marsh and put it into wheat. My brother John doesthe work, and I boss the job. It's quite profitable. I pay them agood rent, and they need it. I doubt if they could get alongwithout. Their influential friends don't seem to help them outmuch. Remember all those chesty old boys the Captain used to driveabout in his democrat wagon, and ship in barrels of Bourbon for?Good deal of bluff about all those old-timers. The panic put themout of the game. The Forresters have come down in the world likethe rest. You remember how the old man used to put it over us kidsand not let us carry a gun in there? I'm just mean enough to liketo shoot along that creek a little better than anywhere else, now.There wasn't any harm in the old Captain, but he had the delusionof grandeur. He's happier now that he's like the rest of us anddon't have to change his shirt every day." Ivy's unblinkinggreenish eyes rested upon Niel's haberdashery.

　　Niel, however, did not notice this. He knew that Ivy wanted himto show disappointment, and he was determined not to do so. Heenquired about the Captain's health, pointedly keeping Mrs.Forrester's name out of the conversation.

　　"He's only about half there . . . seems contented enough. . . .She takes good care of him, I'll say that for her. . . . She seeksconsolation, always did, you know . . . too much French brandy . . .but she never neglects him. I don't blame her. Real work comeshard on her."

　　Niel heard these remarks dully, through the buzz of an idea. Hefelt that Ivy had drained the marsh quite as much to spite him andMrs. Forrester as to reclaim the land. Moreover, he seemed to knowthat until this moment Ivy himself had not realized how much thatconsideration weighed with him. He and Ivy had disliked each otherfrom childhood, blindly, instinctively, recognizing each otherthrough antipathy, as hostile insects do. By draining the marshIvy had obliterated a few acres of something he hated, though hecould not name it, and had asserted his power over the people whohad loved those unproductive meadows for their idleness and silverybeauty.

　　After Ivy had gone on into the smoker, Niel sat looking out at thewindings of the Sweet Water and playing with his idea. The OldWest had been settled by dreamers, great-hearted adventurers whowere unpractical to the point of magnificence; a courteousbrotherhood, strong in attack but weak in defence, who couldconquer but could not hold. Now all the vast territory they hadwon was to be at the mercy of men like Ivy Peters, who had neverdared anything, never risked anything. They would drink up themirage, dispel the morning freshness, root out the great broodingspirit of freedom, the generous, easy life of the great land-holders. The space, the colour, the princely carelessness of thepioneer they would destroy and cut up into profitable bits, as thematch factory splinters the primeval forest. All the way from theMissouri to the mountains this generation of shrewd young men,trained to petty economies by hard times, would do exactly what IvyPeters had done when he drained the Forrester marsh.