Noy Holland from Milk River

 

Their fathers slept with their heads in their hands.  They wintered over.  They had wintered over since earliest green, through tilling and planting and harvest.  They slept in their chairs with their boots on.  By god, they would die with their boots on, as their people had before them.   Their people had come to this country in wagons, dragging a rope to keep to a straight path across the unbroken plain.  Hearty stock, pioneers, blood in every step they were taking.  They made good, proved up.  Came to this.

 

New York Tyrant Vol. I No. II