Publisher's Synopsis
Near Rattlesnake Creek, on the side of a little draw stood Canute's shanty. North, east, south, stretched the level Nebraska plain of long rust-red grass that undulated constantly in the wind. Tothe west the ground was broken and rough, and a narrow strip of timber wound along the turbid, muddy little stream that had scarcely ambition enough to crawl over its black bottom. If it had notbeen for the few stunted cottonwoods and elms that grew along its banks, Canute would have shothimself years ago. The Norwegians are a timber-loving people, and if there is even a turtle pond witha few plum bushes around it they seem irresistibly drawn toward it.As to the shanty itself, Canute had built it without aid of any kind, for when he first squattedalong the banks of Rattlesnake Creek there was not a human being within twenty miles. It was builtof logs split in halves, the chinks stopped with mud and plaster. The roof was covered with earthand was supported by one gigantic beam curved in the shape of a round arch. It was almostimpossible that any tree had ever grown in that shape. The Norwegians used to say that Canute hadtaken the log across his knee and bent it into the shape he wished. There were two rooms, or ratherthere was one room with a partition made of ash saplings interwoven and bound together like bigstraw basket work. In one corner there was a cook stove, rusted and broken. In the other a bedmade of unplaned planks and poles. It was fully eight feet long, and upon it was a heap of dark bedclothing. There was a chair and a bench of colossal proportions. There was an ordinary kitchencupboard with a few cracked dirty dishes in it, and beside it on a tall box a tin washbasin. Under thebed was a pile of pint flasks, some broken, some whole, all empty. On the wood box lay a pair ofshoes of almost incredible dimensions. On the wall hung a saddle, a gun, and some ragged clothing, conspicuous among which was a suit of dark cloth, apparently new, with a paper collar carefullywrapped in a red silk handkerchief and pinned to the sleeve. Over the door hung a wolf and abadger skin, and on the door itself a brace of thirty or forty snake skins whose noisy tails rattledominously every time it opened. The strangest things in the shanty were the wide windowsills. Atfirst glance they looked as though they had been ruthlessly hacked and mutilated with a hatchet, buton closer inspection all the notches and holes in the wood took form and shape. There seemed to bea series of pictures. They were, in a rough way, artistic, but the figures were heavy and labored, asthough they had been cut very slowly and with very awkward instruments. There were men plowingwith little horned imps sitting on their shoulders and on their horses' heads. There were men prayingwith a skull hanging over their heads and little demons behind them mocking their attitudes. Therewere men fighting with big serpents, and skeletons dancing together. All about these pictures wereblooming vines and foliage such as never grew in this world, and coiled among the branches of thevines there was always the scaly body of a serpent, and behind every flower there was a serpent'shead. It was a veritable Dance of Death by one who had felt its sting. In the wood box lay someboards, and every inch of them was cut up in the same manner. Sometimes the work was very rudeand careless, and looked as though the hand of the workman had trembled. It would sometimeshave been hard to distinguish the men from their evil geniuses but for one fact, the men were alwaysgrave and were either toiling or praying, while the devils were always smiling and dancing. Several ofthese boards had been split for kindling and it was evident that the artist did not value his workhigh
