A Man for the Ages | Page 5

down at his
boots, into the tops of which his trousers have been folded. He is a
rugged, blond, bearded man with kindly blue eyes and a rather
prominent nose. There is a striking expression of power in the head and
shoulders of Samson Traylor. The breadth of his back, the size of his
wrists and hands, the color of his face betoken a man of great strength.
This thoughtful, sorrowful attitude is the only evidence of emotion
which he betrays. In a few minutes he begins to whistle a lively tune.
The boy Josiah--familiarly called Joe--sits beside his mother. He is a
slender, sweet-faced lad. He is looking up wistfully at his mother. The
little girl Betsey sits between him and her father. That evening they
stopped at the house of an old friend some miles up the dusty road to
the north. "Here we are--goin' west," Samson shouted to the man at the
door-step.
He alighted and helped his family out of the wagon. "You go right
in--I'll take care o' the oxen," said the man.
Samson started for the house with the girl under one arm and the boy
under the other. A pleasant-faced woman greeted them with a hearty
welcome at the door.
"You poor man! Come right in," she said.
"Poor! I'm the richest man in the world," said he. "Look at the gold on
that girl's head--curly, fine gold, too--the best there is. She's
Betsey--my little toy woman--half past seven years old--blue
eyes--helps her mother get tired every day. Here's my toy man
Josiah--yes, brown hair and brown eyes like Sarah--heart o' gold--helps
his mother, too--six times one year old."
"What pretty faces!" said the woman as she stooped and kissed them.
"Yes, ma'am. Got 'em from the fairies," Samson went on. "They have
all kinds o' heads for little folks, an' I guess they color 'em up with the

blood o' roses an' the gold o' buttercups an' the blue o' violets. Here's
this wife o' mine. She's richer'n I am. She owns all of us. We're her
slaves."
"Looks as young as she did the day she was married--nine years ago,"
said the woman.
"Exactly!" Samson exclaimed. "Straight as an arrow and proud! I don't
blame her. She's got enough to make her proud I say. I fall in love
again every time I look into her big, brown eyes."
The talk and laughter brought the dog into the house.
"There's Sambo, our camp follower," said Samson. "He likes us, one
and all, but he often feels sorry for us because we can not feel the joy
that lies in buried bones and the smell of a liberty pole or a gate post."
They had a joyous evening and a restful night with these old friends
and resumed their journey soon after daylight. They ferried across the
lake at Burlington and fared away over the mountains and through the
deep forest on the Chateaugay trail.
Since the Pilgrims landed between the measureless waters and the
pathless wilderness they and their descendants had been surrounded by
the lure of mysteries. It filled the imagination of the young with gleams
of golden promise. The love of adventure, the desire to explore the dark,
infested and beautiful forest, the dream of fruitful sunny lands cut with
water courses, shored with silver and strewn with gold beyond it--these
were the only heritage of their sons and daughters save the strength and
courage of the pioneer. How true was this dream of theirs gathering
detail and allurement as it passed from sire to son! On distant plains to
the west were lands more lovely and fruitful than any of their vision; in
mountains far beyond was gold enough to gild the dome of the heavens,
as the sun was wont to do at eventide, and silver enough to put a fairly
respectable moon in it. Yet for generations their eyes were not to see,
their hands were not to touch these things. They were only to push their
frontier a little farther to the west and hold the dream and pass it on to
their children.

Those early years of the nineteenth century held the first days of
fulfillment. Samson and Sarah Traylor had the old dream in their hearts
when they first turned their faces to the West. For years Sarah had
resisted it, thinking of the hardships and perils in the way of the mover.
Samson, a man of twenty-nine when he set out from his old home, was
said to be "always chasing the bird in the bush." He was never content
with the thing in hand. There were certain of their friends who
promised to come and join them when, at last, they should have found
the land of plenty. But most of the group