Chapter 7

“Sure thing. I’m Olaf Gustafson. New around here. But I’ve heard good things about the engineer running the steam mill, if that’s yours.” He reached out with his hand as Matt stepped down from his saddle. “I’m no engineer, Sir, but just handy with a wrench and have had some experience with equipment. I am really trying to run a farm, not to different than you, I expect.”

“Call me Olaf, please. I’m not that much older than you and yes, I’m trying to start a farm; but the heat takes some getting used to, at least in these parts.” We carefully took a seat on a nearby mesquite trunk that was lying in some partial shade. Mesquite have some nasty thorns and it pays to watch where you walk and sit, near them. “I hear you used to live in Minnesota?” Matt asked.

“Yes, but my Marge’s health has become an issue, chronic bronchitis, you know. The doctor advised we move to a warmer climate, like in the New Mexico Territory, but I’m not cut out to live on some frontier. At least Texas is a state and this land is as fertile as any I have seen or ploughed.” Olaf related.

“It’s not really a frontier any more, but you’re right, it’s a territory. I served with a bunch of men from there while in the First Volunteer Cavalry during the war.” “Thankfully, it was a very short war. Wars in my homeland seemed to last forever, and nothing much ever changed.”

“Yes, it was so short that I never made it to Cuba. My troop stabled the horses in Florida until hostilities ended, then we travelled to New York where we were disbanded a couple of months later.”

“So, you rode with the ‘Rough Riders’.”

“Yeah, but only in training. Our Troop was never in the thick of it. I never got shot at either. So, there was not much glory to be earned.” “Perhaps, but you volunteered. And the only glory is in surviving any war.” He stated. “My father immigrated rather than be called up to fight for the king.”

Their discussions continued in a friendly exchange of ideas. By the time Matt left to return home, he had agreed to return the next day with his traction engine to root plough the land that Olaf had already cleared. In return, Olaf would plant ten acres of corn in a field that Matt had prepared for a new crop. The planter that Olaf owned would insure that the corn was drilled and spaced properly. Matt had no such equipment.

Two weeks later, Matt was introduced to Freya Gustafson. The occasion was at a supper in Olaf’s home to celebrate the completion of their trade. Olaf had already planted his new field in oats after the root ploughing and tilling had smoothed out the broken-up sod.

Freya was a Nordic blonde of real beauty. Her trim figure was evident despite the loose denim coveralls she wore working on the farm. Whatever she lacked in the latest fashion was more than compensated by her natural poise and athletic prowess. When Matt had first seen her ride a horse, carrying lunch to the field that her father was planting; he was smitten. So much so, that he acted unnaturally shy and reticent. After their brief meeting, he watched in wonder as she re-mounted her horse and rode away. She had only made a brief eye contact, but her pale blue eyes seemed to drill right through him. Her slight smile was the only outward sign that she felt pleased with his uncharacteristic social behaviour.