The Weber Literary Journal into the same hole in the floor through which the drill had been lowered. For fully ten minutes the cable, supporting the bailer, sank slowly into the hole; then came a clanging and splashing and finally a terrible sucking as the oil rushed past the "tongue" into the bailer. Slowly the rope began to wind on its wheel and to raise the load of oil. As the oil container came from the hole Pat again reached for the "tongue" with his hook. Over to the other open hole, Pat pulled the bailer, tapped its "tongue" lighty and yelled for me to run to the end of rig and watch the oil. Before the bailer sank into the hole it threw a great quantity of water and oil all over the rig; then, sinking through the floor, it released the rest of its burden. Out of that huge, grimy, oil-greened pipe, came a stream of liquid gold, slowly seeking its way through the sage brush and the dry, hard sand. I followed it, amused at the way it paused and seemed to ponder over its course and then slowly began to travel its sage brush path. At one of its pauses, I turned back to determine how far the oil and I had traveled from the rig; and I saw that the golden stream was merely a brown-green river covered with golden scum. "Oh," I thought, "Wyoming is gray-green, brown-green and gold." As we were leaving Wyoming, I saw her waving me a green-gray good-bye with her green-gray sage brush growing in her golden sand, I heard a green-gray bird singing in the golden sunlight, and smelled faintly green-brown oil slipping under a golden cover into a golden existence. I met her green-gray and left her green-gray and gold. The lure of it all comes over me now and I repeat, "Wyoming fascinates me"; and with the smell of oil and sage brush in my nostrils, I succumb to the gold-green lure of Wyoming. Out of the dusk come the shadows, Dim forms, spectral and bare; Out of the dawn comes a promise of life, Out of the silence a prayer. 22 The Weber Literary Journal Spring Fever Ivan Jones BALM of Spring was in the air. The snow was gone; the sun shone warm; soft breezes laden with fragrant odors from moist sods twirled back and forth across the land. A mysterious something crept through the air; it filtered into a cocoon; it pervaded a swaying chrysalis; it surged forth in a burst of song from a feathered throat. Under the ground it worked; dead grasses pushed away and tender shoots poked forth. Further down through the earthy mold there was movement and sound; coverings were thrown aside; a race for light and life was started. The magic flowed on; it touched the trees and sap began to flow; it stroked the birds and they spiraled up and away to the north; it touched the drowsy calves and they raced and gamboled; it called the flowers and bade them grow; it shook the tiny grass blades and pushed them up into the light. And then it came to Man and whispered in his ear, pricked his scalp, danced over his legs and off. Then Mr. Man yawned, stretched, and settled back in his chair. Mr. Man, however, was not asleep; he was resting. He was only semi-conscious of things about him; perhaps he dozed, but he did not sleep. A long weary year it had been, and the discouragements and disappointments were many. The year had passed and taken with it the trials; it, like death, balanced up a page of life, adding up the credit, deducting the debit, then passing on. But after the balance, what? Mr. Man had finished one page of life; now a new one lay before him. It was hard work this making out the pages, and Mr. Man must rest. Ah! it was fine to sit and loaf, to close one's eyes and stretch out one's legs, to settle one's self, and, not thinking of anything in particular, to just loaf. There was plenty to do: the lawn needed raking; the stove needed cleaning; the wife wanted to go shopping. But those could wait. Mr. Man just loafed and dozed, moving not, thinking not. Mr. Man was not lazy, he was just dormant; he had Spring Fever. By and by Mr. Man got tired of just dozing. After all, loafing in mind and body was irksome if continued for very long. Yet it was so restful and easy to do nothing; and besides, Mr. Man was still rather 23