Many days, and in all kinds of weather, we rode forty and fifty miles in uncovered wagons. Many nights we shared a one-room cabin with all the mem- b ers of the family. But the greatest hardship we suffered was the lack of water. There was very little good water in the state, and the purest water was so brackish that we could hardly drink it. The more we drank the thirstier we became, and when the water was made into tea it tasted worse than when it was clear. A bath was the rarest of luxuries.
The only available fuel was buffalo manure, of which the odor permeated all our food. But despite these handicaps we were happy in our work, for we had some great meetings and many wonderful experiences.
When we reached the Black Hills we had more of this genuine campaigning. We traveled over the mountains in wagons, behind teams of horses, visit- i ng the mining-camps; and often the gullies were so deep that when our horses got into them it was al- m ost impossible to get them out. I recall with special clearness one ride from Hill City to Custer City. It was only a matter of thirty miles, but it was thoroughly exhausting; and after our meeting that same night we had to drive forty miles farther over the mountains to get the early morning train from Buffalo Gap. The trail from Custer City to Buffalo Gap was the one the animals had originally made in their journeys over the pass, and the drive in that wild region, throughout a cold, piercing October night, was an unforgetable experience. Our host at Custer City lent Miss Anthony his big buffalo over- c oat, and his wife lent hers to me. They also heated blocks of wood for our feet, and with these pro- t ections we started. A full moon hung in the sky.
The trees were covered with hoar-frost, and the cold, still air seemed to sparkle in the brilliant light.
Again Miss Anthony talked to me throughout the night--of the work, always of the work, and of what it would mean to the women who followed us; and again she fired my soul with the flame that burned so steadily in her own.
It was daylight when we reached the little sta- t ion at Buffalo Gap where we were to take the train. This was not due, however, for half an hour, and even then it did not come. The station was only large enough to hold the stove, the ticket-office, and the inevitable cuspidor. There was barely room in which to walk between these and the wall.
Miss Anthony sat down on the floor. I had a few raisins in my bag, and we divided them for breakfast.
An hour passed, and another, and still the train did not come. Miss Anthony, her back braced against the wall, buried her face in her hands and dropped into a peaceful abyss of slumber, while I walked restlessly up and down the platform. The train arrived four hours late, and when eventually we had reached our destination we learned that the min- i sters of the town had persuaded the women to give up the suffrage meeting scheduled for that night, as it was Sunday.
This disappointment, following our all-day and all-night drive to keep our appointment, aroused Miss Anthony's fighting spirit. She sent me out to rent the theater for the evening, and to have some hand-bills printed and distributed, announcing that we would speak. At three o'clock she made the concession to her seventy years of lying down for an hour's rest. I was young and vigorous, so I t rotted around town to get somebody to preside, somebody to introduce us, somebody to take up the collection, and somebody who would provide music--in short, to make all our preparations for the night meeting.
When evening came the crowd which had assem- b led was so great that men and women sat in the windows and on the stage, and stood in the flies.
Night attractions were rare in that Dakota town, and here was something new. Nobody went to church, so the churches were forced to close. We had a glorious meeting. Both Miss Anthony and I w ere in excellent fighting trim, and Miss Anthony remarked that the only thing lacking to make me do my best was a sick headache. The collection we took up paid all our expenses, the church singers sang for us, the great audience was interested, and the whole occasion was an inspiring success.
The meeting ended about half after ten o'clock, and I remember taking Miss Anthony to our hotel and escorting her to her room. I also remember that she followed me to the door and made some laughing remark as I left for my own room; but I r ecall nothing more until the next morning when she stood beside me telling me it was time for break- f ast. She had found me lying on the cover of my bed, fully clothed even to my bonnet and shoes.
I had fallen there, utterly exhausted, when I entered my room the night before, and I do not think I had even moved from that time until the moment-- n ine hours later--when I heard her voice and felt her hand on my shoulder.
After all our work, we did not win Dakota that year, but Miss Anthony bore the disappointment with the serenity she always showed. To her a failure was merely another opportunity, and I men- t ion our experience here only to show of what she was capable in her gallant seventies. But I should misrepresent her if I did not show her human and sentimental side as well. With all her detachment from human needs she had emotional moments, and of these the most satisfying came when she was listening to music. She knew nothing whatever about music, but was deeply moved by it; and I re- m ember vividly one occasion when Nordica sang for her, at an afternoon reception given by a Chicago friend in ``Aunt Susan's'' honor. As it happened, she had never heard Nordica sing until that day; a nd before the music began the great artiste and the great leader met, and in the moment of meeting became friends. When Nordica sang, half an hour later, she sang directly to Miss Anthony, looking into her eyes; and ``Aunt Susan'' listened with her own eyes full of tears. When the last notes had been sung she went to the singer and put both arms around her. The music had carried her back to her girlhood and to the sentiment of sixteen.
