WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

The Edmonton Journal regularly set aside the third column on its editorial page for submissions from freelance writers, of which Cruickshank was an occasional contributor over the years. His columns frequently focused on his life growing up as a homesteader with his father and brother who had all immigrated from Scotland in 1905 to Barrhead, Canada along the famed Klondike Trail, just to the northwest of Fort Edmonton.

Here’s one last The Third Column by Cruickshank to end the month and start the new year!

The Third Column

by Harold F. Cruickshank • Edmonton Journal, Edmonton, Canada • Thursday, 1 April 1954

Spring Around the Corner

So the great Burns opened his poem. “Up In The Morning Early.” I imagine that Rabbie must have written this poem one wild March, for his next stanza pretty well describes the conditions hereabouts when:

Watching the antics of the sparrows of late I have noticed quite a bit of confusion.

Two weeks ago. when there were marked signs of an early spring, a mated pair of sparrows decided to take up residence in a “bungalow” originally built for the tree swallows. Mrs. Sparrow fussed about, tossing bits of last year’s old nest out the front door, and began building a new one.

Mr Sparrow was very busy putting on quite a show of fidelity. An unattached hen was determined to break up the home, but Mr. Sparrow chased her away repeatedly.

When at last Mrs. Sparrow elected to go into residence, it was amusing to observe that the ol’ boy was much less severe on the intruding “vampire” he. He made some sporadic, token counterattacks, but these he soon gave up. It was very early in the season, and I imagine that he wasn’t too sure of the permanency of his new union with the incumbent Mrs. Sparrow Be that as it may, the “hussy” was permitted to perch quite close to the new home—just in case.

Then, alas, the “cauld” wind came to “drive sairly” down over the sector, and with the sharp drop in temperatures, the sparrow marriage seemed to I dissolve automatically. No doubt the sparrows were the victims of an attack of premature spring fever. They have “flown the coop!”

The sparrows are not the only creatures to have fallen victims to the false spring. Many an overcoat has been tossed into the moth-proof bag, and topcoats substituted. As a result, presumably, many of our fellow citizens are barking and sneezing.

* * *

Down through the ages. March has been one of the most maligned months of the year, and not without some justification.

Perhaps the best that may be said for it is that it is the natal month of some very important persons, and that it is closer to April and May than are Decemoer and January. As well, it is the source of a pretty well frayed cliche: “Spring is just around the corner.”

That is a fact . . . Spring is just around the corner. Don’t ask me what corner, but it is there somewhere. At this season of the year, forgetting the sparrows for the moment, I think back to the arrival of the ducks and geese and other harbingers of spring—the songbirds. There were times, of course, when the sharp-witted geese and ducks miscalculated, or were wholly deceived by the false spring, which had decided to flirt with winter a while longer.

Venturesome ducks and geese frequently poured down on the lakes almost before the Ice was clear. Wherever there were patches of open water, you would find the feathered swimmers, their chorus disturbing the air. Their voice sounds, more than any other factor but the sun, seemed to have more influence on the reawakening of springtime in the wilderness.

* * *

Now and then, alas, they, too, became victims of Nature’s fickleness. When sharp temperatures would tighten up the ice, and fierce blizzards slant down on a formation of huddled ducks or geese, the effect was very depressing on human beings. We felt that Nature had deceived us, cheated us. But as I look back visualizing those periods of uncertainty, I think it was all for the best. When the true spring came with startling suddenness, as surely it will return this year, it was doubly welcome. The better always seems much better after we have tasted and accepted the bitter.

Parting with March and its legerdemain should be an occasion for rejoicing. With the dawning of April we may in earnest begin to apply the age-worn cliche: “Spring is just around the corner!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. King, the great stallion Dal had fist glimpsed when he arrived in Sun Bear Valley, has returned and Dal is determined to try and breed one of his mares with the great one, but an unsavory outsider has arrived in the valley to cause trouble and sets his sights on Nan.

From the May 1947 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Wild King Savagery!”

Dal Baldwin, first settler in Sun Bear Valley, meets the challenge of a renegade seeking to despoil his homestead!

• Download “Wild King Savagery” (May 1947, Range Riders Western)

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. Doc gets injured as the Sun Bear Valley men work to build a cozy cabin for Phil and school-marm Nan to move into when they finally tie the knot, but Bart Manning, one of the Boxed D wranglers, has eyes for Nan and sets about to cause deadly mischief.

From the March 1947 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Frontier Courage!”

Red tongues of fire threaten the security of Dal Baldwin and the settlers of Sun Bear Valley, but they meet the challenge!

• Download “Frontier Courage” (March 1947, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday for one last tale of the Pioneer Folk of Sun Bear Valley!

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

The Edmonton Journal regularly set aside the third column on its editorial page for submissions from freelance writers, of which Cruickshank was an occasional contributor over the years. His columns frequently focused on his life growing up as a homesteader with his father and brother who had all immigrated from Scotland in 1905 to Barrhead, Canada along the famed Klondike Trail, just to the northwest of Fort Edmonton.

It’s Wednesday, so here’s another of Cruickshank’s Third Columns—this time Cruickshank tells of his first Christmas homesteading.

The Third Column

by Harold F. Cruickshank • Edmonton Journal, Edmonton, Canada • Tuesday, 23 December 1952

Homestead Christmas

MY FIRST Christmas Day in the bush country was intensely cold. But let me begin with Christmas Eve. I had been at the home of our nearest neighbors for a week, doing chores during the absence of the men of the family in Edmonton. My father had joined the party. In fact it a was our team of horses which made that trip, then a long, cold one over inadequate trails—our team, and the neighbors’ sleigh.

I cut firewood, fed and watered the stock. These duties today might sound light, but then, they involved much effort. I had to cut a fresh hole in heavy creek ice each morning, for water for the stock. When the creek suddenly went dry, we had to melt snow for ail the stock, as the supply in the well was only sufficient for household requirements.

* * *

It was a time of homesickness for me; so far away from home, this first Christmas season in the wilds.

In the crisp, early dusk of Christmas Eve, as the skies were changing from their sharp claret, or plum shades to that steel-grayish purple which in winter precedes the cold, metallic blue of night. I had a scarcely finished my evening chores when I heard the musical jangle of sleigh bells and the screech and grind of sleigh runners.

The folk were indeed on schedule, and how I thrilled to it!

After taking over the team for stabling and care, I joined the happy group in the shack, where many gifts were being passed round.

As a boy of only thirteen, I could have been excused a bit of covetousness as I saw those gifts being handed out, with none for me. At last, though, one of the party, a man I had never previously met, a contractor in town who had just come out to be with his wife and daughter, took from his pocket an old dollar watch and gave it to me.

I was speechless. This was my very first watch and my only present on my first wilderness Christmas away from home. How I treasured that worn old timepiece!

Supper over, we were asked to sing some Christmas songs and hymns, and were invited to join our neighbors for Christmas dinner the following day.

Then came the time to hitch up and move back to our own shack.

Never did I see a more uninviting place—a colder shack! I can still remember the sight of its two small south windows, leering at the bush from either side of the wretched door.

A day or so later, I brought in a huge sack of Christmas mail for all the neighbors. and was severely kicked and cut up by the wild bronc I rode.

Out of the batch of mail there was one piece for me—a large and beautiful Christmas card from my mother overseas.

* * *

I was too busy for a time to pay much attention to this card, as I nursed my leg injury, and life indeed seemed very dreary as winter intensified.

Now and then, though, the sun would burst forth for a moment or so, and here and there on hillsides or in valleys one saw many beautiful Christmas cards—patches of sheer beauty: tinseled clumps of handsome birches, flanked by red willows, and backed by the inevitable and grandiose spruce belts. It was a glittering panorama, whose stage appearance was often all too brief.

Still, I treasured that lone Christmas card. A few years later, when the good news came that my mother and the other members of our large family were coming to join us, I hit upon a plan to use the lovely card as a greeting token. I went into a stand of fine, small, silvery dry spruce and selected four slender sticks for legs for a stand for the card. To the four which I had cut to size, or so I thought, I nailed the end of a dried-apple box, but to this, my first creation, my first attempt at carpentry, wobbled. I began to cut this leg and that until my original stand of about three feet in height, measured only about sixteen inches. I decided to call a halt, placing a chip under the too-short leg.

I cannot recall that my mother even noticed the effort on her arrival, but it was an expression of the Christmas spirit . . . a very sorry job indeed, but well intended.

Today in the clamor and glamor of the Christmas season, I often think that somewhere along the way we have slipped away from this spirit which first motivated the celebration and observance of Christmas.

We must, of course, move on with the times and the trends, but still I feel that it might not hurt us if now and then we could return to the humbleness and humility of such a Christmas as I have illustrated above—in thought, at least—for, after all, the very first Christmas was born in humility and humbleness.

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. Rankin and the Box D crew try to jump the Sun Bear Valley settler’s claim on the neighboring valley by moving their cattle in to graze. The Sun Bear Valley crew try to solve their problem without any violence by bringing their sheep into the valley.

From the January 1947 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Stampede Conquest!”

When trouble-makers invade the ranchlands of Sun Bear Valley, Dal Baldwin and his friends are ready for them!

• Download “Stampede Conquest” (January 1947, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday when the Baldwins muster their “Frontier Courage!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. The Morrison’s young friend Phil Cody arrives with a view to squatting at the new valley Dal had discovered westward through the pass while Quirt Malotte’s brother arrive with two fellow horse thieving owlhoots to get even with Dal once and for all.

From the November 1946 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “The Valley Beyond!”

Dal and Mary Baldwin join other settlers in a finish fight against the horse thieves who invade Sun Bear!

• Download “The Valley Beyond” (November 1946, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday when the Baldwins fight back against a “Stampede Conquest!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

The Edmonton Journal regularly set aside the third column on its editorial page for submissions from freelance writers, of which Cruickshank was an occasional contributor over the years. His columns frequently focused on his life growing up as a homesteader with his father and brother who had all immigrated from Scotland in 1905 to Barrhead, Canada along the famed Klondike Trail, just to the northwest of Fort Edmonton.

It’s Wednesday, so here’s another of Cruickshank’s Third Columns.

The Third Column

by Harold F. Cruickshank • Edmonton Journal, Edmonton, Canada • Monday, 10 March 1952

Yeepek, the Hunter

FROM day to day, in mid-winter, as I watch the capers of the inevitable sparrows—and they are quite amusing, especially when large flocks of chesty waxwings swoop down on their range—I think of another bird—a big bird: “Yeepek, the great American or Bald eagle.

Yeepek, as I knew him in the pioneer days in the wilds, was indeed a king of the skyways—a true monarch of the wilderness.

I have read a great deal about Yeepek and his kind of late. His numbers seem to have dwindled and from most accounts his species have moved on to coastal areas where their diet is chiefly fish.

Copy on the diet of the Bald eagle has been a bit too broadly presented in some of the articles. The impression has been given that everywhere, Yeepek and his kind live chiefly on fish. . . .

* * *

I had much close association with the big eagles in the early part of the century, for they were permanent residents of our frontier district, northwest of Edmonton.

Summer and winter, seldom a day passed that we did not see one or more of the big baldies. Summer and winter, one saw them planing, loafing idly, their white polls flashing in the sunlight against a sharply blue sky main. Then the shrieks, never-to-be-forgotten wild cries, and those sudden, swift plummets earthward.

In the long winters when creeks and lakes were frozen for months on end. I wonder what would have happened to the Bald eagles had their diet consisted of fish. For those long months there were no fish! Nor in springtime, when the suckers and jacks ran the creeks and lakes, did I ever see a Bald eagle fishing.

* * *

An interesting highlight of my association with the baldies occurred in the winter of 1906-07. I helped a professional trapper along his lines. In mid-winter he concentrated on coyotes which he poisoned with strychnine-impregnated bait on the frozen lakes. (The price per pelt then, $2.50.)

Occasionally a settler’s dog picked up a bait, but such occasions were rare. Now and then a fox might carry a bait some distance in its teeth, and drop it. Less crafty, a dog would find it, and—curtains for the dog!

Baits were dropped along a trail across a lake’s neck, or bay. over which trail a freshly-killed rabbit had been drawn. This operation took place in the late afternoon.

The following morning we were out in the dark, and bitterly cold it was, if you can recall that old terror of a winter of 1906-07.

Why all the hurry? YEEPEK!

At the first crack of pale dawn, the big baldies were alert. They would spot a dark object on the lakes—a poisoned coyote, perhaps still warm, and that was it! A swift plummet earthward and the eagles had their targets. Beak and talons gouged out what they could, and Yeepek would go soaring off to enjoy his meal in the sere tamarac cloisters which were his home ground and nesting place.

To give you some idea of the havoc wrought by the big bird kings, my friend and neighbor poisoned in all about one hundred and twenty coyotes during that one winter, but only brought home ninety-two for pelting. Yeepek, his “sisters, and his cousins and his aunts,” had accounted for the rest.

When spring came again we forgot the depredations of the big winged fellows. I recall having seen only one baldie shot. In those days we didn’t shoot at every moving creature, bird or animal. They had their places in the society of the frontier folk.

* * *

Yeepek. as I knew him, lived on rodents—gophers, mice and rabbits, and now and then, when smart enough to outsmart them, a duck, or grouse. More often than not the ducks, prairie chickens, and bush partridge were too clever for him. Never, to my knowledge, and I watched them closely, did the eagles fish.

Yeepek, the great symbol of the United States, was once very plentiful here in our own immediate districts—probably as numerous as on any part of the North American continent . . . a stately, magnificent sky creature who had no peer: a king in his own right—“High aloft, where none else dared follow!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. Looking to strengthen his horse breeding stock, Dal goes in search of King, the great wild stallion he had seen when he and Mary had first arrived in the valley, who has been absent from Sun Bear Valley and in the process discovers another valley beyond with close to two hundred and fifty acres of tillable land, and pasture range beyond.

From the August 1946 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Wild Hoof Warfare!”

Dal and Mary Baldwin seek strong stock— which leads Dal to strive for the conquest of the great King Stallion!

• Download “Wild Hoof Warfare” (August 1946, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Friday when the Baldwins explore “The Valley Beyond!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. The Sun Bear Valley settlers start to worry about their rights as squatters and plan to get government surveyors in to draw up their claims as a salty outfit of owlhoots lead by a nasty piece of work known as Runkin herding about a hundred head of the mangiest looking cattle heads toward their valley.

From the June 1946 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Squatters’ Law!”

Dal Baldwin and the courageous settlers of Sun Bear Valley battle bravely against Runkin’s outlaw band of pillagers!

• Download “Squatters’ Law” (June 1946, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday when the Baldwins find themselves in the midst of “Wild Hoof Warfare!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

The Edmonton Journal regularly set aside the third column on its editorial page for submissions from freelance writers, of which Cruickshank was an occasional contributor over the years. His columns frequently focused on his life growing up as a homesteader with his father and brother who had all immigrated from Scotland in 1905 to Barrhead, Canada along the famed Klondike Trail, just to the northwest of Fort Edmonton.

It’s Wednesday, so here’s another of Cruickshank’s Third Columns.

The Third Column

by Harold F. Cruickshank • Edmonton Journal, Edmonton, Canada • Tuesday, 28 April 1953

Footprints of the Pathfinders

WHEN early in this century we first set foot on the hinterland sod which was to be our future home, we felt a sharp glow of the warmth which attends justifiable pride in being among the first settlers to enter a new, untamed wilderness.

It was a wild brush-and-timber-studded country, whose first trails we opened up by widening and corduroying the clefts of survey lines. . . . But those clefts, faint slashings through the bush, some of them almost closed by second growth brush, told us the story of the earliest pioneers. They were “the sign” of those unsung heroes of the northwest, the early Dominion Land Surveyors, and their pack animals.

* * *

A highlight of my first glimpse of our wilderness was, however, the standing teepee poles along high creek banks—the mark of the first folk to have set foot upon the wild sod. They told of the nomadic Cree Indian trappers who must have thrived in our country which still, in 1906, abounded in every species of wildlife, furred, feathered and antlered.

Along my own traplines—in timber or by the frozen, or bubbling creeks, and adjacent to the lakes—more than once I came across the sign of the Indian trappers, mouldering old deadfall trap-sets.

In the timbered zones one saw the scar of tree blazes which no doubt, years before, had marked the “trail” in to the carcass of a slain moose. At first, those axe signs startled one, for the forest belts seemed truly virgin and covered with leaf-mould and pine-needle carpets no feet had trod before.

First, then, were the Indian hunters and trappers, and then came those doughty men whom I have dubbed the “unsung heroes of our northwest—the Dominion Land Surveyors.

* * *

I should like to pay tribute to those pioneer surveyors. We followed their surveyed line slashings often, and they meant much to us settlers in orienting ourselves, making it possible for us to establish our boundaries, and to start building the first dim trails.

It must have been a rugged life they led, through swamp and bushland, with many a treacherous creek and river to ford, or lake to circumnavigate, harassed the while by hordes of every known species of pestiferous insect.

On one occasion, while moose hunting, I and my companions had every good reason to remember the great work of the surveyors.

Many miles from our base camp, we were struck by a blizzard, and, without a compass were, technically, lost. The leader of our party decided to head for home but, in my opinion, was heading in an altogether wrong direction. We discussed the matter at some length; then all at once it dawned on me that we had just come across an old survey-line. We back-tracked to the line and followed it until at last we reached the mound and four square holes dug at a section corner by the survey party of years before.

I asked the leader of our party if he knew the approximate legal description of our base camp area. Fortunately, he did know it. On the inside of a cigarette box I drew a miniature of a township, and from a reading of the iron stake the surveyors had driven into the ground at the base of the section corner mound of clay, I was able to determine our position. Although our leader still had doubts, we set out in exactly the opposite direction to the one he had recommended, and in due time arrived at the little creek, close to our base cabin.

I thanked heaven for those old-time dominion land surveyors who had made our return possible.

* * *

In my opinion, an opinion which, I am sure, is shared by many an old-time settler, the Dominion Land Surveyor, his chainman, and his cooks, well deserve a plaque or monument in their honor and memory. Their doughty, skillful, work, under trying conditions, contributed more than any other factor to progress and development here in Alberta in the past half-century or so.

It is true that some adventuresome settlers were in ahead of the surveyors, settling under “squatter’s rights,” but they were comparatively few in number, so to the surveyors must go the honor and acclaim of having made the first pioneer footprints on the land.

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. Doc runs afoul of Malotte the half-breed who has returned to rustle Dal’s horses and another wagon arrives in the valley with more settlers—The Morrisons—Jud and Olga, their eleven year old fraternal twins Martin and Maureen and eldest son Jack who is married to Rhona and has three young kids of his own—little baby Jud, five months; Nell, four, and Ollie, five. With little Jimmy Baldwin a husky four year old now and his recently born younger brother Tenby, looks like Sun Bear Valley will be needing the services of the Morrison’s niece who is a school-marm.

From the April 1946 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Wilderness Justice!”

A feared rustler returns to Sun-Bear Valley and threatens the happiness of Dal and Mary Baldwin in their new home!

• Download “Wilderness Justice” (April 1946, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Friday when the Baldwins establish “Squatters’ Law!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. The Sun Bear settlers are menaced by Mishe, the she-grizzly, and Acheeta, the cougar and Dal knew that to grizzly and cougar alike, there was no more succulent food in all the wilds than young horseflesh. In a night, either species of varmint could wipe out the whole of Dal’s horse stock and his cow and her calf as well.

From the February 1946 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Terror Neighbors!”

Dal and Mary Baldwin face the supreme test of their courage when four-footed death comes stealing into Sun-Bear Valley!

• Download “Terror Neighbors” (February 1946, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday when the Baldwins seek “Wilderness Justice!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

The Edmonton Journal regularly set aside the third column on its editorial page for submissions from freelance writers, of which Cruickshank was an occasional contributor over the years. His columns frequently focused on his life growing up as a homesteader with his father and brother who had all immigrated from Scotland in 1905 to Barrhead, Canada along the famed Klondike Trail, just to the northwest of Fort Edmonton.

It’s Wednesday, so here’s another of Cruickshank’s Third Columns.

The Third Column

by Harold F. Cruickshank • Edmonton Journal, Edmonton, Canada • Saturday, 23 May 1953

Bad Seasons and Good

AFTER forty-seven years of residence in these latitudes, I have found that nature balances her seasons fairly well. Over the long term and as a whole, we haven’t suffered too much through weather capers.

I think today, especially, of our first springtime in this country our first spring (question mark) in the hinterland.

We had trekked in, in the summer of 1906, and had somehow thrived as we survived that most terrible winter on record, the winter of 1906-07. We had, by back-breaking toll, with other work accomplished, cleared five acres of heavy willow-studded land. When the snows at last started to melt, we looked eagerly to the firing of the brush piles, the plowing and the sowing of that first patch of “chocolate-loam” soil. (The descriptive phrase is from publicity pamphlets we had read In Britain in 1905.)

We had, in the winter, hauled in seed oats a distance of seventy miles, over drifted trails. We now saw miniature creeks become raging rivers, for the snow had been heavy, and the spring season tardy indeed.

As I remember it, it was the first week in June before we, at last, got our first few bushels of oats harrowed in.

Five acres of oats! How insignificant now, but how important then! We watched for the first green blades to shoot up through the inadequately tilled sod. When we saw them, we were thrilled!

It was a reward, indeed, for those endless days of toil—grubbing out those horrible willow clumps with axe and mattock, or grub-hoe.

* * *

We were informed by more experienced settlers that the crops of 1907 would never ripen. We were more optimistic, especially as we watched the rapid growth of the green oats.

The “more experienced” settlers were right: An early frost struck the ripening grain and all we had for our efforts was feed oats, though that was something. We had a fairly good harvest of feed oats. Our horses would need them, in bundles and as threshed grain. Sadly enough, though, my father, who in his boyhood had herded sheep in the Highlands of Scotland, bought a small band of sheep. He had visions of quick-turn-over—lambs and wool crop. We, his two sons and George, a youth we had brought out with us, had visions of endless sheep-herding in a wild, coyote-infested wilderness. . . .

Our “visions,” pessimistic as they were, bore material fruit. . . .

It might have been better, or not so bad, had it not been for Samantha-Jane, the bell ewe. Samantha-Jane was the homeliest, most exasperating creature I have ever known—a she-devil if there ever was one.

Tall, rich peavine grass grew close to the homestead area, but Samantha-Jane spurned it. She started out at a trot and kept trotting, always for distant pastures. The flock followed, and of course the herder tried to follow, or to swing the flock back. Samantha-Jane led us over, under, or through twisted labyrinths of fallen brush and timber, through mazes of rosebush scrub, alders, and willows, in her ceaseless search for heaven knew what.

A year or so later, we were extremely sorry for a young Scot who bought the sheep band, when he had the misfortune to fall into a swollen creek. We regarded him as our greatest friend, for he was taking Samantha-Jane away. He was rescued, of course; so were the sheep. . . . Needless to say, Samantha-Jane was the first ashore.

I feel reasonably sure that if, today, I could take a trip up to some of those old haunts. I would see her impudent, mottled face leering at me through a port in a rosebush maze, and hear her blatting. . . .

* * *

Up in the wilds, in those early days, we learned to take the bitter with the better. We established a sense of gratitude for the “better,” which helped us to forget the bitter.

Then, there were no drive-in theatres, or local baseball tournaments, or radios, or regular mail service. . . . We were happy enough, after riding through muskeg or circumnavigating swampland, to be able to pick up long overdue mail which might include a seed catalogue, a letter or newspaper from the homefolk, or that always welcome periodical—the fat weekly which came from Montreal.

* * *

Soon, again, June will be “bustin’ out all over,” and we shall be able to forget all about a rather miserable April, as we bounce right into summer.

But, for those readers who cannot agree with me, there is the philosophy of that priceless frontline character, Old Bill: “If you know of a better ’ole, go to it. . .”

After nearly half a century hereabouts, this writer is sticking around. He wants to see what John Ducey’s Eskimos have to offer and what those other Eskimos, in football harness, will have to offer. . .

Old Lady Nature will take care of our crops. . . . Just wait and see!

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. Another family arrives in the valley in the form of Tom and Ella Bruce and their infant daughter. Unfortunately for Dal, they took the advice of that rascally half-breed Quirt Malotte on their way there and their dog and flock of sheep they’ve brought with them arrive first and trample through Dal’s crop and Mary’s garden. The Bruces more than make up for it when lightning touches off a fire in the valley.

From the December 1945 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Red Harvest!”

Dal Baldwin and his wife Mary can even forgive woollies when a sheepman comes to their aid in a time of trial!

• Download “Red Harvest” (December 1945, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Friday when the Baldwins find themselves with “Terror Neighbors!”

WE’RE celebrating the holidays with Harold F. Cruickshank—creator of those great Aces of the Western Front’s Hell Skies—Red Eagle, Sky Wolf, and Sky Devil. But this holiday season it’s going to be a down home Christmas featuring Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folk stories from the pages of Range Riders Western (1945-1952) on Mondays and Fridays; and Cruickshank’s own recollections of homesteading life from The Edmonton Journal’s The Third Column on Wednesdays.

Cruickshank wrote 35 stories chronicling the trials and tribulations of Dal and Mary Baldwin as they carved out their piece of the Wilderness in Sun Bear Valley, Wyoming and establish a growing community. The Baldwins are settled in to their cabin in Sun Bear Valley, but an old nemesis returns and a new couple arrive in the valley just as Mary is about to give birth.

From the Fall 1945 number of Range Riders Western, it’s Harold F. Cruickshank’s Pioneer Folks in “Spring Borning!”

New life visits Sun-Bear Valley, but not without bringing back an old terror for courageous Dal Baldwin to battle!

• Download “Spring Borning” (Fall 1945, Range Riders Western)

Be sure to stop back Monday when the Baldwins face the terrifying “Red Harvest!”