[10] The date on the deed shows this to have been May 25, 1855—­the day the author first saw what has since become Vandemark Township.  Although its history is so far written, the township was not yet legally in existence.—­G.v.d.M.

“This is Mr. Thorkelson,” said he as he rejoined me after two or three false starts.  “He’s going to be a neighbor of yours.  I’m going to locate him on a quarter out your way—­Mr. Vandemark, Mr. Thorkelson.”

Magnus Thorkelson gave me his hand bashfully.  He was then about twenty-five; and had on the flat cap and peasant’s clothes that he wore on the way over from Norway.  He had red hair and a face spotted with freckles; and growing on his chin and upper lip was a fiery red beard.  He was so tall that Henderson L. tried to tell him not to come to the Fourth of July celebration, or folks might think he was the fireworks; but Magnus only smiled.  I don’t believe he understood:  for at that time his English was not very extensive; but after all, he is as silent now as he was then.  We looked down on all kinds of “old countrymen” then, and thought them much below us; but Magnus and I got to be friends as we drove the cows across the prairie, and we have been friends ever since.  It was not until years after that I saw what a really remarkable man Magnus was, physically, and mentally—­he was so mild, so silent, so gentle.  He carried a carpet-bag full of belongings in one hand, which he put in the wagon, and a fiddle in its case in the other.  It was a long time, too, before I began to feel how much better his fiddling was than any I had ever heard.  It didn’t seem to have as much tune to it as the old-style fiddling, and he would hardly ever play for dances; but his fiddle just seemed to sing.  He became a part of the history of Vandemark Township; and was the first fruits of the Scandinavian movement to our county so far as I know.

2

As we turned back over the way I had come for about half a mile, we met coming into town, the well-known spanking team of horses of Buckner Gowdy; but now it was hitched to a light buggy, but was still driven by Pinck Johnson, who had the horses on a keen gallop as if running after a doctor for snake-bite or apoplexy.  It was the way Gowdy always went careering over the prairies, killing horses by the score, and laughingly answering criticisms by saying that there would be horses left in the world after he was gone.  He said he hadn’t time to waste on saving horses; but he always had one or two teams that he took good care of; and once in a while Pinck Johnson went back, to Kentucky, it was said, and brought on a fresh supply.  As they came near to us the negro pulled up, and halted just after they had passed us.  We stopped, and Gowdy came back to my wagon.

“How do you do, Mr. Vandemark,” he said.  “I am glad to see that you survived all the dangers of the voyage.”

“How-de-do,” I answered, looking as blank as I could; for Virginia was on my mind as soon as I saw him.  “I come slow, but I’m here.”