the Desert Of Wheat (2001) Read online

  The girl leaned against the side of the car, with a hand buried in her heaving breast. She was recovering. The gray shade left her face. Her eyes, still wide and dark and beginning to glow with softer emotions, were upon Kurt.

  "You--you were the one to come," she murmured. "I prayed. I was terribly frightened. Ruenke was taking me--to the I. W. W. camp, up in the hills."

  "Ruenke?" queried Kurt.

  "Yes, that's his German name."

  Kurt awoke to the exigencies of the situation. Searching in the car, he found a leather belt. With this he securely bound Ruenke's hands behind his back, then rolled him down into the road.

  "My first German prisoner," said Kurt, half seriously. "Now, Miss Anderson, we must be doing things. We don't want to meet a lot of I. W. W.'s out here. My car is out of commission. I hope yours is not broken."

  Kurt got into the car and found, to his satisfaction, that it was not damaged so far as running-gear was concerned. After changing the ruined tire he backed down the road and turned to stop near where Ruenke lay.

  Opening the rear door, Kurt picked him up as if he had been a sack of wheat and threw him into the car. Next he secured the rifle that had been such a burden and had served him so well in the end.

  "Get in, Miss Anderson," he said, "and show me where to drive you home."

  She got in beside him, making a grimace as she saw Ruenke lying behind her. Kurt started and ran slowly by the damaged car.

  "He knocked a wheel off. I'll have to send back."

  "Oh, I thought it was all over when we hit!" said the girl.

  Kurt experienced a relaxation that was weakening. He could hardly hold the wheel and his mood became one of exaltation.

  "Father suspected this Ruenke," went on Lenore. "But he wanted to find out things from him. And I--I undertook--to twist Mr. Germany round my finger. I made a mess of it.... He lied. I didn't make love to him. But I listened to his love-making, and arrogant German love-making it was!

  I'm afraid I made eyes at him and let him believe I was smitten.... Oh, and all for nothing! I'm ashamed... But he lied!"

  Her confidence, at once pathetic and humorous and contemptuous, augmented Kurt's Homeric mood. He understood that she would not even let him, for a moment, have a wrong impression of her.

  "It must have been hard," agreed Kurt. "Didn't you find out anything at all?"

  "Not much," she replied. Then she put a hand on his sleeve. "Your knuckles are all bloody."

  "So they are. I got that punching our German friend."

  "Oh, how you did beat him!" she cried. "I had to look. My ire was up, too!... It wasn't very womanly--of me--that I gloried in the sight."

  "But you cried out--you pulled me away!" exclaimed Kurt.

  "That was because I was afraid you'd kill him," she replied.

  Kurt swerved his glance, for an instant, to her face. It was at once flushed and pale, with the deep blue of downcast eyes shadowy through her long lashes, exceedingly sweet and beautiful to Kurt's sight. He bent his glance again to the road ahead. Miss Anderson felt kindly and gratefully toward him, as was, of course, natural. But she was somehow different from what she had seemed upon the other occasions he had seen her. Kurt's heart was full to bursting.

  "I might have killed him," he said. "I'm glad--you stopped me.

  That--that frenzy of mine seemed to be the breaking of a dam. I have been dammed up within. Something had to break. I've been unhappy for a long time."

  "I saw that. What about?" she replied.

  "The war, and what it's done to father. We're estranged. I hate everything German. I loved the farm. My chance in life is gone. The wheat debt--the worry about the I. W. W.--and that's not all."

  Again she put a gentle hand on his sleeve and left it there for a moment. The touch thrilled all through Kurt.

  "I'm sorry. Your position is sad. But maybe it is not utterly hopeless.

  You--you'll come back after the war."

  "I don't know that I want to come back," he said. "For then--it'd be just as bad--worse.... Miss Anderson, it won't hurt to tell you the truth.... A year ago--that first time I saw you--I fell in love with you. I think--when I'm away--over in France--I'd like to feel that you know. It can't hurt you. And it'll be sweet to me.... I fought against the--the madness. But fate was against me.... I saw you again.... And it was all over with me!"

  He paused, catching his breath. She was perfectly quiet. He looked on down the winding road. There were dust-clouds in the distance.

  "I'm afraid I grew bitter and moody," he went on. "But the last forty-eight hours have changed me forever... I found that my poor old dad had been won over by these unscrupulous German agents of the I. W. W.

  But I saved his name.... I've got the money he took for the wheat we may never harvest. But if we do harvest I can pay all our debt.... Then I learned of a plot to ruin your father--to kill him!... I was on my way to 'Many Waters.' I can warn him.... Last of all I have saved you."

  The little hand dropped away from his coat sleeve. A soft, half-smothered cry escaped her. It seemed to him she was about to weep in her exceeding pity.

  "Miss Anderson, I--I'd rather not have--you pity me."

  "Mr. Dorn, I certainly don't pity you," she replied, with an unexpected, strange tone. It was full. It seemed to ring in his ears.

  "I know there never was and never could be any hope for me. I--I--"

  "Oh, you know that!" murmured the soft, strange voice.

  But Kurt could not trust his ears and he had to make haste to terminate the confession into which his folly and emotion had betrayed him. He scarcely heard her words.

  "Yes.... I told you why I wanted you to know.... And now forget that--and when I'm gone--if you think of me ever, let it be about how much better it made me--to have all this good luck--to help your father and to save you!"

  The dust-cloud down the road came from a string of automobiles, flying along at express speed. Kurt saw them with relief.

  "Here come the cars on your trail," he called out. "Your father will be in one of them."

  * * * * *

  Kurt opened the door of the car and stepped down. He could not help his importance or his pride. Anderson, who came running between two cars that had stopped abreast, was coatless and hatless, covered with dust, pale and fire-eyed.

  "Mr. Anderson, your daughter is safe--unharmed," Kurt assured him.

  "My girl!" cried the father, huskily, and hurried to where she leaned out of her seat.

  "All right, dad," she cried, as she embraced him. "Only a little shaky yet."

  It was affecting for Dorn to see that meeting, and through it to share something of its meaning. Anderson's thick neck swelled and colored, and his utterance was unintelligible. His daughter loosened her arm from round him and turned her face toward Kurt. Then he imagined he saw two blue stars, sweetly, strangely shining upon him.

  "Father, it was our friend from the Bend," she said. "He happened along."

  Anderson suddenly changed to the cool, smiling man Kurt remembered.

  "Howdy, Kurt?" he said, and crushed Kurt's hand. "What'd you do to him?"

  Kurt made a motion toward the back of the car. Then Anderson looked over the seats. With that he opened the door and in one powerful haul he drew Ruenke sliding out into the road. Ruenke's bruised and bloody face was uppermost, a rather gruesome sight. Anderson glared down upon him, while men from the other cars crowded around. Ruenke's eyes resembled those of a cornered rat. Anderson's jaw bulged, his big hands clenched.

  "Bill, you throw this fellow in your car and land him in jail. I'll make a charge against him," said the rancher.

  "Mr. Anderson, I can save some valuable time," interposed Kurt. "I've got to return a car I broke down. And there's my wheat. Will you have one of these men drive me back?"

  "Sure. But won't you come home with us?" said Anderson.

  "I'd like to. But I must get home," replied Kurt. "Please let me speak a few words for your ear alone." He drew Anderson
aside and briefly told about the eighty thousand dollars; threw back his coat to show the bulging pockets. Then he asked Anderson's advice.

  "I'd deposit the money an' wire the Spokane miller," returned the rancher. "I know him. He'll leave the money in the bank till your wheat is safe. Go to the national bank in Kilo. Mention my name."

  Then Kurt told Anderson of the plot against his fortunes and his life.

  "Neuman! I. W. W.! German intrigue!" growled the rancher. "All in the same class!... Dorn, I'm forewarned, an' that's forearmed. I'll beat this outfit at their own game."

  They returned to Anderson's car. Kurt reached inside for his rifle.

  "Aren't you going home with us?" asked the girl.

  "Why, Miss Anderson, I--I'm sorry. I--I'd love to see 'Many Waters,'" floundered Kurt. "But I can't go now. There's no need. I must hurry back to--to my troubles."

  "I wanted to tell you something--at home," she returned, shyly.

  "Tell me now," said Kurt.

  She gave him such a glance as he had never received in his life. Kurt felt himself as wax before those blue eyes. She wanted to thank him.

  That would be sweet, but would only make his ordeal harder. He steeled himself.

  "You won't come?" she asked, and her smile was wistful.

  "No--thank you ever so much."

  "Will you come to see me before you--you go to war?"

  "I'll try."

  "But you must promise. You've done so much for me and my father.... I--I want you to come to see me--at my home."

  "Then I'll come," he replied.

  Anderson clambered into the car beside his daughter and laid his big hands on the wheel.

  "Sure he'll come, or we'll go after him," he declared, heartily. "So long, son."

  Chapter XI

  Late in the forenoon of the next day Kurt Dorn reached home. A hot harvest wind breathed off the wheat-fields. It swelled his heart to see the change in the color of that section of Bluestem--the gold had a tinge of rich, ripe brown.

  Kurt's father awaited him, a haggard, gloomy-faced man, unkempt and hollow-eyed.

  "Was it you who robbed me?" he shouted hoarsely.

  "Yes," replied Kurt. He had caught the eager hope and fear in the old man's tone. Kurt expected that confession would bring on his father's terrible fury, a mood to dread. But old Dorn showed immense relief. He sat down in his relaxation from what must have been intense strain. Kurt saw a weariness, a shade, in the gray lined face that had never been there before.

  "What did you do with the money?" asked the old man.

  "I banked it in Kilo," replied Kurt. "Then I wired your miller in Spokane.... So you're safe if we can harvest the wheat."

  Old Dorn nodded thoughtfully. There had come a subtle change in him.

  Presently he asked Kurt if men had been hired for the harvest.

  "No. I've not seen any I would trust," replied Kurt, and then he briefly outlined Anderson's plan to insure a quick and safe harvesting of the grain. Old Dorn objected to this on account of the expense. Kurt argued with him and patiently tried to show him the imperative need of it.

  Dorn, apparently, was not to be won over; however, he was remarkably mild in comparison with what Kurt had expected.

  "Father, do you realize now that the men you were dealing with at Wheatly are dishonest? I mean with you. They would betray you."

  Old Dorn had no answer for this. Evidently he had sustained some kind of shock that he was not willing to admit.

  "Look here, father," went on Kurt, in slow earnestness. He spoke in English, because nothing would make him break his word and ever again speak a word of German. And his father was not quick to comprehend English. "Can't you see that the I. W. W. mean to cripple us wheat farmers this harvest?"

  "No," replied old Dorn, stubbornly.

  "But they do. They don't _want_ work. If they accept work it is for a chance to do damage. All this I. W. W. talk about more wages and shorter hours is deceit. They make a bold face of discontent. That is all a lie.

  The I. W. W. is out to ruin the great wheat-fields and the great lumber forests of the Northwest."

  "I do not believe that," declared his father, stoutly. "What for?"

  Kurt meant to be careful of that subject.

  "No matter what for. It does not make any difference what it's for.

  We've got to meet it to save our wheat.... Now won't you believe me?

  Won't you let me manage the harvest?"

  "I will not believe," replied old Dorn, stubbornly. "Not about _my_ wheat. I know they mean to destroy. They are against rich men like Anderson. But not me or my wheat!"

  "There is where you are wrong. I'll prove it in a very few days. But in that time I can prepare for them and outwit them. Will you let me?"

  "Go ahead," replied old Dorn, gruffly.

  It was a concession that Kurt was amazed and delighted to gain. And he set about at once to act upon it. He changed his clothes and satisfied his hunger; then, saddling his horse, he started out to visit his farmer neighbors.

  The day bade fair to be rich in experience. Jerry, the foreman, was patrolling his long beat up and down the highway. Jerry carried a shot-gun and looked like a sentry. The men under him were on the other side of the section of wheat, and the ground was so rolling that they could not be seen from the highway. Jerry was unmistakably glad and relieved to see Kurt.

  "Some goin's-on," he declared, with a grin. "Since you left there's been one hundred and sixteen I. W. W. tramps along this here road."

  "Have you had any trouble?" inquired Kurt.

  "Wal, I reckon it wasn't trouble, but every time I took a peg at some sneak I sort of broke out sweatin' cold."

  "You shot at them?"

  "Sure I shot when I seen any loafin' along in the dark. Two of them shot back at me, an' after thet I wasn't particular to aim high.... Reckon I'm about dead for sleep."

  "I'll relieve you to-night," replied Kurt. "Jerry, doesn't the wheat look great?"

  "Wal, I reckon. An' walkin' along here when it's quiet an' no wind blowin', I can just hear the wheat crack. It's gittin' ripe fast, an' sure the biggest crop we ever raised.... But I'm tellin' you--when I think how we'll ever harvest it my insides just sinks like lead!"

  Kurt then outlined Anderson's plan, which was received by the foreman with eager approval and the assurance that the neighbor farmers would rally to his call.

  Kurt found his nearest neighbor, Olsen, cutting a thin, scarcely ripe barley. Olsen was running a new McCormack harvester, and appeared delighted with the machine, but cast down by the grain prospects. He did not intend to cut his wheat at all. It was a dead loss.

  "Two sections--twelve hundred an' eighty acres!" he repeated, gloomily.

  "An' the third bad year! Dorn, I can't pay the interest to my bank."

  Olsen's sun-dried and wind-carved visage was as hard and rugged and heroic as this desert that had resisted him for years. Kurt saw under the lines and the bronze all the toil and pain and unquenchable hope that had made Olsen a type of the men who had cultivated this desert of wheat.

  "I'll give you five hundred dollars to help me harvest," said Kurt, bluntly, and briefly stated his plan.

  Olsen whistled. He complimented Anderson's shrewd sense. He spoke glowingly of that magnificent section of wheat that absolutely must be saved. He promised Kurt every horse and every man on his farm. But he refused the five hundred dollars.

  "Oh, say, you'll have to accept it," declared Kurt.

  "You've done me good turns," asserted Olsen.

  "But nothing like this. Why, this will be a rush job, with all the men and horses and machines and wagons I can get. It'll cost ten--fifteen thousand dollars to harvest that section. Even at that, and paying Anderson, we'll clear twenty thousand or more. Olsen, you've got to take the money."

  "All right, if you insist. I'm needin' it bad enough," replied Olsen.

  Further conversation with Olsen gleaned the facts that he was the only farmer in their immedi
ate neighborhood who did not have at least a little grain worth harvesting. But the amount was small and would require only slight time. Olsen named farmers that very likely would not take kindly to Dorn's proposition, and had best not be approached. The majority, however, would stand by him, irrespective of the large wage offered, because the issue was one to appeal to the pride of the Bend farmers. Olsen appeared surprisingly well informed upon the tactics of the I. W. W., and predicted that they would cause trouble, but be run out of the country. He made the shrewd observation that when even those farmers who sympathized with Germany discovered that their wheat-fields were being menaced by foreign influences and protected by the home government, they would experience a change of heart. Olsen said the war would be a good thing for the United States, because they would win it, and during the winning would learn and suffer and achieve much.

  Kurt rode away from Olsen in a more thoughtful frame of mind. How different and interesting the points of view of different men! Olsen had never taken the time to become a naturalized citizen of the United States. There had never been anything to force him to do it. But his understanding of the worth of the United States and his loyalty to it were manifest in his love for his wheatlands. In fact, they were inseparable. Probably there were millions of pioneers, emigrants, aliens, all over the country who were like Olsen, who needed the fire of the crucible to mold them into a unity with Americans. Of such, Americans were molded!

  * * * * *

  Kurt rode all day, and when, late that night, he got home, weary and sore and choked, he had enlisted the services of thirty-five farmers to help him harvest the now famous section of wheat.

  His father had plainly doubted the willingness of these neighbors to abandon their own labors, for the Bend exacted toil for every hour of every season, whether rich or poor in yield. Likewise he was plainly moved by the facts. His seamed and shaded face of gloom had a moment of light.

  "They will make short work of this harvest," he said, thoughtfully.

  "I should say so," retorted Kurt. "We'll harvest and haul that grain to the railroad in just three days."

  "Impossible!" ejaculated Dorn.

  "You'll see," declared Kurt. "You'll see who's managing this harvest."