“If you go to war—­and come back whole—?” began Lenore, tantalizingly.  She meant to have no mercy upon him.  It was incredible how blind he was.  Yet how glad that made her.  He resembled his desert hills, barren of many little things, but rich in hidden strength, heroic of mold.

“Then just to add one more to the conquests girls love I’ll—­I’ll propose to you,” he declared, banteringly.

“Beware, boy!  I might accept you,” she exclaimed.

His play was short-lived.  He could not be gay, even under her influence.

“Please don’t jest,” he said, frowning.  “Can’t we talk of something besides love and war?”

“They seem to be popular just now,” she replied, audaciously.  “Anyway, all’s fair—­you know.”

“No, it is not fair,” he returned, low-voiced and earnest.  “So once for all let me beg of you, don’t jest.  Oh, I know you’re sweet.  You’re full of so many wonderful, surprising words and looks.  I can’t understand you....  But I beg of you, don’t make me a fool!”

“Well, if you pay such compliments and if I—­want them—­what then?  You are very original, very gallant, Mr. Kurt Dorn, and I—­I rather like you.”

“I’ll get angry with you,” he threatened.

“You couldn’t....  I’m the only girl you’re going to leave behind—­and if you got angry I’d never write to you.”

It thrilled Lenore and wrung her heart to see how her talk affected him.  He was in a torment.  He believed she spoke lightly, girlishly, to tease him—­that she was only a gay-hearted girl, fancy-free and just a little proud of her conquest over even him.

“I surrender.  Say what you like,” he said, resignedly.  “I’ll stand anything—­just to get your letters.”

“If you go I’ll write as often as you want me to,” she replied.

With that they emerged upon the harvest-field.  Machines and engines dotted the golden slope, and wherever they were located stood towering straw-stacks.  Horses and men and wagons were strung out as far as the eye could see.  Long streams of chaff and dust and smoke drifted upward.

“Lenore, there’s trouble in the very air,” said Dorn.  “Look!”

She saw a crowd of men gathering round one of the great combine-harvesters.  Some one was yelling.

“Let’s stay away from trouble,” replied Lenore.  “We’ve enough of our own.”

“I’m going over there,” declared Dorn.  “Perhaps you’d better wait for me—­or go back.”

“Well!  You’re the first boy who ever—­”

“Come on,” he interrupted, with grim humor.  “I’d rather enjoy your seeing me break loose—­as I will if there’s any I.W.W. trickery.”

Before they got to the little crowd Lenore both heard and saw her father.  He was in a rage and not aware of her presence.  Jake and Bill, the cowboys, hovered over him.  Anderson strode to and fro, from one side of the harvester to the other.  Lenore did not recognize any of the harvest-hands, and even the driver was new to her.  They were not a typical Western harvest crew, that was certain.  She did not like their sullen looks, and Dorn’s muttered imprecation, the moment he neared them, confirmed her own opinion.