Anderson’s foreman stood gesticulating, pale and anxious of face.

“No, I don’t hold you responsible,” roared the rancher.  “But I want action....  I want to know why this machine’s broke down.”

“It was in perfect workin’ order,” declared the foreman.  “I don’t know why it broke down.”

“That’s the fourth machine in two days.  No accident, I tell you,” shouted Anderson.  Then he espied Dorn and waved a grimy hand.  “Come here, Dorn,” he called, and stepped out of the group of dusty men.  “Somethin’ wrong here.  This new harvester’s broke down.  It’s a McCormack an’ new to us.  But it has worked great an’ I jest believe it’s been tampered with...  Do you know these McCormack harvesters?”

“Yes.  They’re reliable,” replied Dorn.

“Ah-huh!  Wal, get your coat off an’ see what’s been done to this one.”

Dorn took off his coat and was about to throw it down, when Lenore held out her hand for it.

“Unhitch the horses,” said Dorn.

Anderson gave this order, which was complied with.  Then Dorn disappeared around or under the big machine.

“Lenore, I’ll bet he tells us somethin’ in a minute,” said Anderson to her.  “These new claptraps are beyond me.  I’m no mechanic.”

“Dad, I don’t like the looks of your harvest-hands,” whispered Lenore.

“Wal, this is a sample of the lot I hired.  No society for you, my lass!”

“I’m going to stay now,” she replied.

Dorn appeared to be raising a racket somewhere out of sight under or inside the huge harvester.  Rattling and rasping sounds, creaks and cracks, attested to his strong and impatiently seeking hands.

Presently he appeared.  His white shirt had been soiled by dust and grease.  There was chaff in his fair hair.  In one grimy hand he held a large monkey-wrench.  What struck Lenore most was the piercing intensity of his gaze as he fixed it upon her father.

“Anderson, I knew right where to find it,” he said, in a sharp, hard voice.  “This monkey-wrench was thrown upon the platform, carried to the elevator into the thresher....  Your machine is torn to pieces inside—­out of commission!”

“Ah-huh!” exclaimed Anderson, as if the truth was a great relief.

“Where’d that monkey-wrench come from?” asked the foreman, aghast.  “It’s not ours.  I don’t buy that kind.”

Anderson made a slight, significant motion to the cowboys.  They lined up beside him, and, like him, they looked dangerous.

“Come here, Kurt,” he said, and then, putting Lenore before him, he moved a few steps aside, out of earshot of the shifty-footed harvest-hands.  “Say, you called the turn right off, didn’t you?”

“Anderson, I’ve had a hard experience, all in one harvest-time,” replied Dorn.  “I’ll bet you I can find out who threw this wrench into your harvester.”

“I don’t doubt you, my lad.  But how?”

“It had to be thrown by one of these men near the machine.  That harvester hasn’t run twenty feet from where the trick was done....  Let these men face me.  I’ll find the guilty one.”