Neuman had not yet begun harvesting.  There were signs to Jake’s experienced eye that the harvest-hands were expected this very day.  Jake fancied he knew why the rancher had put off his harvesting.  And also he knew that the extra force of harvest-hands would not appear.  He was regarded with curiosity by the women members of the Neuman household, and rather enjoyed it.  There were several comely girls in evidence.  Jake did not look a typical Northwest foreman and laborer.  Booted and spurred, with his gun swinging visibly, and his big sombrero and gaudy scarf, he looked exactly what he was, a cowman of the open ranges.

His inquiries elicited the fact that Neuman was out in the fields, waiting for the harvest-hands.

“Wal, if he’s expectin’ thet outfit of I.W.W.’s he’ll never harvest,” said Jake, “for some of them is hanged an’ the rest run out of the country.”

Jake did not wait to see the effect of his news.  He strode back toward the fields, and with the eye of a farmer he appraised the barns and corrals, and the fields beyond.  Neuman raised much wheat, and enough alfalfa to feed his stock.  His place was large and valuable, but not comparable to “Many Waters.”

Out in the wheat-fields were engines with steam already up, with combines and threshers and wagons waiting for the word to start.  Jake enjoyed the keen curiosity roused by his approach.  Neuman strode out from a group of waiting men.  He was huge of build, ruddy-faced and bearded, with deep-set eyes.

“Are you Neuman?” inquired Jake.

“That’s me,” gruffly came the reply.

“I’m Anderson’s foreman.  I’ve been sent over to tell you thet you’re wanted pretty bad at ‘Many Waters.’”

The man stared incredulously.  “What?...  Who wants me?”

“Anderson.  An’ I reckon there’s more—­though I ain’t informed.”

Neuman rumbled a curse.  Amaze dominated him.  “Anderson!...  Well, I don’t want to see him,” he replied.

“I reckon you don’t,” was the cowboy’s cool reply.

The rancher looked him up and down.  However familiar his type was to Anderson, it was strange to Neuman.  The cowboy breathed a potential force.  The least significant thing about his appearance was that swinging gun.  He seemed cool and easy, with hard, keen eyes.  Neuman’s face took a shade off color.

“But I’m going to harvest to-day,” he said.  “I’m late.  I’ve a hundred hands coming.”

“Nope.  You haven’t none comin’,” asserted Jake.

“What!” ejaculated Neuman.

“Reckon it’s near ten o’clock,” said the cowboy.  “We run over here powerful fast.”

“Yes, it’s near ten,” bellowed Neuman, on the verge of a rage....  “I haven’t harvest-hands coming!...  What’s this talk?”

“Wal, about nine-thirty I seen all your damned I.W.W.’s, except what was shot an’ hanged, loaded in a cattlecar an’ started out of the country.”

A blow could not have hit harder than the cowboy’s biting speech.  Astonishment and fear shook Neuman before he recovered control of himself.