“What do I say?  Anderson I say this.  I killed Germans who had grown up with a training and a passion for war.  I’ve been a farmer.  I did not want to fight.  Duty and hate forced me.  The Germans I met fell before me.  I was shell-shot, shocked, gassed, and bayoneted.  I took twenty-five wounds, and then it was a shell that downed me.  I saw my comrades kill and kill before they fell.  That is American.  Our enemies are driven, blinded, stolid, brutal, obsessed, and desperate.  They are German.  They lack—­not strength nor efficiency nor courage—­but soul.”

White and spent, Dorn then leaned upon Lenore and got back upon his bed.  His passion had thrilled her.  Anderson responded with an excitement he plainly endeavored to conceal.

“I get your hunch,” he said.  “If I needed any assurance, you’ve given it to me.  To hell with the Germans!  Let’s don’t talk about them any more....  An’ to come back to our job.  Wheat!  Son, I’ve plans that ’ll raise your hair.  We’ll harvest a bumper crop at ‘Many Waters’ in July.  An’ we’ll sow two thousand acres of winter wheat.  So much for ’Many Waters.’—­I got mad this summer.  I blowed myself.  I bought about all the farms around yours up in the Bend country.  Big harvest of spring wheat comin’.  You’ll superintend that harvest, an’ I’ll look after ours here....  An’ you’ll sow ten thousand acres of fallow on your own rich hills—­this fall.  Do you get that?  Ten thousand acres?”

“Anderson!” gasped Dorn.

“Yes, Anderson,” mimicked the rancher.  “My blood’s up.  But I’d never have felt so good about it if you hadn’t come back.  The land’s not all paid for, but it’s ours.  We’ll meet our notes.  I’ve been up there twice this spring.  You’d never know a few hills had burned over last harvest.  Olsen, an’ your other neighbors, or most of them, will work the land on half-shares.  You’ll be boss.  An’ sure you’ll be well for fall sowin’.  That’ll make you the biggest sower of wheat in the Northwest.”

“My sower of wheat!” murmured Lenore, seeing his rapt face through tears.

“Dreams are coming true,” he said, softly.  “Lenore, just after I saw you the second time—­and fell so in love with you—­I had vain dreams of you.  But even my wildest never pictured you as the wife of a wheat farmer.  I never dreamed you loved wheat.”

“But, ah, I do!” replied Lenore.  “Why, when I was born dad bought ’Many Waters’ and sowed the slopes in wheat.  I remember how he used to take me up to the fields all green or golden.  I’ve grown up with wheat.  I’d never want to live anywhere away from it.  Oh, you must listen to me some day while I tell you what I know—­about the history and romance of wheat.”

“Begin,” said Dorn, with a light of pride and love and wonder in his gaze.

“Leave that for some other time,” interposed Anderson.  “Son, would it surprise you if I’d tell you that I’ve switched a little in my ideas about the I.W.W.?”