The cowboy looked anything but convinced; and he glanced with narrowed eyes at Nash as that worthy hurried back to the car.

With a lurch and a leap the car left Palmer behind in a cloud of dust.  The air was furnace-hot, oppressive, and exceedingly dry.  Lenore’s lips smarted so that she continually moistened them.  On all sides stretched dreary parched wheat-fields.  Anderson shook his head sadly.  Jake said:  “Ain’t thet too bad?  Not half growed, an’ sure too late now.”

Near at hand Lenore saw the short immature dirty-whitish wheat, and she realized that it was ruined.

“It’s been gettin’ worse, Jake,” remarked Anderson.  “Most of this won’t be cut at all.  An’ what is cut won’t yield seedlings.  I see a yellow patch here an’ there on the north slopes, but on the most part the Bend’s a failure.”

“Father, you remember Dorn’s section, that promised so well?” asked Lenore.

“Yes.  But it promised only in case of rain.  I look for the worst,” replied Anderson, regretfully.

“It looks like storm-clouds over there,” said Lenore, pointing far ahead.

Through the drifting veils of heat, far across the bare, dreamy hills of fallow and the blasted fields of wheat, stood up some huge white columnar clouds, a vivid contrast to the coppery sky.

“By George! there’s a thunderhead!” exclaimed Anderson.  “Jake, what do you make of that?”

“Looks good to me,” replied Jake, who was always hopeful.

Lenore bore the hot wind and the fine, choking dust without covering her face.  She wanted to see all the hills and valleys of this desert of wheat.  Her heart beat a little faster as, looking across that waste on waste of heroic labor, she realized she was nearing the end of a ride that might be momentous for her.  The very aspect of that wide, treeless expanse, with all its overwhelming meaning, seemed to make her a stronger and more thoughtful girl.  If those endless wheat-fields were indeed ruined, what a pity, what a tragedy!  Not only would young Dorn be ruined, but perhaps many other toiling farmers.  Somehow Lenore felt no hopeless certainty of ruin for the young man in whom she was interested.

“There, on that slope!” spoke up Anderson, pointing to a field which was yellow in contrast to the surrounding gray field.  “There’s a half-section of fair wheat.”

But such tinges of harvest gold were not many in half a dozen miles of dreary hills.  Where were the beautiful shadows in the wheat? wondered Lenore.  Not a breath of wind appeared to stir across those fields.

As the car neared the top of a hill the road curved into another, and Lenore saw a dusty flash of another car passing on ahead.

Suddenly Jake leaned forward.

“Boss, I seen somethin’ throwed out of thet car—­into the wheat,” he said.

“What?—­Mebbe it was a bottle,” replied Anderson, peering ahead.

“Nope.  Sure wasn’t thet....  There!  I seen it again.  Watch, boss!”