From the top of the next hill Lenore saw the Dorn farm and home.  All the wheat looked parched.  She remembered, however, that the section of promising grain lay on the north slope, and therefore out of sight from where she was.

“Looks as bad as any,” said Anderson.  “Good-by to my money.”

Lenore shut her eyes and thought of herself, her inward state.  She seemed calm, and glad to have that first part of the journey almost ended.  Her motive in coming was not now the impelling thing that had actuated her.

When next the car slowed down she heard her father say, “Drive in by the house.”

Then Lenore, opening her eyes, saw the gate, the trim little orchard with its scant shade, the gray old weatherbeaten house which she remembered so well.  The big porch looked inviting, as it was shady and held an old rocking-chair and a bench with blue cushions.  A door stood wide open.  No one appeared to be on the premises.

“Nash, blow your horn an’ then hunt around for somebody,” said Anderson.  “Come, get out, Lenore.  You must be half dead.”

“Oh no.  Only half dust and half fire,” replied Lenore, laughing, as she stepped out.  What a relief to get rid of coat, veils, bonnet, and to sit on a shady porch where a faint breeze blew!  Just at that instant she heard a low, distant rumbling.  Thunder!  It thrilled her.  Jake brought her a cold, refreshing drink, and she sent him back after another.  She wet her handkerchief and bathed her hot face.  It was indeed very comfortable there after that long hot ride.

“Miss Lenore, I seen thet Nash pawin’ you,” said the cowboy, “an’ by Gosh!  I couldn’t believe my eyes!”

“Not so loud!  Jake, the young gentleman imagines I’m in love with him,” replied Lenore.

“Wall, I’ll remove his imagining’,” declared Jake, coolly.

“Jake, you will do nothing.”

“Ahuh!  Then you air in love with him?”

Lenore was compelled to explain to this loyal cowboy just what the situation meant.  Whereupon Jake swore his amaze, and said, “I’m a-goin’ to lick him, anyhow, fer thet!” And he caught up the tin cup and shuffled away.

Footsteps and voices sounded on the path, upon which presently appeared Anderson and young Dorn.

“Father’s gone to Wheatly,” he was saying.  “But I’m glad to tell you we’ll pay twenty thousand dollars on the debt as soon as we harvest.  If it rains we’ll pay it all and have thirty thousand left.”

“Good!  I sure hope it rains.  An’ that thunder sounds hopeful,” responded Anderson.

“It’s been hopeful like that for several days, but no rain,” said Dorn.  And then, espying Lenore, he seemed startled out of his eagerness.  He flushed slightly.  “I—­I didn’t see—­you had brought your daughter.”