“It’s a preparation, mostly phosphorus,” replied Dorn.  “When the moisture evaporates it will ignite—­set fire to any dry substance....  That is a trick of the I.W.W. to burn the wheat-fields.”

“By all that’s ——!” swore Anderson, with his jaw bulging.  “Jake an’ I knew it meant bad.  But we didn’t know what.”

“I’ve been expecting tricks of all kinds,” said Dorn.  “I have four men watching the section.”

“Good!  Say, that car turned off to the right back here some miles....  But, worse luck, the I.W.W.’s can work at night.”

“We’ll watch at night, too,” replied Dorn.

Lenore was conscious of anger encroaching upon the melancholy splendor of her emotions, and the change was bitter.

“When the rain comes, won’t it counteract the ignition of that phosphorus?” she asked, eagerly, for she knew that rain would come.

“Only for the time being.  It ’ll be just as dry this time to-morrow as it is now.”

“Then the wheat’s goin’ to burn,” declared Anderson, grimly.  “If that trick has been worked all over this country you’re goin’ to have worse ’n a prairie fire.  The job on hand is to save this one section that has a fortune tied up in it.”

“Mr. Anderson, that job looks almost hopeless, in the light of this phosphorus trick.  What on earth can be done?  I’ve four men.  I can’t hire any more, because I can’t trust these strangers.  And how can four men—­or five, counting me, watch a square mile of wheat day and night?”

The situation looked hopeless to Lenore and she was sick.  What cruel fates toyed with this young farmer!  He seemed to be sinking under this last crowning blow.  There in the sky, rolling up and rumbling, was the long-deferred rain-storm that meant freedom from debt, and a fortune besides.  But of what avail the rain if it was to rush the wheat to full bursting measure only for the infernal touch of the foreigner?

Anderson, however, was no longer a boy.  He had dealt with many and many a trial.  Never was he plunged into despair until after the dread crisis had come to pass.  His red forehead, frowning and ridged with swelling blood-vessels, showed the bent of his mind.

“Oh, it is hard!” said Lenore to Dorn.  “I’m so sorry!  But don’t give up.  While there’s life there’s hope!”

He looked up with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you....  I did weaken.  You see I’ve let myself believe too much—­for dad’s sake.  I don’t care about the money for myself....  Money!  What good will money be to me—­now?  It’s over for me....  To get the wheat cut—­harvested—­that’s all I hoped....  The army—­war—­France—­I go to be—­”

“Hush!” whispered Lenore, and she put a soft hand upon his lips, checking the end of that bitter speech.  She felt him start, and the look she met pierced her soul.  “Hush!...  It’s going to rain!...  Father will find some way to save the wheat!...  And you are coming home—­after the war!”