“Anderson is a capitalist,” said Chris Dorn, deep in his beard.  “He seeks control of farmers and wheat in the Northwest.  Ranch after ranch he’s gained by taking up and foreclosing mortgages.  He’s against labor.  He grinds down the poor.  He cheated Neuman out of a hundred thousand bushels of wheat.  He bought up my debt.  He meant to ruin me.  He—­”

“You’re talking I.W.W. rot,” whispered Kurt, shaking with the effort to subdue his feelings.  “Anderson is fine, big, square—­a developer of the Northwest.  Not an enemy!  He’s our friend.  Oh! if only you had an American’s eyes, just for a minute!...  Father, I want that money for Anderson.”

“My son, I run my own business,” replied Dorn, sullenly, with a pale fire in his opaque eyes.  “You’re a wild boy, unfaithful to your blood.  You’ve fallen in love with an American girl....  Anderson says he needs money!"...  With hard, gloomy face the old man shook his head.  “He thinks he’ll harvest!” Again that strange shake of finality.  “I know what I know....  I keep my money....  We’ll have other rule....  I keep my money.”

Kurt had vibrated to those most significant words and he stared speechless at his father.

“Go home.  Get ready for harvest,” suddenly ordered old Dorn, as if he had just awakened to the fact of Kurt’s disobedience in lingering here.

“All right, father,” replied Kurt, and, turning on his heel, he strode outdoors.

When he got beyond the light he turned and went back to a position where in the dark he could watch without being seen.  His father and the hotel proprietor were again engaged in earnest colloquy.  Neuman had disappeared.  Kurt saw the huge shadow of a man pass across a drawn blind in a room up-stairs.  Then he saw smaller shadows, and arms raised in vehement gesticulation.  The very shadows were sinister.  Men passed in and out of the hotel.  Once old Dorn came to the door and peered all around.  Kurt observed that there was a dark side entrance to this hotel.  Presently Neuman returned to the desk and said something to old Dorn, who shook his head emphatically, and then threw himself into a chair, in a brooding posture that Kurt knew well.  He had seen it so often that he knew it had to do with money.  His father was refusing demands of some kind.  Neuman again left the office, this time with the proprietor.  They were absent some little time.

During this period Kurt leaned against a tree, hidden in the shadow, with keen eyes watching and with puzzled, anxious mind.  He had determined, in case his father left that office with Neuman, on one of those significant disappearances, to slip into the hotel at the side entrance and go up-stairs to listen at the door of the room with the closely drawn blind.  Neuman returned soon with the hotel man, and the two of them half led, half dragged old Dorn out into the street.  They took the direction toward the railroad.  Kurt followed at a safe distance on the opposite side of the street.  Soon they passed the stores with lighted windows, then several dark houses, and at length the railroad station.  Perhaps they were bound for the train.  Kurt heard rumbling in the distance.  But they went beyond the station, across the track, and turned to the right.