“I’d deposit the money an’ wire the Spokane miller,” returned the rancher.  “I know him.  He’ll leave the money in the bank till your wheat is safe.  Go to the national bank in Kilo.  Mention my name.”

Then Kurt told Anderson of the plot against his fortunes and his life.

“Neuman!  I.W.W.!  German intrigue!” growled the rancher.  “All in the same class!...  Dorn, I’m forewarned, an’ that’s forearmed.  I’ll beat this outfit at their own game.”

They returned to Anderson’s car.  Kurt reached inside for his rifle.

“Aren’t you going home with us?” asked the girl.

“Why, Miss Anderson, I—­I’m sorry.  I—­I’d love to see ‘Many Waters,’” floundered Kurt.  “But I can’t go now.  There’s no need.  I must hurry back to—­to my troubles.”

“I wanted to tell you something—­at home,” she returned, shyly.

“Tell me now,” said Kurt.

She gave him such a glance as he had never received in his life.  Kurt felt himself as wax before those blue eyes.  She wanted to thank him.  That would be sweet, but would only make his ordeal harder.  He steeled himself.

“You won’t come?” she asked, and her smile was wistful.

“No—­thank you ever so much.”

“Will you come to see me before you—­you go to war?”

“I’ll try.”

“But you must promise.  You’ve done so much for me and my father....  I—­I want you to come to see me—­at my home.”

“Then I’ll come,” he replied.

Anderson clambered into the car beside his daughter and laid his big hands on the wheel.

“Sure he’ll come, or we’ll go after him,” he declared, heartily.  “So long, son.”

CHAPTER XI

Late in the forenoon of the next day Kurt Dorn reached home.  A hot harvest wind breathed off the wheat-fields.  It swelled his heart to see the change in the color of that section of Bluestem—­the gold had a tinge of rich, ripe brown.

Kurt’s father awaited him, a haggard, gloomy-faced man, unkempt and hollow-eyed.

“Was it you who robbed me?” he shouted hoarsely.

“Yes,” replied Kurt.  He had caught the eager hope and fear in the old man’s tone.  Kurt expected that confession would bring on his father’s terrible fury, a mood to dread.  But old Dorn showed immense relief.  He sat down in his relaxation from what must have been intense strain.  Kurt saw a weariness, a shade, in the gray lined face that had never been there before.

“What did you do with the money?” asked the old man.

“I banked it in Kilo,” replied Kurt.  “Then I wired your miller in Spokane....  So you’re safe if we can harvest the wheat.”

Old Dorn nodded thoughtfully.  There had come a subtle change in him.  Presently he asked Kurt if men had been hired for the harvest.

“No.  I’ve not seen any I would trust,” replied Kurt, and then he briefly outlined Anderson’s plan to insure a quick and safe harvesting of the grain.  Old Dorn objected to this on account of the expense.  Kurt argued with him and patiently tried to show him the imperative need of it.  Dorn, apparently, was not to be won over; however, he was remarkably mild in comparison with what Kurt had expected.