“Father, do you realize now that the men you were dealing with at Wheatly are dishonest?  I mean with you.  They would betray you.”

Old Dorn had no answer for this.  Evidently he had sustained some kind of shock that he was not willing to admit.

“Look here, father,” went on Kurt, in slow earnestness.  He spoke in English, because nothing would make him break his word and ever again speak a word of German.  And his father was not quick to comprehend English.  “Can’t you see that the I.W.W. mean to cripple us wheat farmers this harvest?”

“No,” replied old Dorn, stubbornly.

“But they do.  They don’t want work.  If they accept work it is for a chance to do damage.  All this I.W.W. talk about more wages and shorter hours is deceit.  They make a bold face of discontent.  That is all a lie.  The I.W.W. is out to ruin the great wheat-fields and the great lumber forests of the Northwest.”

“I do not believe that,” declared his father, stoutly.  “What for?”

Kurt meant to be careful of that subject.

“No matter what for.  It does not make any difference what it’s for.  We’ve got to meet it to save our wheat....  Now won’t you believe me?  Won’t you let me manage the harvest?”

“I will not believe,” replied old Dorn, stubbornly.  “Not about my wheat.  I know they mean to destroy.  They are against rich men like Anderson.  But not me or my wheat!”

“There is where you are wrong.  I’ll prove it in a very few days.  But in that time I can prepare for them and outwit them.  Will you let me?”

“Go ahead,” replied old Dorn, gruffly.

It was a concession that Kurt was amazed and delighted to gain.  And he set about at once to act upon it.  He changed his clothes and satisfied his hunger; then, saddling his horse, he started out to visit his farmer neighbors.

The day bade fair to be rich in experience.  Jerry, the foreman, was patrolling his long beat up and down the highway.  Jerry carried a shot-gun and looked like a sentry.  The men under him were on the other side of the section of wheat, and the ground was so rolling that they could not be seen from the highway.  Jerry was unmistakably glad and relieved to see Kurt.

“Some goin’s-on,” he declared, with a grin.  “Since you left there’s been one hundred and sixteen I.W.W. tramps along this here road.”

“Have you had any trouble?” inquired Kurt.

“Wal, I reckon it wasn’t trouble, but every time I took a peg at some sneak I sort of broke out sweatin’ cold.”

“You shot at them?”

“Sure I shot when I seen any loafin’ along in the dark.  Two of them shot back at me, an’ after thet I wasn’t particular to aim high....  Reckon I’m about dead for sleep.”

“I’ll relieve you to-night,” replied Kurt.  “Jerry, doesn’t the wheat look great?”

“Wal, I reckon.  An’ walkin’ along here when it’s quiet an’ no wind blowin’, I can just hear the wheat crack.  It’s gittin’ ripe fast, an’ sure the biggest crop we ever raised....  But I’m tellin’ you—­when I think how we’ll ever harvest it my insides just sinks like lead!”