“Why?”

“Because I’ll have to eat standing up for a month.”

“Yes?” queried Kurt.

“The seat of my pants must have made a good target, for you sure pasted it full of birdshot.”

Kurt smothered a laugh.  Then he felt the old anger leap up.  “Didn’t you burn my wheat?”

“Are you that young Dorn?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Kurt, hotly.

“Well, I didn’t burn one damn straw of your old wheat.”

“You didn’t!  But you’re with these men?  You’re an I.W.W.  You’ve been fighting these farmers here.”

“If you want to know, I’m a tramp,” said the man, bitterly.  “Years ago I was a prosperous oil-producer in Ohio.  I had a fine oil-field.  Along comes a big fellow, tries to buy me out, and, failing that, he shot off dynamite charges into the ground next my oil-field....  Choked my wells!  Ruined me!...  I came west—­went to farming.  Along comes a corporation, steals my water for irrigation—­and my land went back to desert....  So I quit working and trying to be honest.  It doesn’t pay.  The rich men are getting all the richer at the expense of the poor.  So now I’m a tramp.”

“Friend, that’s a hard-luck story,” said Kurt.  “It sure makes me think....  But I’ll tell you what—­you don’t belong to this I.W.W. outfit, even if you are a tramp.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re American!  That’s why.”

“Well, I know I am.  But I can be American and travel with a labor union, can’t I?”

“No.  This I.W.W. is no labor union.  It never was.  Their very first rule is to abolish capital.  They’re anarchists.  And now they’re backed by German money.  The I.W.W. is an enemy to America.  All this hampering of railroads, destruction of timber and wheat, is an aid to Germany in the war.  The United States is at war!  My God! man, can’t you see it’s your own country that must suffer for such deals as this wheat-burning to-night?”

“The hell you say!” ejaculated the man, in amaze.

“This Glidden is a German agent—­perhaps a spy.  He’s no labor leader.  What does he care for the interests of such men as you?”

“Young man, if you don’t shut up you’ll give me a hankering to go back to real work.”

“I hope I do.  Let me give you a hunch.  Throw down this I.W.W. outfit.  Go to Ruxton and get Anderson of ‘Many Waters’ ranch to give you a job.  Tell him who you are and that I sent you.”

“Anderson of ‘Many Waters,’ hey?  Well, maybe it’ll surprise you to know that Glidden is operating there, has a lot of men there, and is going there from here.”

“No, it doesn’t surprise me.  I hope he does go there.  For if he does he’ll get killed.”

“Sssssh!” whispered the guard.  “Here comes some of the gang.”

Kurt heard low voices and soft footfalls.  Some dark forms loomed up.

“Bradford, has he come to yet?” queried the brutal voice of Glidden.