Free the Desert Of Wheat (2001) by Zane Grey Page B

see him--again.... Oh, I wonder!"
    The sound of the whispered words, the question, the inevitableness of something involuntary, proved traitors to her happy dreams, her assurance, her composure. She tried to burrow under the hay, to hide from that tremendous bright-blue eye, the sky. Suddenly she lay very quiet, feeling the strange glow and throb and race of her blood, sensing the mystery of her body, trying to trace the thrills, to control this queer, tremulous, internal state. But she found she could not think clearly; she could only feel. And she gave up trying. It was sweet to feel.
    She rose and went on. Another field lay beyond, a gradual slope, covered with a new growth of alfalfa. It was a light green--a contrast to the rich darkness of that behind her. At the end of this field ran a swift little brook, clear and musical, open to the sky in places, and in others hidden under flowery banks. Birds sang from invisible coverts; a quail sent up clear flutelike notes; and a lark caroled, seemingly out of the sky.
    Lenore wet her feet crossing the brook, and, climbing the little knoll above, she sat down upon a stone to dry them in the sun. It had a burn that felt good. No matter how hot the sun ever got there, she liked it.
    Always there seemed air to breathe and the shade was pleasant.
    From this vantage-point, a favorite one with Lenore, she could see all the alfalfa-fields, the hill crowned by the beautiful white-and-red house, the acres of garden, and the miles of orchards. The grazing and grain fields began behind her.
    The brook murmured below her and the birds sang. She heard the bees humming by. The air out here was clear of scent of fruit and hay, and it bore a drier odor, not so sweet. She could see the workmen, first those among the alfalfa, and then the men, and women, too, bending over on the vegetable-gardens. Likewise she could see the gleam of peaches, apples, pears and plums--a colorful and mixed gleam, delightful to the eye.
    Wet or dry, it seemed that her feet refused to stay still, and once again she was wandering. A gray, slate-colored field of oats invited her steps, and across this stretch she saw a long yellow slope of barley, where the men were cutting. Beyond waved the golden fields of wheat.
    Lenore imagined that when she reached them she would not desire to wander farther.
    There were two machines cutting on the barley slope, one drawn by eight horses, and the other by twelve. When Lenore had crossed the oat-field she discovered a number of strange men lounging in the scant shade of a line of low trees that separated the fields. Here she saw Adams, the foreman; and he espied her at the same moment. He had been sitting down, talking to the men. At once he rose to come toward Lenore.
    "Is your father with you?" he asked.
    "No; he's too slow for me," replied Lenore. "Who are these men?"
    "They're strangers looking for jobs."
    "I. W. W. men?" queried Lenore, in lower voice.
    "Surely must be," he replied. Adams was not a young, not a robust man, and he seemed to carry a burden of worry. "Your father said he would come right out."
    "I hope he doesn't," said Lenore, bluntly. "Father has a way with him, you know."
    "Yes, I know. And it's the way we're needing here in the Valley," replied the foreman, significantly.
    "Is that the new harvester-thresher father just bought?" asked Lenore, pointing to the huge machine, shining and creeping behind the twelve horses.
    "Yes, that's the McCormack and it's a dandy," returned Adams. "With machines like that we can get along without the I. W. W."
    "I want a ride on it," declared Lenore, and she ran along to meet the harvester. She waved her hand to the driver, Bill Jones, another old hand, long employed by her father. Bill hauled back on the many-branched reins, and when the horses stopped the clattering, whirring roar of the machine also ceased.
    "Howdy, miss! Reckon this 's a regular I. W. W. hold-up."
    "Worse than that, Bill," gaily replied Lenore as she mounted