ll t'rough next winter?" old man Husmann raved. Even Chris
had no answer.

In the years of experimenting, the fallowing system underwent a number
of changes. But we had the plan in its fundamentals. After each rain the
land should be loosened; and late in the fall it should be plowed rather
deeply to soak up the winter snows. The top soil must be kept from
packing. It was worth trying, they agreed, if they could get money to
pull through this drought and stay on the land.

This might be a solution for the future. But for the people on the land
the solution must be immediate. Empty purses could not wait two seasons
for a good crop; empty stomachs could not await the future, and famine
stared the homesteaders on the Lower Brule in the face.

Our proof sheet came out with the message, "We Can Fallow!" There was
encouragement to be derived from it, of course, but it was hope
deferred. Then, sitting in the doorway of the shack, leaning against the
jamb for support, my pencil held in tender fingers not yet healed, I
wrote to Halbert Donovan, setting forth the possibilities of the Strip,
and the West, under a moisture-retaining method of farming.

It was a morning in late August when I turned to see a well-dressed man
standing in the open door. Halbert Donovan!

At the first meeting he had found the West green and bright with spring
colors, and the outlaw printer of the McClure _Press_ excited and
voluble over the possibilities of the country. Now the investment broker
found a land of desolation and ruin, and the printer in sorry plight,
living in a crude, bare shack, clad like some waif of the streets in the
clothes donated by the settlers.

But he had come. He had driven out from Pierre along the dusty roads,
through the sultry heat, in a long shiny automobile. On the sagging
couch leaning against the hot wall, he sat wiping the perspiration from
his face as I told him more of the fallowing idea. He had not heard of
it. He knew practically nothing about agriculture, but he was a man to
whom any method of developing vast resources would appeal.

"At first," he said, little crinkles breaking around his eyes, relieving
the sternness of his face, "I read _The Wand_ (how I did laugh at the
name you gave it) with refreshing amusement, out of a personal curiosity
you had aroused. I wanted to see how long you would hold out. Later I
became deeply interested in this western activity."

I knew in what mood he must have reached