and the smell of smoke, sweat,
dust, and wheat. Kurt had arms of steel. If they tired he never knew it.
He toiled, and he watched the long spout of chaff and straw as it
streamed from the thresher to lift, magically, a glistening,
ever-growing stack. And he felt, as a last and cumulative change, his
physical effort, and the physical adjuncts of the scene, pass into
something spiritual, into his heart and his memory.

The end of that harvest-time came as a surprise to Kurt. Obsessed with
his own emotions, he had actually helped to cut the wheat and harvest
it; he had seen it go swath by swath, he had watched the huge wagons
lumber away and the huge straw-stacks rise without realizing that the
hours of this wonderful harvest were numbered.

Sight of Olsen coming in from across the field, and the sudden cessation
of roar and action, made Kurt aware of the end. It seemed a calamity.
But Olsen was smiling through his dust-caked face. About him were
relaxation, an air of finality, and a subtle pride.

"We're through," he said. "She tallies thirty-eight thousand, seven
hundred an' forty-one bushels. It's too bad the old man couldn't live to
hear that."

Olsen gripped Kurt's hand and wrung it.

"Boy, I reckon you ought to take that a little cheerfuller," he went on.
"But--well it's been a hard time.... The men are leavin' now. In two
hours the last wagons will unload at the railroad. The wheat will all be
in the warehouse. An' our worry's ended."

"I--I hope so," responded Kurt. He seemed overcome with the passionate
longing to show his gratitude to Olsen. But the words would not flow.
"I--I don't know how to thank you.... All my life--"

"We beat the I.W.W.," interposed the farmer, heartily. "An' now what'll
you do, Dorn?"

"Why, I'll hustle to Kilo, get my money, send you a check for yourself
and men, pay off the debt to Anderson, and then--"

But Kurt did not conclude his speech. His last words were
thought-provoking.

"It's turned out well," said Olsen, with satisfaction, and, shaking
hands again with Kurt, he strode back to his horses.

At last the wide, sloping field was bare, except for the huge
straw-stacks. A bright procession lumbered down the road, led by the
long strings of wagons filled with brown bags. A strange silence had
settled down over the farm. The wheat was gone. That waving stretch of
gold had fallen to the thresher and the grain had been hauled away. The
neighbors had gone, leaving Kurt ri