"We've got over sixteen hundred acres in fallow ground, a half-section
in rye, another half in wheat--Turkey Red--and this section you see, six
hundred and forty acres, in Bluestem," said Kurt.
Anderson's keen eyes swept from near at hand to far away, down the
gentle, billowy slope and up the far hillside. The wheat was two feet
high, beginning to be thick and heavy at the heads, as if struggling to
burst. A fragrant, dry, wheaty smell, mingled with dust, came on the
soft summer breeze, and a faint silken rustle. The greenish, almost blue
color near at hand gradually in the distance grew lighter, and then
yellow, and finally took on a tinge of gold. There was a living spirit
in that vast wheat-field.
"Dorn, it's the finest wheat I've seen!" exclaimed Anderson, with the
admiration of the farmer who aspired high. "In fact, it's the only fine
field of wheat I've seen since we left the foot-hills. How is that?"
"Late spring and dry weather," replied Dorn. "Most of the farmers'
reports are poor. If we get rain over the Bend country we'll have only
an average yield this year. If we don't get rain--then flat failure."
Miss Anderson evinced an interest in the subject and she wanted to know
why this particular field, identical with all the others for miles
around, should have a promise of a magnificent crop when the others had
no promise at all.
"This section lay fallow a long time," replied Dorn. "Snow lasted here
on this north slope quite a while. My father used a method of soil
cultivation intended to conserve moisture. The seed wheat was especially
selected. And if we have rain during the next ten days this section of
Bluestem will yield fifty bushels to the acre."
"Fifty bushels!" ejaculated Anderson.
"Bluestem? Why do you call it that when it's green and yellow?" queried
the girl.
"It's a name. There are many varieties of wheat. Bluestem is best here
in this desert country because it resists drought, it produces large
yield, it does not break, and the flour-mills rate it very high.
Bluestem is not good in wet soils."
Anderson tramped along the edge of the field, peering down, here and
there pulling a shaft of wheat and examining it. The girl gazed with
dreamy eyes across the undulating sea. And Dorn watched her.
"We have a ranch--thousands of acres--but not like this," she said.
"What's the difference?" asked Dorn.
She appeared pensive and in doubt.
"I hardly know. What would you call this--this scene?"
"Why, I call it the desert of wheat! But no one else does," he replied.
"I named father's ranch 'Many Waters.' I think those names tell the
difference."
"Isn't my desert beautiful?"
"No. It has a sameness--a monotony that would drive me mad. It looks as
if the whole world had gone to wheat. It makes me think--oppresses me.
All this means that we live by wheat alone. These bare hills! They're
too open to wind and sun and snow. They look like the toil of ages."
"Miss Anderson, there is such a thing as love for the earth--the bare
brown earth. You know we came from dust, and to dust we return! These
fields are human to my father. And they have come to speak to me--a
language I don't understand yet. But I mean--what you see--the growing
wheat here, the field of clods over there, the wind and dust and glare
and heat, the eternal sameness of the open space--these are the things
around which my life has centered, and when I go away from them I am not
content."
Anderson came back to the young couple, carrying some heads of wheat in
his hand.
"Smut!" he exclaimed, showing both diseased and healthy specimens of
wheat. "Had to hunt hard to find that. Smut is the bane of all
wheat-growers. I never saw so little of it as there is here. In fact, we
know scarcely nothin' about smut an' its cure, if there is any. You
farmers who raise only grain have got the work down to a science. This
Bluestem is not bearded wheat, like Turkey Red. Has that beard anythin'
to do with smut?"
"I think not. The parasite, or fungus, lives inside the wheat."
"Never heard that before. No wonder smut is the worst trouble for
wheat-raisers in the Northwest. I've fields literally full of smut. An'
we never are rid of it. One farmer has one idea, an' some one else
another. What could be of greater importance to a farmer? We're at war.
The men who claim to know say that wheat will win the war. An' we lose
millions of bushels from this smut. That's to say it's a terrible fact
to face. I'd like to get your ideas."
Dorn, happening to glance again at Miss Anderson, an act that seemed to
be growing habitual, read curiosity and interest, and something more, in
her direct blue eyes. The circumstance embarrassed him, though it tugged
at the flood-gates of his knowledge. He could talk about wheat, and he
did like to. Yet here was a girl who might be supposed to be bored.
Still, she did not appear to be. That warm glance was not politeness.
"Yes, I'd like to hear every word you can say about wheat," she said,
with an encouraging little nod.
"Sure she would," added Anderson, with an affectionate hand on her
shoulder. "She's a farmer's daughter. She'll be a farmer's wife."
He laughed at this last sally. The girl blushed. Dorn smiled and shook
his head doubtfully.
"I imagine that good fortune will never befall a farmer," he said.
"Well, if it should," she replied, archly, "just consider how I might
surprise him with my knowledge of wheat.... Indeed, Mr. Dorn, I am
interested. I've never been in the Bend before--in your desert of wheat.
I never before felt the greatness of loving the soil--or caring for
it--of growing things from seed. Yet the Bible teaches that, and I read
my Bible. Please tell us. The more you say the more I'll like it."
Dorn was not proof against this eloquence. And he quoted two of his
authorities, Heald and Woolman, of the State Agricultural Experiment
Station, where he had studied for two years.
"Bunt, or stinking smut, is caused by two different species of
microscopic fungi which live as parasites in the wheat plant. Both are
essentially similar in their effects and their life-history. _Tilletia
tritici_, or the rough-spored variety, is the common stinking smut of
the Pacific regions, while _Tilletia foetans_, or the smooth-spored
species, is the one generally found in the eastern United States.
"The smut 'berries,' or 'balls,' from an infected head contain millions
of minute bodies, the spores or 'seeds' of the smut fungus. These
reproduce the smut in somewhat the same way that a true seed develops
into a new plant. A single smut ball of average size contains a
sufficient number of spores to give one for each grain of wheat in five
or six bushels. It takes eight smut spores to equal the diameter of a
human hair. Normal wheat grains from an infected field may have so many
spores lodged on their surface as to give them a dark color, but other
grains which show no difference in color to the naked eye may still
contain a sufficient number of spores to produce a smutty crop if seed
treatment is not practised.
"When living smut spores are introduced into the soil with the seed
wheat, or exist in the soil in which smut-free wheat is sown, a certain
percentage of the wheat plants are likely to become infected. The smut
spore germinates and produces first a stage of the smut plant in the
soil. This first stage never infects a young seedling direct, but gives
rise to secondary spores, or sporida, from which infection threads may
arise and penetrate the shoot of a young seedling and reach the growing
point. Here the fungus threads keep pace with the growth of the plant
and reach maturity at or slightly before harvest-time.
"Since this disease is caused by an internal parasite, it is natural to
expect certain responses to its presence. It should be noted first that
the smut fungus is living at the expense of its host plant, the wheat,
and its effect on the host may be summarized as follows: The consumption
of food, the destruction of food in the sporulating process, and the
stimulating or retarding effect on normal physiological processes.
"Badly smutted plants remain in many cases under-size and produce fewer
and smaller heads. In the Fife and Bluestem varieties the infected heads
previous to maturity exhibit a darker green color, and remain green
longer than the normal heads. In some varieties the infected heads stand
erect, when normal ones begin to droop as a result of the increasing
weight of the ripening grain.
"A crop may become infected with smut in a number of different ways.
Smut was originally introduced with the seed, and many farmers are still
planting it every season with their seed wheat. Wheat taken from a
smutty crop will have countless numbers of loose spores adhering to the
grains, also a certain number of unbroken smut balls. These are always a
source of danger, even when the seed is treated with fungicides before
sowing.
"There are also chances for the infection of a crop if absolutely
smut-free seed is employed. First, soil infection from a previous smutty
crop; second, soil infection from wind-blown spores. Experiments have
shown that separated spores from crushed smut balls lose their effective
power in from two to three months, provided the soil is moist and loose,
and in no case do they survive a winter.
"It does not seem probable that wheat smut will be controlled by any
single practice, but rather by the combined use of various methods: crop
rotation; the use of clean seed; seed treatment with fungicides;
cultural practices and breeding; and selection of varieties.
"Failure to practise crop rotation is undoubtedly one of the main
explanations for the general prevalence of smut in the wheat-fields of
eastern Washington. Even with an intervening summer fallow, the smut
from a previous crop may be a source of infection. Experience shows that
a fall stubble crop is less liable to smut infection than a crop
following summer fallow. The apparent explanation for this condition is
the fact that the summer fallow becomes infected with wind-blown spores,
while in a stubble crop the wind-blown spores, as well as those
originating from the previous crop, are buried in plowing.
"If clean seed or properly treated seed had been used by all farmers we
should never have had a smut problem. High per cents. of smut indicate
either soil infection or imperfect treatment. The principle of the
chemical treatment is to use a poison which will kill the superficial
spores of the smut and not materially injure the germinating power of
the seed. The hot-water treatment is only recommended when one of the
chemical 'steeps' is not effective.
"Certain cultural practices are beneficial in reducing the amount of
smut in all cases, while the value of others depends to some extent upon
the source of the smut spores. The factors which always influence the
amount of smut are the temperature of the soil during the germinating
period, the amount of soil moisture, and the depth of seeding. Where
seed-borne spores are the only sources of infection, attention to the
three factors mentioned will give the only cultural practices for
reducing the amount of smut.
"Early seeding has been practised by various farmers, and they report a
marked reduction in smut.
"The replowing of the summer fallow after the first fall rains is
generally effective in reducing the amount of smut.
"Very late planting--that is, four or five weeks after the first good
fall rains--is also an effective practice. Fall tillage of summer
fallow, other than plowing, seems to be beneficial.
"No smut-immune varieties of wheat are known, but the standard varieties
show varying degrees of resistance. Spring wheats generally suffer less
from smut than winter varieties. This is not due to any superior
resistance, but rather to the fact that they escape infection. If only
spring wheats were grown our smut problem would largely disappear; but a
return to this practice is not suggested, since the winter wheats are
much more desirable. It seems probable that the conditions which prevail
during the growing season may have considerable influence on the per
cent of smut in any given variety."
* * * * *
When Dorn finished his discourse, to receive the thanks of his
listeners, they walked back through the yard toward the road. Mr.
Anderson, who led the way, halted rather abruptly.
"Hum! Who're those men talkin' to my driver?" he queried.
Dorn then saw a couple of strangers standing near the motor-car, engaged
in apparently close conversation with the chauffeur. Upon the moment
they glanced up to see Mr. Anderson approaching, and they rather
hurriedly departed. Dorn had noted a good many strangers lately--men
whose garb was not that of farmers, whose faces seemed foreign, whose
actions were suspicious.
"I'll bet a hundred they're I.W.W.'s," declared Anderson. "Take my
hunch, Dorn."
The strangers passed on down the road without looking back.
"Wonder where they'll sleep to-night?" muttered Dorn.
Anderson rather sharply asked his driver what the two men wanted. And
the reply he got was that they were inquiring about work.
"Did they speak English?" went on the rancher.
"Well enough to make themselves understood," replied the driver.
Dorn did not get a good impression from the shifty eyes and air of
taciturnity of Mr. Anderson's man, and it was evident that the blunt
rancher restrained himself. He helped his daughter into the car, and
then put on his long coat. Next he shook hands with Dorn.
"Young man, I've enjoyed meetin' you, an' have sure profited from same,"
he said. "Which makes up for your dad! I'll run over here again to see
you--around harvest-time. An' I'll be wishin' for that rain."
"Thank you. If it does rain I'll be happy to see you," replied Dorn,
with a smile.
"Well, if it doesn't rain I won't come. I'll put it off another year,
an' cuss them other fellers into holdin' off, too."
"You're very kind. I don't know how I'd--we'd ever repay you in that
case."
"Don't mention it. Say, how far did you say it was to Palmer? We'll have
lunch there."
"It's fifteen miles--that way," answered Dorn. "If it wasn't for--for
father I'd like you to stay--and break some of my bread."
Dorn was looking at the girl as he spoke. Her steady gaze had been on
him ever since she entered the car, and in the shade of her hat and the
veil she was adjusting her eyes seemed very dark and sweet and
thoughtful. She brightly nodded her thanks as she held the veil aside
with both hands.
"I wish you luck. Good-by," she said, and closed the veil.
Still, Dorn could see her eyes through it, and now they were sweeter,
more mysterious, more provocative of haunting thoughts. It flashed over
him with dread certainty that he had fallen in love with her. The shock
struck him mute. He had no reply for the rancher's hearty farewell. Then
the car lurched away and dust rose in a cloud.