"Lenore, there's trouble in the very air," said Dorn. "Look!" She saw a crowd of men gathering round one of the great combine-harvesters. Some one was yelling. "Let's stay away from trouble," replied Lenore. "We've enough of our own." "I'm going over there," declared Dorn. "Perhaps you'd better wait for me--or go back." "Well! You're the first boy who ever--" "Come on," he interrupted, with grim humor. "I'd rather enjoy your seeing me break loose--as I will if there's any I.W.W. trickery." Before they got to the little crowd Lenore both heard and saw her father. He was in a rage and not aware of her presence. Jake and Bill, the cowboys, hovered over him. Anderson strode to and fro, from one side of the harvester to the other. Lenore did not recognize any of the harvest-hands, and even the driver was new to her. They were not a typical Western harvest crew, that was certain. She did not like their sullen looks, and Dorn's muttered imprecation, the moment he neared them, confirmed her own opinion. Anderson's foreman stood gesticulating, pale and anxious of face. "No, I don't hold you responsible," roared the rancher. "But I want action.... I want to know why this machine's broke down." "It was in perfect workin' order," declared the foreman. "I don't know why it broke down." "That's the fourth machine in two days. No accident, I tell you," shouted Anderson. Then he espied Dorn and waved a grimy hand. "Come here, Dorn," he called, and stepped out of the group of dusty men. "Somethin' wrong here. This new harvester's broke down. It's a McCormack an' new to us. But it has worked great an' I jest believe it's been tampered with... Do you know these McCormack harvesters?" "Yes. They're reliable," replied Dorn. "Ah-huh! Wal, get your coat off an' see what's been done to this one." Dorn took off his coat and was about to throw it down, when Lenore held out her hand for it. "Unhitch the horses," said Dorn. Anderson gave this order, which was complied with. Then Dorn disappeared around or under the big machine. "Lenore, I'll bet he tells us somethin' in a minute," said Anderson to her. "These new claptraps are beyond me. I'm no mechanic." "Dad, I don't like the looks of your harvest-hands," whispered Lenore. "Wal, this is a sample of the lot I hired. No society for you, my lass!" "I'm going to stay now," she replied. Dorn appeared to be raising a racket somewhere out of sight under or inside the huge harvester. Rattling and rasping sounds, creaks and cracks, attested to his strong and impatiently seeking hands. Presently he appeared. His white shirt had been soiled by dust and grease. There was chaff in his fair hair. In one grimy hand he held a large monkey-wrench. What struck Lenore most was the piercing intensity of his gaze as he fixed it upon her father.