Lenore eagerly watched her husband's face in pleasurable anticipation, yet with some anxiety. Wheat had been a subject little touched upon and the war had never been mentioned. "Great!" he exclaimed, with a glow in his cheeks. "I've been wanting to ask.... Wheat for the Allies and neutrals--for more than a year!... Anderson, the United States will feed and save the world!" "I reckon. Son, we're sendin' thousands of soldiers a day now--ships are buildin' fast--aeroplanes comin' like a swarm of bees--money for the government to burn--an' every American gettin' mad.... Dorn, the Germans don't know they're ruined!... What do you say?" Dorn looked very strange. "Lenore, help me stand up," he asked, with strong tremor in his voice. "Oh, Kurt, you're not able yet," appealed Lenore. "Help me. I want _you_ to do it." Lenore complied, wondering and frightened, yet fascinated, too. She helped him off the bed and steadied him on his feet. Then she felt him release himself so he stood free. "What do I say? Anderson I say this. I killed Germans who had grown up with a training and a passion for war. I've been a farmer. I did not want to fight. Duty and hate forced me. The Germans I met fell before me. I was shell-shot, shocked, gassed, and bayoneted. I took twenty-five wounds, and then it was a shell that downed me. I saw my comrades kill and kill before they fell. That is American. Our enemies are driven, blinded, stolid, brutal, obsessed, and desperate. They are German. They lack--not strength nor efficiency nor courage--but soul." White and spent, Dorn then leaned upon Lenore and got back upon his bed. His passion had thrilled her. Anderson responded with an excitement he plainly endeavored to conceal. "I get your hunch," he said. "If I needed any assurance, you've given it to me. To hell with the Germans! Let's don't talk about them any more.... An' to come back to our job. Wheat! Son, I've plans that 'll raise your hair. We'll harvest a bumper crop at 'Many Waters' in July. An' we'll sow two thousand acres of winter wheat. So much for 'Many Waters.'--I got mad this summer. I blowed myself. I bought about all the farms around yours up in the Bend country. Big harvest of spring wheat comin'. You'll superintend that harvest, an' I'll look after ours here.... An' you'll sow ten thousand acres of fallow on your own rich hills--this fall. Do you get that? Ten thousand acres?" "Anderson!" gasped Dorn. "Yes, Anderson," mimicked the rancher. "My blood's up. But I'd never have felt so good about it if you hadn't come back. The land's not all paid for, but it's ours. We'll meet our notes. I've been up there twice this spring. You'd never know a few hills had burned over last harvest. Olsen, an' your other neighbors, or most of them, will work the land on half-shares. You'll be boss. An' sure you'll be well for fall sowin'. That'll make you the biggest sower of wheat in the Northwest."