THE FIELD OF AMBER GOLD By William Bigelow Neal A remarkable story wherein the poignant drama of man’s eternal battle with the forces of Nature is impressively brought out: by the author of “Captain Jack” and “At Bay.” John Grahame walked with shoulders stooped, head bent forward and down, until he was peering out at the storm through the half-inch slit between the visor of his cap and the top of a sheepskin collar. When he left the little prairie town of Barliton, two hours before, the sun had been shining, and although it was thirty below, he anticipated nothing worse than a cold drive, ending as usual by the big coal stove where he rocked and read the papers aloud to Jane as she prepared his supper. But he had covered little more than half of the fifteen miles to his home when a blue-gray wall of clouds arose in the west and came on with the terrifying speed of the genuine Dakota blizzard. There were several inches of loose snow on the ground, and John knew what the wind would do to those powdery flakes. He looked about him and considered. There were two or three farms within sight, and he was minded to try and reach one ahead of the storm, but then he thought of Jane. He could see her standing, as thousands of pioneer women had stood before, her face pressed against the frost-laden glass, looking anxiously out into the impenetrable wall of whirling snow, and praying the God of Storms to guide her lover safely through; he thought of the wind and the stoves that might burn all too fiercely, and with this vision of fire came decision: he must go through. Grahame settled his cap and pulled the earlaps well down over the sides of his face; he unbuttoned his heavy double-breasted overcoat and buttoned it again so that the opening would be downwind instead of against it; he turned up the wide collar and buttoned the tab across the front; and from a box of groceries and other supplies he took an extra pair of knitted gloves and put them on under his mittens. When the storm was almost upon him, he slipped from the load and began to walk. He was ready, but none too soon. Little whirlwinds were already lifting the light snow in small spirals which wandered aimlessly here and there, and when the blue wall passed under and obscured the sun, it seemed to him that the thermometer dropped ten degrees, so cold and piercing was the wind. From ahead came a low moaning which grew louder and louder--and then the storm struck.