to go his way. These were
lonely days for the young ranchman, who saw little of Jerry Swaim
because every possible minute of his time was given to wrestling with
the blowout.

There were many more lonely days, also, for Jerry, who now began to miss
Joe more than she thought it could be possible to miss anybody except
Gene Wellington, idealized into a sad and beautiful memory that kept
alive an unconscious hope. And, with all her energy and her
determination, many things combined to make her school-room duty a hard
task to one whose training had been so unfitting for serious labor. The
flesh-pots of the Winnowoc came temptingly to her memory, and there were
weary hours when the struggle to be sure and satisfied was greater than
her friends could have dreamed.

The third winter of her stay had seen an unusual snowfall for the Sage
Brush, and this spring following was an unusually rainy one. Everywhere
rank vegetation flourished, prairies reveled in luxurious growths, and
cultivated fields were burdened with the promise of record-breaking
harvests.

York Macpherson's business had begun to call him to the East for
prolonged trips, and he had less knowledge than formerly of the details
of the affairs of New Eden and its community.

One day not long after Thelma's shopping trip Joe Thomson dropped into
the office of the Macpherson Mortgage Company.

"How's the blowout?" This had become York's customary greeting.

"Never gentler." Joe's face was triumphant and his dark eyes were
shining with hope. "This rainy season and the good old steam-plows are
doing their perfect work. You haven't had any sand-storms lately, maybe
you have noticed. Well, wheat is growing green and strong over more than
half of that land now. There's not so much sand to spare as there used
to be."

"You don't mean it!" York exclaimed, incredulously.

"Go and look at it yourself, you doubting old Missourian who must be
shown," Joe retorted. "There's a stretch on the northeast toward the
bend in the Sage Brush that is low and baked hard after the rains, and
shifty and infernally stubborn in the dry weather."

York meditated awhile, combing his heavy hair with his fingers. "The
river runs by your place?" he asked, at length.

"Yes, my house is right at the bend, and there is no sand across the
Sage Brush," Joe replied.

"Well, the blowout will never stop till it gets up to the south bank of
the bend. As I've told you already, you'll have to take