One rose almost upright amid a clatter of harness, its mate
squealed savagely, and the man who loosed one hand from the head-stall
flung out an arm. Then he and the pair whirled round together amid the
trampled clods in a blurred medley of spume-flecked bodies,
soil-stained jean, flung-up hoofs, and an arm that swung and smote
again. Miss Barrington grew a trifle pale as she watched, but a little
glow crept into her niece's eyes.
The struggle, however, ended suddenly, and hailing a man who plodded
behind another team, Winston picked up his broad hat, which was
trampled into shapelessness, and turned towards the wagon. There was
dust and spume upon him, a rent in the blue shirt, and the knuckles of
one hand dripped red, but he laughed as he said, "I did not know we had
an audience, but this, you see, is necessary."
"Is it?" asked Miss Barrington, who glanced at the plowing. "When
wheat is going down?"
Winston nodded. "Yes," he said. "I mean, to me; and the price of
wheat is only one part of the question."
Miss Barrington stretched out her hand, though her niece said nothing
at all. "Of course, but I want you to help us down. Maud has an
account you have not sent in to ask you for."
Winston first turned to the two men who now stood by the idle machine.
"You'll have to drive those beasts of mine as best you can, Tom, and
Jake will take your team. Get them off again now. This piece of
breaking has to be put through before we loose again.
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