DEEP FURROWS 



The man who had ridden all day with his thoughts 

 began unconsciously to apply other meanings to the 

 sound, to people the night with dim faces and shapes 

 that came trooping over the edge of the tablelands 

 above toil-bent figures of old pioneer farmers, care- 

 worn faces of women and bright eager faces of little 

 children who were holding out their hands trustfully 

 to the future. There seemed to be a never-ending pro- 

 cession-^aces that were apathetic from repeated dis- 

 appointments, faces that scowled threateningly, brave 

 faces tense with determination and sad faces on which 

 was written the story of struggle hidden within many 

 a lonely wind-buffeted shack on the great bosom of the 



prairie^ 



Was it, then, that all the years of toil and hardship 

 were to come to naught for this great company of 

 f honest workers, these brave j)ioneer men^andjwonien of 

 the soil? Was all their striving forward to find them 

 merely marking time, shouldered into the backwater 



A while the currents of organized 



il away their opportunities^ Were not these producers of 

 the world's bread themselves to partake of the fruits of 

 their labor? -7~j<^ 



Yes ! Surely the answer was ffest) It was their 



j/ Eight. Wrong could not endure forever in the face of 



uXEight; else were the world a poor place, Life itself a 

 failure, the mystic beauty of God's calm night a 

 mockery. 



The man from Abernethy roused himself. It would 

 be nearly dawn before his team would reach their home 

 stalls. He whistled to the horses and they plunged 

 into the black shadows of the coulee up which the trail 

 rose in steep ascent from the valley. When they emerged 

 into the moonlight he drew rein for a moment. 



