Deep Furrows | Page 3

benefit of the Whole; that by pooling his resources
he is able to reach the Common Objective with the least waste of effort.
He has become a power in the land.
These pages record a story of the Western Canadian farmer's upward
struggle with market conditions--a story of the organized Grain
Growers. No attempt is made to set forth the full details of the whole
Farmer's Movement in Western Canada in all its ramifications; for the
space limits of a single volume do not permit a task so ambitious.

The writer has endeavored merely to gather an authentic record of the
earlier activities of the Grain Growers' Associations in the three Prairie
Provinces--why and how they came to be organized, with what the
farmers had to contend and something of their remarkable
achievements in co-operative marketing during the past decade. It is a
tale of strife, limned by high lights and some shadows. It is a record
worthy of preservation and one which otherwise would pass in some of
its details with the fading memories of the pathfinders.
If from these pages the reader is able to glean something of interest,
something to broaden--be it ever so slightly--his understanding of the
Western Canadian farmers' past viewpoint and present outlook, the
undertaking will have found its justification and the long journeys and
many interviews their reward.
For, under the alchemy of the Great War, many things are changing and
in the wonderful days of reconstruction that lie ahead the Farmer is
destined to play an upstanding part in the new greatness of our country.
Because of this it behooves the humblest citizen of us to seek better
understanding, to meet half way the hand of fellowship which he
extends for a new conception of national life.
The writer is grateful to those farmers, grain men, government officials
and others who have assisted him so kindly in gathering and verifying
his material. Indebtedness is acknowledged also to sundry Dominion
Government records, to the researches of Herbert N. Casson and to the
press and various Provincial Departments of Agriculture for the use of
their files.
H.M.
WINNIPEG, March 1st, 1918.

DEEP FURROWS
CHAPTER I

THE MAN ON THE QU'APPELLE TRAIL
Among the lonely lakes I go no more, For she who made their beauty is
not there; The paleface rears his tepee on the shore And says the vale is
fairest of the fair. Full many years have vanished since, but still The
voyageurs beside the camp-fire tell How, when the moon-rise tips the
distant hill, They hear strange voices through the silence swell. --E.
Pauline Johnson. The Legend of Qu'Appelle.
To the rimming skyline, and beyond, the wheatlands of Assiniboia[1]
spread endlessly in the sunshine. It was early October in the year
1901--one of those clear bright days which contribute enchantment to
that season of spun gold when harvest bounties are garnered on the
Canadian prairies. Everywhere was the gleam of new yellow stubble. In
serried ranks the wheat stocks stretched, dwindling to mere specks,
merging as they lost identity in distance. Here and there stripes of
plowed land elongated, the rich black freshly turned earth in sharp
contrast to the prevailing gold, while in a tremendous deep blue arch
overhead an unclouded sky swept to cup the circumference of vision.
Many miles away, yet amazingly distinct in the rarefied air, the smoke
of threshers hung in funnelled smudges above the horizon--like the
black smoke of steamers, hull down, at sea.
On this particular autumn afternoon a certain black dot might have been
observed, so lost in the immensity of landscape that it appeared to be
stationary. It was well out upon the trail that wound northward from
Indian Head into the country of the Fishing Lakes--the trail that forked
also eastward to dip through the valley of the Qu'Appelle at Blackwood
before striking north and east across the Kenlis plain towards the
Pheasant Hills. In reality the well kept team which drew the big grain
wagon was swinging steadily ahead at a smart pace; for their load of
supplies, the heaviest item of which was a new plow, was
comparatively light, they were homeward bound and the going in the
earlier stages of the long journey was smooth.
The driver sat hunched in his seat, reins sagging. He was a man of
powerful physique, his skin deep coppered by long exposure to prairie
winds and sun. In repose the face that was shadowed by the wide felt

hat would have appeared somewhat deceptive in its placidity owing to
the fact that the strong jaw and firm mouth were partly hidden by a
heavy moustache and a thick, black beard, trimmed short.
Just now it was evident that the big farmer's mood was far from
pleasant. Forearm on knee, he had surrendered completely to