Deep Furrows | Page 8

was easy to supply
interpretations of that faint medley, even while one knew that it was
merely the murmur of night airs in the dry grasses, the whisper of the
water-edges, the stirring of restless water-fowl in the dying reeds.
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
procession--faces that were apathetic from repeated disappointments,
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 honest workers, these brave pioneer
men and women of the soil? Was all their striving forward to find them
merely marking time, shouldered into the backwater while the currents
of organized commercialism swept away their opportunities? Were not
these producers of the world's bread themselves to partake of the fruits

of their labor?
Yes! Surely the answer was Yes! It was their Right. Wrong could not
endure forever in the face of Right; 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.
Somewhere back in a forgotten arroyo a coyote yapped lonesomely.
Around through the night were flung the distant glow-dots of the
burning straw piles, and as he filled his lungs with the fresh sweet air
the hope of better days warmed the heart of the belated traveller. The
Hand which set the orbits of the universe created the laws of Truth and
Justice and these never could be gainsaid. Everything would come out
aright if only men were steadfast in faith and duty.
He gave the horses their heads and they were off once more through the
cool night upon the wheatland sea that was bounded only by far purple
shadows.

[1] The provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta, Western Canada, were
not created until 1906. Prior to that the entire country west of the
Province of Manitoba was known as the North-West Territories, of
which the District of Assiniboia was a part, the part which subsequently
formed the southern portion of the Province of Saskatchewan.
[2] Hon. W. R. Motherwell, Minister of Agriculture, Province of
Saskatchewan.
CHAPTER II
A CALL TO ARMS

And my hand hath found as a nest the riches of the people: and as one
gathereth eggs that are left, have I gathered all the earth.--Isaiah 10:14.
For five thousand years Man has grown wheat for food. Archaeologists
have found it buried with the mummies of Egypt; the pictured stones of
the Pyramids record it. But it was the food of princes, not of
peasants--of the aristocracy, not of the people; for no man could harvest
enough of it with his sickle to create a supply which would place it
within the reach of the poor. While century after century[1] has passed
since wheat was first recognized as the premier nourishment for the
human body, it is only of recent times that it has become the food of the
nations.
The swift development of grain growing into the world's greatest
industry goes back for a small beginning to 1831. It was in that year
that a young American-born farm boy of Irish-Scotch extraction was
jeered and laughed at as he attempted to cut wheat with the first crude
reaper; but out of Cyrus Hall McCormick's invention soon grew the
wonderful harvesting machinery which made possible the production of
wheat for export. Close on heel the railways and water-carriers began
competing for the transportation of the grain, the railways pushing
eagerly in every direction where new wheat lands could be tapped. In
1856 wheat was leaving Chicago for Europe and four years later grain
vessels from California were rounding Cape Horn. The nine years that
followed saw the conquest of the vast prairies of the American West
which were crossed by the hissing, iron monsters that stampeded the
frightened bison, out-ran the wild horses and out-stayed the lurking
Indian.
No sooner had the railways pushed back the