CHAPTER XVIII
THE BABY TORNADO
Hiram had not lost sight of the fact that Yancey Battick's wheat had promised to be better than any of that planted on Sunnyside, to say the least; and although since his rather serious experience with Battick and his gun he had barely nodded to the strange man in passing the old Pringle homestead, Hiram had been very curious as to how Battick's crop was coming on.
While Mr. Bronson's binder was at Sunnyside Hiram offered Battick the use of the machine.
"Of course, I will drive it myself, so nobody else need know anything about your crop," Hiram said.
"Very kind of you, Mr. Strong," said Battick, but in such a way that Hiram was not at all sure whether the man was still suspicious or not. "But I am going to reap that field with a sickle. I always do. This seed wheat is too precious to waste with a binder. I cradle it by hand and shall thrash it with a flail, too. That wheat which you happened to see in my house was harvested in the same way; and then it was all winnowed and selected by hand, grain by grain."
"Some job!"
"But worth it if I can once get a sufficient quantity to interest a big seed house."
"I presume so," agreed Hiram. "How does your wheat stand the dry weather?"
"I take it you have not been over to see it of late?"