About the first of September Rob and Harry brought all their cattle inside, in relays. Their wheat was not going to pay for harvesting it, and it was better to feed it now as pasture and save the alfalfa. They had, intended, of course, to ship their best steers to the stockyards, but the lack of feed had flooded the markets both East and West with half-starved and young creatures; and even fat beef was bringing a ruinously low price.
"Better to hold on as long as we can," Rob decided; "the price should go up as soon as this low grade is cleaned out."
"I should think that with so many hundreds being shipped there would be plenty of hay for all that are left," Harry suggested.
"I haven't found a man who's got more than enough for his own stock—if he has that. Even grain hay is being held for winter feed."
Harry had no answer. Slowly, distinctly, before her unwilling mind rose the vision of the famine winter. Against her wish she recalled the stories to which in the unmeaning time of plenty she and Rob had listened, shudderingly thankful that they had been spared such distress and anguish of mind.
Early in November she had asked Rob a question that she had been pondering. They had finally sold sixteen steers at the ruinous price of thirty dollars a head, and with hay at fifteen dollars it was clear they would not have enough money to pull through. Yet while they were suffering this famine here, down on the South Side a great harvest was being gathered. Why was there no way of getting part of that feed on the prairie? "What's the reason they can't ship baled hay in here?" she said.
"Baled hay? Forty miles by wagon? It couldn't be done. No, the ranchers on this side of the hills have to take their chances, and they know it. If they haven't enough hay, they'll sell half their stock and put the rest on short rations and pull through somehow."
"Why couldn't they drive their cattle down there? Other men bring their stock up here in summer and go back to the South Side for the winter."
"Sure. That's where they live. These fellows here would have to take all their belongings—a raft of children, chickens, pigs—why, they'd rather let their cattle starve."
"Well, we haven't a raft of children to hold us here. If you can't find hay on the prairie, we'll go down on the South Side and buy hay and feed the stock there."