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Updated: June 8, 2025
The wind had fallen, and Bert, following Kurt's pointing finger, saw dimly through the colourless veil first a red glow, then a quick red flash, and then at a little distance from it another. They were, it seemed for a while, silent flashes, and seconds after, when one had ceased to expect them, came the belated thuds thud, thud. Kurt spoke in German, very quickly.
Still, he kept up a frenzied hunting and inspired the laborers to do likewise. About ten o'clock an excited shout from Bill drew Kurt's attention, and he ran along the edge of the field. Bill was sweaty and black, yet through it all Kurt believed he saw the man was pale. He pointed with shaking hand toward Olsen's hill. Kurt vibrated to a shock.
Kurt's boasted immunity to that tracker had not been as good as he had believed, though it had won them a start. Ross did not know just how much it might count in his favor that he had been on his way back, with Kurt a prisoner in the cat. As his waiting hours wore on he began to think it might mean very little indeed.
"No time!" called Kurt, as he leaped into the seat and jammed on the power. "I'll send cars all over," shouted the man, as Kurt whirred away. Kurt's eyes and hands and feet hurt with the sudden intensity of strain. All his nervous force seemed set upon the one great task of driving and guiding that car at the limit of its speed. Huntington flashed behind, two indistinct streaks of houses.
The Prince was following him, talking over his shoulder to Von Winterfeld and the Kapitan. "Eh?" he said to Kurt, stopping in mid-sentence, and followed the gesture of Kurt's hand. He glared at the crumpled object in the recess and seemed to think for a moment. He made a slight, careless gesture towards the boy's body and turned to the Kapitan.
He was shoved into the cockpit, a bubble covering settled down over them, closing them in, and the engine came to life under Kurt's urging. The cat must be traveling at its best pace, Ross thought. Yet the crawl which took them away from the mounded snow covering the base seemed hardly better than a man could make afoot.
And Kurt's my first name," was the reply. "Will this farm fall to you?" "Yes, if my father does not lose it." "Hum!... Old Dorn won't lose it, never fear. He raises the best wheat in this section." "But father never owned the land. We have had three bad years. If the wheat fails this summer we lose the land, that's all."
"Message over 'phone! I.W.W.! Hell to pay!" he cried, excitedly. "What's up? Tell me the message," replied Kurt, calmly. "It just come from Vale. Anderson, the big rancher! He 'phoned to send men out on all roads to stop his car! His daughter's in it! She's been made off with! I.W.W.'s!" Kurt's heart leaped. The bursting blood burned through him and receded to leave him cold, tingling.
A strange silence had settled down over the farm. The wheat was gone. That waving stretch of gold had fallen to the thresher and the grain had been hauled away. The neighbors had gone, leaving Kurt rich in bushels of wheat, and richer for the hearty farewells and the grips of horny hands. Kurt's heart was full. It was evening. Kurt had finished his supper.
He could love her then; he could dare what he had never dared; he could surrender himself to the furious, insistent sweetness of a passion that was sheer bliss in its expression. He could imagine kisses on the red lips that were not for him. A husky shout from somewhere in the rear of the house diverted Kurt's attention. He listened. It came again. His name!
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