“Makes sense,” Mike said, wiping at his brow. “What are we doing talking about this out here? Let’s go up to the house.”

“What about the field?” Herzer asked.

“It’ll keep,” Mike said. “The rain’s supposed to hold off for another couple of days and this is the last one I have to cut. I saved mine for last.”

“Yours?” Herzer asked, waving at the horse to follow as they walked back towards the reaper.

“I could scratch up enough capital to float a loan for the reaper,” Mike said. “I’ve been harvesting half the fields in the valley the last month. And, yes, this is actually your field.”

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,” Herzer said with a grin. “I wouldn’t know the first damned thing about farming this place.”

“Well, I’m learning,” Mike admitted. “I’m learning every day.”

The helper had been watering and feeding the oxen during the break and he nodded at Mike and Herzer as they walked up.

“Harry, this is Herzer Herrick,” Mike said. “Herzer this is Harry Wilson. He’s got a small farm down the river.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Harry replied, wiping his hand and shaking Herzer’s.

“I’m taking Herzer up to the house. Go ahead and use the basket on the reaper, then cross-fill. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Okay,” Harry said, getting on the reaper and clucking the oxen into motion.

“Slower that way, but it’ll get some of the field done,” Mike said.

“You want a ride up to the house?” Herzer asked, gesturing at the horse.

“I can walk,” Mike replied gruffly.

They strode up the side road towards a distant hill, passing through a screen of trees that was apparently kept as a windbreak. On both sides of the road, before and after the trees, there were fields. Some of them were ready for harvesting, in grain and corn, others had plants that were not quite ready for harvest and a few were apparently fallow. The latter were covered in an odd golden plant that looked like a weed.