He was breaking new soil, doing work that would be paid for in the future, and knew the reward of his labor might never be his.

When he reached the end of the plowing he stopped and let the horses rest while he looked about.
One side of the long furrows gleamed in the strong light, and another team was moving towards him from the opposite end.

The sun was hot, but the wind was fresh, and thin clouds of dust blew across the plain.

Still the belt he was plowing was good soil; the firm black _gumbo_ that holds the moisture the wheat plant needs.

There was something exhilarating in the rushing breeze and glow of light, but Charnock frowned and wondered why he had worked so long.