Crops on light soil are getting badly cut." George glanced up at the patch of sky above the dark mass of trees.
Black and threatening clouds drove across it; but during the past few weeks he had watched them roll up from the west a little after noon almost every day.

For a while, they shadowed the prairie, promising the deluge he eagerly longed for; and then, toward evening, they cleared away, and pitiless sunshine once more scorched the plain.
Grain grown upon the stiff black loam withstood the drought, but the light soil of the Marston farm was lifted by the wind, and the sharp sand in it abraded the tender stalks.

It might cut them through if the dry weather and strong breeze continued; and then the crop which was to cover his first expenses would yield him nothing.
"Yes," he returned moodily.

"It looks as if it couldn't rain.

We ought to go in more for stock-raising; it's safer." "Costs quite a pile to start with, and the ranchers farther west certainly have their troubles.