Read "Prescott of Saskatchewan" by Harold Bindloss online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
It was a clear, cool morning and Prescott was busily engaged throwing sheaves into his wagon. He had finished his harvest and, in accordance with western custom, had immediately begun the thrashing. Part of the great field was already stripped to a belt of tall stubble, though long ranks of stooks still stretched across the rest, and dusty men were hard at work among them. Wagons rolled through the crackling straw -- going slowly, piled high with rustling loads; returning light, jolting wildly, as fast as the teams could trot, for the thrashers were paid by the bushel and would brook no delay. In the background stood their big machine, pouring out a cloud of smoke that stretched in a gray trail across the prairie, and filling the air with its harsh clatter.
It was a scene of strenuous activity, filled with hurriedly moving figures, but its coloring had lost something of its former vividness. The blue of the sky was softer, the light less strong; the varying hues of lemon and copper and ocher had become subdued; the shadows were no longer darkly blue but a cool restful gray. The rushing winds that had swept the wide plain all summer had come to rest; the air was sharp and still.