He says: `The ponds in this country is done got so low a man
couldn't drownd himself in one of 'em.'
`I told him nobody wanted to drownd themselves, but if we didn't have rain
soon we'd have to pump water for the cattle.
`"Oh, cattle," he says, "you'll all take care of your cattle! Ain't you
got no beer here?" I told him he'd have to go to the Bohemians for beer;
the Norwegians didn't have none when they threshed. "My God!" he says, "so
it's Norwegians now, is it? I thought this was Americy."
`Then he goes up to the machine and yells out to Ole Iverson, "Hello,
partner, let me up there. I can cut bands, and I'm tired of trampin'. I
won't go no farther."
`I tried to make signs to Ole, 'cause I thought that man was crazy and
might get the machine stopped up. But Ole, he was glad to get down out of
the sun and chaff--it gets down your neck and sticks to you something
awful when it's hot like that. So Ole jumped down and crawled under one of
the wagons for shade, and the tramp got on the machine. He cut bands all
right for a few minutes, and then, Mrs. Harling, he waved his hand to me
and jumped head-first right into the threshing machine after the wheat.
`I begun to scream, and the men run to stop the horses, but the belt had
sucked him down, and by the time they got her stopped, he was all beat and
cut to pieces.
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