
You have ridden into the San Joaquin wheat country to write a poem about the West, and the West keeps interrupting with its accounts: Hooven, a tenant of seven years, asking you to speak for him to the Derricks; Harran Derrick, reading the ruling that fixes the railroad's freight rate against every grower on the plain. At dusk you find the shepherd Vanamee, an old friend still circling the grave of a woman he lost years ago. Night ends with an unscheduled locomotive tearing through his scattered flock.
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