…In the range land, as you all probably know, there is a certain contemptuous reproach in the term. Springing from the habit of using the wire from broken bales of hay to patch harness and machinery in a makeshift kind of mending, “hay-wire” grew to mean a poverty born of shiftlessness. To go hay-wire meant to go to the dogs generally; to be broke, or its equivalent, and through laziness and mismanagement.
Lynn reaches the pitch of resentment when he discovers that an apparently penniless old prospector, who’s been taking gifts and favors from the Haywards for years, is actually concealing a fortune in his cabin. When the old man is murdered, Lynn, the only one who knows where the money was hidden, reasons out that it’s as much his as it is anyone else’s…but must keep it hidden, since suspicion of the murder is already hovering over him. As he begins to work and plan for the future, spurred on by the thought of his secret fortune, he gradually becomes aware that his own previous outlook and attitude were more a part of his “hay-wire” troubles than he knew. (And in addition, the real murderer still wants that money…)
Bower’s portrayal of Lynn’s struggles and gradual maturation, and of the tension and discord in his family, is convincing and compelling. There’s a love interest that plays a supporting part, but probably the most developed female character is his loyal younger sister Rose, who tries her best to mitigate household conflicts. I’m not quite sure what’s up with the “thought tracks” philosophy in the last couple of chapters, but the general idea could perhaps be better summed up with, “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” You might call that the theme of the book.