Jessie Small sits in the front seat of his Chevy pickup truck chomping on an unlit Roi-Tan cigar and directing his three combines as they complete the cutting of a wheatfield about 15 miles outside the town of Circle, Mont. Jessie seldom bothers to light his cigars; mostly he just chews on them, discarding the soggy end, piece by piece, until there's nothing left. The radio linking him with his combines crackles: "Which way do we go? I can't find the new area?"
It is well after sunset. Some blue remains in the darkened Western sky. Jessie can see only the lights...
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