dear.
But Ben found he loved the land. Loved the smell of new plowed ground, and itched for the planting season to arrive.
But somehow he knew he would never be allowed to live a quiet, uneventful life.
“El Presidente,” Ike said one afternoon when he drove out and met with Ben, “I have it in my mind that you are contemplating being a farmer. You are going to raise your turnips and peas and cabbage and to hell with governing those who followed you here—right?”
“Ike, I’m tired. I’m not a young man. I want out.”
But Ike shook his head. “No way, General. You seem to forget: the people elected you for life. They follow no one but you. So why don’t you just go on into town and find you a nice office; set up shop? All this was your idea, buddy.”
Ben stared at him.
Ike said, “I took the liberty of ordering you a car and driver. Young feller name of Buck Osgood. He’d be right pleased to be your driver and bodyguard. Like most folks, I reckon he kind of idolizes you.”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s idol, Ike.”
“Ben, I reckon it’s past the point of what
Ben looked around him. He sighed; took a deep breath. The aroma of freshly turned earth came to him. His gaze touched a hawk as it wheeled and soared high above them, its sharp eyes seeking prey.
“I guess somebody has to do it,” Ben said, kicking at a clod of dirt.
“No, Ben,” Ike gripped him by the shoulders. “If a productive society is to be built; if civilization is to endure…
