Desert Conquest by A. M. Chisholm (top e book reader .TXT) 📖

judge said that the mere fact of building a dam did not show an intention to interfere with anybody's rights."

"Didn't—eh?" snapped Carter, at high tension. "Then I'd like to know what would show it!"

"So would I," said Dunne. "Anyway, what the judge said went. The long and short of it is that we can't go to law till they actually take our water. Wade advises us to sell out if we can get a fair price. And that's all I have to report, gentlemen."

"A fair price!" exclaimed Carter. "That's all right to talk about—but who'll give us one? The railway won't buy—it's cheaper to freeze us out. Nobody else will. And, if it comes to that, what is a fair price? Land is boosting everywhere. If we sold now we'd just be robbing ourselves."

"S'pose they starts to rustle our water and we go to law," said old James, "does this here lawsuit tangle up things so's't we get plenty of water till the case is tried?"

"I'm afraid not," Casey replied. "That's the worst of it. Wade seemed to think that once they got the water they could keep it until the case was settled by the last court of appeal. And that would put us out of business."

"It's sure a mean jack pot," said James. "It looks like they have it on us every way. The prospects for our emergin' winners ain't cheerin' none, but, gents, speakin' for myself alone, I wouldn't sell at no price. I'm aimin' to live where I be till you-alls beds me down for keeps. I reckon I'll stay with the game while I got a chaw and a ca'tridge left. I may be froze out, but dog-gone my ol' hide if I'll be bluffed out. This here ain't none different from claim jumpin'. I own my water, and I'm goin' to keep on havin' it. And the man that shets it off will be mighty apt to see how they irrigate them green fields 'way over yander 'cross the River Jordan."

His words were like fire in dry straw.

"That's right, Uncle Ike!" cried Carter.

"By George I'm with you myself!" cried Wyndham.

"Moi aussi!" exclaimed Brulé. "By damn, yes!"

"Yes, let 'em try it!" cried young Alec McCrae, his eyes gleaming like those of a fierce young hawk that sights its first quarry. "Let 'em try it!" he repeated ominously, nodding to himself.

But on the excitement of the others Donald McCrae's words fell like an icy douche: "Men, this is plain foolishness. Alec, let me hear no more of it from you. James, you should know better. We can't enforce claim law here. The old days are gone."

"I ain't gone yet, nor you ain't," old James replied, his eyes gleaming balefully through slitted lids. "I give it out now that I don't set quiet and see my ditches go dry. Long's the law won't help us—and the law never gave no action in the West nohow—I'm goin' to help myself. I ain't raisin' the long yell for partners, neither!"

"You can't bring back the old days," McCrae repeated. "I stand to lose as much as any man here, but shooting one or two men who are doing what they are paid to do won't help us. You all know that."

"That's so," Casey admitted. "That's the last thing we can afford to do."

"Well, maybe you boys are right," said the old man reluctantly. "Maybe I ain't up to date. But what you goin' to do? You got to do somethin'."

"Yes," said Wyndham. "They are getting ahead with their work. It won't be long till that dam is finished. Then they'll take the water from us, that's certain."

But here Big Oscar received an inspiration. He had been listening carefully, casting mildly inquiring blue eyes on the speakers. He was a good listener, was Oscar, and he seldom spoke. His mental engine, so far as could be judged by its verbal expression, turned over stiffly. Apparently it had never been run enough to be smoothed down—at least in English. But his contribution to the debate at this juncture was noteworthy. Said he:

"Say, Ay tenk Ay blow dat dam, easy!"

They stared at him for a moment, while the suggestion took root. It was obvious that if the dam were destroyed the water would remain theirs until it was rebuilt. True, its destruction would be a lawless act, amounting to a declaration of war; but war on them had already been declared. They would be merely striking the first blow, and here was the logical spot to strike.

"Good boy, Oscar," said Carter. "I believe that's the answer."

"What do you think, McCrae?" asked Wyndham.

"I'm against violence in any form," said McCrae slowly. "But they are forcing it on us. They want to steal our ranches. It amounts to that. This is the only thing we can do, and when we do it we'll do it right."

A round of applause greeted his concluding words. Old Ike James whispered to his neighbour:

"This here Highland Scotch stock is sure a funny proposition. What they start with a pra'ar they're mighty apt to end with a gun. Ol' Donald's a sure-'nough wolf when he gets goin'."

"And you, Dunne?" asked Wyndham.

"I'm in. I guess it's a case. Oscar, you have a great head. When shall we start the fireworks, and who's to start 'em?"

Oscar, flattered by the compliment and the unusual attention, picked up his hat. "Ay ban good powder man. Ay tenk Ay start him now when Ay gat some powder," said he. He smiled at them serenely. "Mebbe if t'ree, four you faller come by me you svear Ay ban home all night?" he suggested ingenuously.

But there was an objection to the immediate execution of the plan. They were just then getting all the water they needed. The farther ahead they could set the date of the destruction of the dam while retaining the water, the farther off would be the date when it could be rebuilt, as they had no doubt it would be. Thus they might tide through the hot, dry summer. Whereas, if it were blown up now it might be repaired and their water taken when they needed it most.

Just then it seemed wise to pursue a policy of masterly inactivity. But the mere fact of having settled on a course of action cleared the air, cheered them. In place of a despondent lethargy there was a nervous tension, as before a battle. They laughed and joked amid the bobbing stable lanterns as they harnessed and saddled; and they rode away from Talapus Ranch one and all in better spirits than they had come.

CHAPTER V

No one has ever satisfactorily explained the rapidity with which news travels in sparsely settled communities. But the fact remains undisputed. Also the further fact that its accuracy is in inverse ratio to its rapidity, which does not need so much explanation. The men who had been at Talapus said nothing of the meeting, nothing of the purpose of it. And yet the gathering was speedily known from one end of the country to the other in conjunction with startling rumours, none of them authentic or traceable, but all disquieting. The report gained currency that the ranchers contemplated nothing less than an armed attack on the ditch and dam construction camps, for the purpose of running the workmen out of the country.

This came to the ears of Sleeman, who was the local sales agent of the railway's land department; and Sleeman passed it on to his chief, who thought it of sufficient importance to put up to York, seeing that that gentleman was responsible for the conception of the department's policy in this instance.

York, while not attaching much importance to the story, thought of the remarks of Casey Dunne. It was just possible that the ranchers might perpetrate some hostile act. It happened, too, that at this time the engineer in charge of the Coldstream irrigation project took sick, necessitating the appointment of a new man. And it further happened that another engineer in the railway's employ, named Farwell, had got through with a difficult piece of tunnelling, and was ready for fresh work.

"I'll send Farwell down there," said York, speaking to Carrol, who was the head of his land department.

Now, Farwell was altogether too good a man to waste on a little, puttering job like this. He had seen service in half a dozen countries, always with credit to himself, and he was in line for big promotion. But against his undoubted ability and the fact that he was a tremendous driver, who spared no one, not even himself, was the further fact that he was harsh, domineering, impatient, lacking tact or diplomacy. He was a fighter by instinct. He preferred to break through than to go around. He antagonized rather than conciliated. But in the event of real trouble he was there with the genuine, hall-marked goods, as he had shown on several occasions when a hard man had been needed. The land department, however, had it's own staff, and Carrol did not like the importation of an outsider.

"No need to send Farwell," said he. "We can look after it ourselves."

"Farwell's the best man we can have there if anything goes wrong," said York positively. "He'll bring these ranchers to time. I'll send him."

Farwell descended on the Coldstream country in a bitter temper, for the job was far beneath his professional dignity as he looked at it, and he knew that in the meantime others would get better work to which he considered himself entitled. Indeed, he had come within an ace of resigning, and had insisted, as a condition, on a definite promise of something very good in the immediate future.

When he stepped off the train at the little Coldstream station he was already prejudiced against the country, its inhabitants, and its future; and what he saw as the train rumbled away into the distance did not tend to improve his temper.

Coldstream itself for years had amounted to little more than a post-office address. From the time of its building in the days of a boom which had no foundation, and therefore no permanence, it had retrogressed steadily. Now it was picking up. But although times were beginning to improve, it still bore many of the earmarks of an abandoned camp. The struggle for life during the lean years was more apparent in outward sign than was the present convalescence. Most of the houses were now occupied, but almost all were unpainted, stained gray and brown by wind and sun and snow, forlorn and hideous things of loosened boards and flapping ends of tarred sheeting.

Although it was only spring, the road which wound from nowhere between the unsightly shacks was ankle deep in dust. The day was unseasonably warm, the air still. The dust lay on the young leaves of the occasional clumps of cottonwoods, and seemed to impregnate the air so that it was perceptible to the nostrils—a warm, dry, midsummer smell, elusive, but pervasive. The whole land swam and shimmered in hot sunshine. The unpainted buildings danced in it, blurring with the heat waves. Save for the occasional green of cottonwoods, the land lay in the brown nakedness of a dry spring, wearying the eye with its sameness.

Farwell swore to himself at the prospect, feeling his grievance against his employers and the world at large become more acute. He considered himself ill-used, slighted, and he registered a mental vow to rush his work and be quit of the accursed place at the earliest possible moment.

The individual who seemed to combine the functions of station agent and baggage hustler approached, wheeling a truck. He was a small man, gray-headed, with a wrinkled, wizened face, and eyes of faded blue. To him the engineer addressed himself.

"I'm Farwell," said he.

The agent halted the truck, smiled in friendly fashion, swung around, and presented his left ear cupped in his left hand. At the same time a strange, pungent odour assailed Farwell's nostrils.

"What did yez say?" he asked. "Onforch'nately