Bryant raised his hat and addressed her.

"Your horse has gone lame, I see. Can I be of any service to you?"

"I'm afraid not; he acts as if he had strained a tendon," she replied. "So I'm leading him home. Our ranch is on Diamond Creek."

"But you had a fall! There's blood on your glove."

"No, it's not from that," she said, with a shake of her head.

Bryant again remarked the exquisite molding of her face as he had noted it at their first meeting, and her wide brow and clear brown eyes and the fineness of her skin, and her warm, sensitive lips, at this instant moving in the barest tremble imaginable. She was gazing at him with a curious, troubled look.

"Bring Dick here," Lee bade Dave.

He swiftly untied the ropes and removed tripod, rod, and saddle. Then he unfastened the hitch of the saddle of the horse the girl led.

"Why, what are you doing?" she exclaimed.

"Giving you a fresh horse. You can ride mine home and send him back to me to-morrow; I live just ahead on Perro Creek at the Stevenson place."

"I wondered if you weren't the new owner, for I had learned that the ranch had been sold by Mr. Stevenson. Father bought his sheep. You are Mr. Bryant, aren't you? This is most kind to lend me your horse."

"You'll find Dick gentle; and you can lead your own mount. Walking appears to have exhausted you."

Again she shook her head, with an odd expression growing upon her face—anxiety, distress, just what Lee could not exactly decide. But as she made no explanation, he gave her a hand and swung her upon Dick, after which he handed her the reins and advanced the hope that she should arrive home without further misadventure.

She made no move to depart, however, but sat regarding the engineer.

"I was at your house," she stated, finally.

"To see me?"

"To find you, or someone, who could help me. When my horse went lame near the ford, I found that he had picked up a stone which I couldn't remove. So I led him to your house, seeking assistance. When I reached there——"

She stopped in her recital, compressing her lips and gazing off across the sagebrush.

"Well?" the engineer encouraged.

"When I reached there, I heard a dog whining."

Bryant stiffened.

"I left my dog Mike behind," said he.

"The sound was really more like a moaning," she went on. "At first I could see nothing, but when I looked everywhere I found that it came from one of the three cottonwood trees. Somebody had hurt him, and the poor creature was suffering terribly. I—I can hardly tell what had been done to him!" And she shuddered.

"Mike! They've killed my dog Mike!"

"They nailed him to a cottonwood tree. A nail through each leg. A nail through his throat. Nails through his body. They had crucified him. And, oh, his pitiful eyes!"

Lee Bryant stood perfectly still and quiet. Dave was frozen and horrified. Both gazed fixedly across the mesa to where the cottonwoods could be seen.

"Is Mike alive yet?" Bryant asked presently, in an unsteady voice.

"No; not now. I found a piece of iron and hammered the nails free. Then I lifted him down and carried him to the creek and washed his wounds. But he died. I see his eyes yet, looking up at me." For a little she was overcome. Then she resumed, "When he was dead, I carried him up to your door, for I knew you must have loved him."

Bryant glanced up at her.

"Mike would know you were a friend," he said.

She nodded and reined Dick about. Leading the other horse, she rode away through the sunshine that burnished the mesa.



CHAPTER VIII

July passed. Followed August, with days likewise hot and unvarying except for a scarcely appreciable retardation of dawn. Perro Creek now showed no water at all in its shallow bed; the garden planted by the Stevensons was long dried up; the sagebrush was dustier than ever; and Bryant and Dave were hauling in a barrel on a sledge water for their use from a pool in the canon.

From daybreak until about eight o'clock in the morning the engineer and his assistant worked on the canal line. Bryant had run a fictitious survey along the mountain side, staking it out conspicuously for any one to see, to the first of the fenced claims of the Mexican homesteaders, where it ended as if blocked; but his real line on the mesa remained unstaked.

To the low ridge, or spur of ground, projecting from the mountain's base at a point half a mile south of his right of way through the fields, where the canal began its sweep out upon the plain, he gave considerable time. The fall of this at first was sharp, and concrete drops would have to be constructed at intervals for a distance of a mile or so in order to lower the water. When this section was left behind, he advanced rapidly along the line, for the surface of the gentle crescent swell was smooth, its grade fairly regular, and its contour fixed by nature. Essential points he marked by stones, with merely their surfaces exposed, so that if noticed they would be considered scattered pieces of rock from the hills. At the proper time they would constitute guides for later staking.

Evenings Bryant spent in developing his notes and in making tracings of the canal sections covered. During the day hours, when he knew watchful eyes were on him, he made a topographical survey of his ranch; work that he could carry on openly. The five thousand acres comprising the tract had a general direction of east and west, being about four miles long and two miles wide, which for the most part lay equally on each side of Perro Creek. By using the water of this stream during the flood season, a period of some weeks in spring and early summer, Bryant would be able very considerably to augment the supply from the Pinas. It was necessary to join the two sources in a unified system of laterals that would efficiently serve the tract; and therefore the whole enterprise required study, innumerable measurements, calculations of dirt moving, of water distribution, of dam, weir, and gate construction, of soil analysis—a cooerdination of the thousand and one matters concerned in an irrigation project that are preliminary to breaking ground. So early and late he toiled, and with him Dave Morris.

The boy indeed did enough for a man. And Bryant would sometimes arise from his drawing board where he worked after supper until midnight, to go and affectionately gaze at Dave sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.

One afternoon, when the pair were at work near the southern boundary of the ranch, Ruth Gardner came through the sagebrush to the spot, a mile from Sarita Creek.

"I could see you, just black specks, from our cabins; and since you don't visit us, I made up my mind to visit you," she announced. "I've noticed you down here for two days past. Days and days have gone by without you coming to pay another call."

"Well, we've been sticking pretty steadily at our job," Bryant replied. "Won't you use this bag of stakes for a seat? It will keep you off the ground."

Ruth accepted the proffered resting place and loosened the thongs of her hat, inspected her face in a tiny mirror produced from somewhere, rubbed her nose with a handkerchief, and then gave her attention to her companions.

"Our garden has grown splendidly since you fixed the ditch," she said. "Thanks to you. How is yours?"

"It has expired."

"Then you shall have things out of ours—if you'll come get them. See, I'm using that to decoy you. There are beans, peas, lettuce, radishes, and new potatoes, not very large yet, of course. I know just what you're doing: working hard, eating only canned stuff, skimping your food, and ruining your digestion."

Bryant laughed. Her tone had expressed indignation, while her face was directly accusatory.

"We seem to have fair health, don't we, Dave?" he remarked.

"You look positively thin," said she. "And as for this poor starved shadow that you call Dave! Well, I won't say my thoughts. For a penny I'd invite myself to dinner at your house just to see what you do have."

At this possibility both the engineer and his young assistant displayed signs of consternation. Under pressure of work housekeeping had been an unimportant trifle frequently postponed; last meal's dishes were washed while the next meal was preparing; clothes were left where they were carelessly flung; and surveying tools, maps, and papers littered the rooms. No, it was not a dwelling in which to entertain a feminine guest.

"Maybe I had better go there and clear up things some," Dave stated, uneasily. And without awaiting a reply from Bryant, he set off through the sagebrush for the house.

Ruth began to laugh, resting her cheeks in her hands.

"That poor solemn boy, he took me seriously!" she exclaimed. "I shouldn't come alone, of course; it wouldn't be proper—and Imo would be horrified. Well, you may as well sit down and talk to me, Mr. Bryant, for you can't work alone, and I've come to stay awhile. Imogene told me what a nice talk she had with you the afternoon I went to the ruins, and I hoped you'd come soon again, but you never did."

"Perhaps I haven't been exactly neighbourly."

He lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged, considering her.

"I thought that possibly I had offended you in going off so abruptly with Charlie Menocal," she said, with eyes fastened on his. "You and he aren't very good friends. I know——"

"We're not friends at all; we're enemies."

"That need not keep you away from us. He has been very civil and kind, but neither Imogene nor I have any particular fancy for the man. Besides, I think his chief interest in life centres around a girl living on Diamond Creek, named Louise Graham; he hinted that they were as good as engaged. Very likely we shall see little more of him. So if your dislike at meeting him is the reason for your staying away, you haven't a good reason at all. Don't you think Imo and I ever tire of listening to each other? Any two girls would, living alone by themselves. After your promise at the ford we were delighted—and how many calls have we had from you? Just one. With me away, too!"

"To-morrow will be Sunday; I'll stop work at noon and come," he declared.

She pointed a forefinger at him and wiggled her thumb, in imitation of a pistol.

"Hold up your right hand and swear it," she commanded, "or I'll shoot." She continued to menace Bryant while he obeyed. "There, now you're safe. And bring that hungry boy and we'll feed you both; this is a dinner invitation, understand. Now, tell me about everything."

"Everything?"

"All you're doing with that three-legged telescope and these stakes."

She smoothed her dress and manifested an expectant interest. The impression Bryant had gained at the first accidental meeting at Perro Creek, of her good looks, of her vitality and irrepressible spirits, was heightened. As he recollected his feeling of pique at her visit with Charlie Menocal to the ruined pueblo, he realized that he had indulged in a bit of senseless, unwarranted umbrage; and now had, in consequence, a quick desire to make amends. It was as if he must reestablish himself in her good opinion and his own.

Their talk ran on from topic to topic. The gaiety of her comments pleased him; the youthfulness of her was irresistible; and he found himself observing the changing curves of her throat and cheek as she turned her head a little aside or raised her chin; found himself watching for certain unconscious attitudes; awaiting the lift of her eyes to his, harkening for particular tones of her voice. And Bryant, who, though he knew it not, was also athirst for companionship, more and more yielded to her subtle feminine attraction. "She's even prettier than I supposed," he thought. Her lips, her nose, her eyes of deep gray with their wonderfully long lashes—each had a particular charm of its own. He admired the grace of her figure. He felt an odd surprise at her apparent soft and pliant strength, as at a discovery. His mind thrilled with delight at her laughter.

"Look where the sun is!" she exclaimed, all at once. "Straight over our heads—noon. Your David will be wondering where you are, while Imogene will imagine I'm lost. Let me pick a flower to stick in the ribbon of your hat and then I'll go."

"Your fingers will suffer; I'll get some," Lee said, quickly. From a spreading bed of prickly-pear he plucked a dozen of the cactus blossoms, ranging in colour from a delicate lemon to a deep orange. He turned to her.

"First I'll decorate you," he said. "Please assume an angelic expression and gaze straight at the camera."

She tilted her chin upward and thrust her arms downward with all five fingers of each hand stretched apart. But immediately she began to laugh. Lee gave her a reproving tap on the uplifted chin and then fastened the flowers in her hat-band. A thrill like fire ran through his body at the proximity of that soft, round chin, those red lips, her eyes gleaming with merriment.

"Now, beauty!" he said, stepping back.

The yellow blossoms made a garland about her hat.

"Do you like them thus?" she asked, delighted.

"Immensely."

"Then they shall stay there. And Imo will die of envy when I tell her they're yours."

"Nobody ever died of that."

"Perhaps not. But she will suffer extremely. You didn't even put bean plants in her hat."

Lee was highly amused at this raillery. He began to walk forward by her side as she moved away from the spot, now addressing her, now listening to her words, in a desire to stretch the last minute to the uttermost. Her head came just even with his shoulder, so that she had to raise her face to gaze at him when he spoke, and in the act there was something simple, winning, blithe, as likewise in the swing of her lissom figure beside his own there was an inimitable jauntiness and cheer. He divined her eager, ardent spirit; and the closeness of her, this comradeship, set his blood humming.

Abruptly he halted, laying a finger on her arm.

"I mustn't go the whole way, you know," he said, "though I should like to. For, by heavens, you've opened my eyes! Didn't realize how satiated with myself I'd become. But I'll make up for that now, Miss Ruth, and it won't be very long before you and your friend will be planning how to rid yourselves of me."

"Just try us and see," she exclaimed.

"Well, I shall. Till to-morrow, then."

"Till to-morrow, yes." She moved forward some paces and wheeled about, pointing her forefinger at his head and working her thumb. "Beware—and don't forget!" Then after another advance and face about she concluded by blowing him a kiss off the palm of her hand, with which performance she did actually start for home, weaving her way through the sagebrush and going farther and farther off.

"What a pretty little witch she is!" thought Lee; and he, too, made his way from the spot.

Dave's hot, harassed face greeted him at the door.

"Where is she? Didn't she come?" he cried, peering about everywhere. "Well, thank goodness for that! But if that isn't the way with a girl—and after I'd swept up and made the beds and scraped all the skillets, too!"



CHAPTER IX

That Sunday afternoon at Sarita Creek! The dinner, so savoury, so delectable; the two girls, arrayed in cool white lawn, rosy-cheeked, beaming; the gay talk and banter and laughter; the blissful hours together on the grass beneath the trees, with the wide mesa diffusing an immense languor, with the mountains bestowing a vast peace, with the brook at their feet murmuring an accompaniment to their words—hours to treasure, hours of pure gold: Little wonder that Dave, lying full length and gazing upward through the boughs at the blue vault, allowed his eyelids to sink and at last to close. Little wonder the girls' faces grew dreamy and their voices gentle. And none, none at all, that Lee succumbed to the spell.

He was still under the enchantment when toward sunset Ruth suggested they go up the canon. But Imogene, arousing herself, declared that she had letters to write; and Dave, still fast asleep, was already on roamings of his own. Ruth and Lee therefore went alone up the path through the trees and underbrush, until they emerged in the cool, dusky gorge formed by the contracting of the rocky walls. The brook rippled by over stones and moss. A few insects hovered over the stream with their tiny bodies shining like bronze. From somewhere came a sweet, honeyed smell of flowers.

"Imo writes letters regularly," Ruth explained concerning her friend, "to an instructor in a university in the East. I don't think they're exactly affianced, but expect to be. Waiting, apparently. Waiting until he's a professor—and until her health is better, too, I imagine. An agreement to let things rest as they are for the present, one might say. Imogene talks very little about it, and of course I ask no questions."

She sat down on a fallen tree, patting its trunk to signify a place for him at her side. Pointing at crevises in the canon wall, she began to tell him the names she and Imogene had given them—Bandit's Stair, Devil's Crack, Bear's Hole, and to enumerate those assigned the jutting points and knobs along the rim that by a stretch of the imagination bore a resemblance to animals or human heads.

As she talked, with her gray eyes at times turning to his to learn if he was interested, he felt anew the charm of her youthfulness, of her vivid personality. It dwelt in her small, firm hands pointing now here, now there, in her slender, rounded form faced toward him, in her red lips, her soft smooth cheek, her brow, in her glances and her animated words. He noted again, as a quality altogether delicious, the air of unconscious friendliness that he had perceived at their very first encounter. It quite offset the slight touch of obstinacy in her chin—but, in truth, did the latter require an offset? He had earlier thought that with such a trait one could not foretell where its possessor might go, or what do, or what exact, under stress of feeling. He smiled at that now. How ridiculous the notion! Why shouldn't a girl have a bit of determination in her make-up? Well, she should. It gave force to her character. It made her more individual, more attractive. It coloured a nature so essentially feminine as Ruth Gardner's with elusive and delightful possibilities.

"See, up yonder at the top!" she exclaimed. "That piece of rock like a man's head and shoulders I named Lee Bryant, after you."

"Do I look as block-headed as that?"

"No. It was not because of any resemblance, but because you kept your back so long toward us. Now, however, since you've repented and ceased to neglect us, I shall call it after someone else. Perhaps after the stage-driver who takes our letters down to Kennard; he sits hunched up like that. I'll seek a much nicer rock to represent you."

"That's wholly unnecessary, for I intend to keep before your eyes in person."

"Which will be the nicest of all," said she, smiling.

He continued to gaze at her, to listen to her voice, with a pleasure he made no effort to conceal. And she, on her part, seemed to surrender herself to the enjoyment of the moment; her eyes remaining longer on his, her tones softening to a slow, tender utterance almost carrying a caress, her face keeping its languorous smile; as if the honey-sweet fragrance from the unseen flowers had invaded her spirit.

A pause came in their talk. They sat unmoving, without stir of hand or head, quiescent. Then Lee all at once experienced a feeling of profound compassion for Ruth as he regarded her, a poignant stab in his breast like pain. Sitting there without movement, with her hands idle upon her lap, with her face a little lifted and her eyes wistfully bent on the great wall opposite, she seemed so young and small to be dwelling at such a place, so helpless, so solitary, that her presence appeared a cruel irony of fate. Her homesteading was a desperate clutch at security; and her situation was utterly different from that of her friend, Imogene Martin, who viewed the matter as in the nature of a health-seeking holiday, and who was sustained by the knowledge that she had wealthy relations at Kennard to whom she could return. Far different, indeed. At the thought of the homesickness that at times Ruth must know, of the lonesomeness of mountain and mesa from which she must suffer, of the deprivations, the hard bareness of the life, the moments of despair, he had a sensation of the bitter unfairness of things and a desire to snatch her safe away from the harsh pass in which she stood. It would be only right, it would be only just.

When presently she looked about and found his eyes rapt on her face, a quick blush spread over her throat and cheeks.

"I think—think we should go home now," she said, with a catch of her breath.

"Yes," said he, rising.

He leaped the log on which they had been sitting and then put up a hand to help her mount. Holding his fingers she raised herself upon the tree trunk. But suddenly the bark gave way; she slipped, lost her balance, and pitched forward. Lee caught her in his arms.

For an instant she rested there in his clasp, her surprised eyes gazing into his. A quiver passed over her form. Her lips were parted, but she had ceased to breathe. Likewise in Bryant's breast the breath had stopped. A fierce passion swept him to hold her always thus, warm and close and secure. His arms trembled at the thought; at which her eyelashes began to flutter and her breath to come once more, as hurried as the beat of her heart. And then, yielding utterly to the swirl of mad impulse, he kissed her—once, twice, and twice again.

Afterward he set her on her feet.

"I guess that ends our friendship," he said, with a wavering smile. "Lost my head altogether. Couldn't help it. I looked at you and—and it just happened. All my will and sense vanished in an instant. Bewitched!"

The colour was still in her face, and her air was uncertain, disturbed. But at his words, so palpably sincere and self condemnatory, she began to smile.

"Perhaps—if we just forget——"

The smouldering fire in his eyes flared suddenly.

"Forget? I'll never forget that minute, those kisses," he exclaimed. "Hanged if I want to, or will!"

"If, then, we don't repeat them, and are more circumspect, why, I'll overlook it," she said, a little confusedly. "I know you meant no discourtesy." He gave a savage shake of his head. "And Imogene and I both prize your friendship."

"Thank you, Ruth. You take an awful load off my heart."

She glanced up at him, now once more composed. Her eyes gleamed with a veiled impishness.

"No girl ever died from being kissed. But what a splendid lover you would make!" Away she darted a few steps, to whirl and point and waggle a finger at the dumfounded youth. "Are you coming? Because I don't consider this a wise place to be with a flighty, irresponsible man, first name Lee. Besides, it's beginning to grow dark in here."

Bryant joined her. The glow was still in his eyes, but in all other respects he was his usual self, calm, collected. Together they went down the cool, dim canon, with its honey scent of flowers drifting with them; and though they talked lightly of things of no importance, there was a little smile on the lips of each and sometimes their eyes met, as if sharing a new, sweet intimacy.

Thereafter, frequent as were Lee's calls at Sarita Creek of evenings, he seldom had Ruth to himself and on more than one occasion had to share her company with Charlie Menocal, much to his impatience. When Imogene sometimes succeeded in detaining the fellow at her side, Bryant silently gave her unutterable thanks. And Ruth seemed day by day more receptive to his passion.

"I think of only two things, my canal and you," he declared to her one night.

"When you put me first and the canal second, why, who knows what I may think then?" she said, tantalizingly. "But to esteem an irrigation ditch before me, the idea! What if you had to choose between us?" And she continued thus to tease him, fanning the fires hotter in his breast.

By the end of August Bryant had completed the survey of the canal line down to a point where it touched the northern boundary of the ranch, tapping the latter's system of distributing ditches. Pinas River, Perro Creek, and the tract to be watered were thus united. Though later, doubtless, it would be necessary to make minor corrections, as always, the surveying was finished. One tracing showed the entire irrigation scheme from the dam on the Pinas to the tips of the laterals branching out in a gridiron over the land. There were other tracings, too, on a larger scale and of successive sections, ready to be taken to Kennard in order to make blueprints.

"Town for us to-morrow, Dave," Lee exclaimed one day, as he rolled and tied his maps in a waterproof canvas. "We're due for a rest; our job is done for the present. We'll leave the instruments and note-books with the girls at Sarita Creek, who've agreed to keep them until we return. The Mexicans are still hanging around."

Toward the middle of the afternoon they appeared at the cabins, where they disengaged Dick from his burden of freight and turned him out to graze. Imogene was nursing an obstinate headache in her darkened bedroom, and Dave immediately settled himself under a tree with a novel of the girls'. So Ruth and Lee were left to themselves.

"I'm going up the creek to gather raspberries, and you came just in time to carry the basket," said she. "I discovered a large thicket of them half way up the canon; the more you pick, the more you'll have for supper to-night. And if you don't bring Imo and me a box of chocolates, and a big box, when you come back from wherever you're going to-morrow, you need never show your lean brown face again at our doors! I'm dying for some. Oh, Lee, I really am. They help so when one's lonely."

The pathetic tone in which she uttered the final words sent Bryant off in a fit of laughter.

"You may count on them," he said, at length.

"Your heart's of stone to laugh like that. Bonbons do help when one is low-spirited."

Nevertheless, her spirits were high enough on this afternoon. All the while that they were gathering raspberries she kept up a lively chatter, and when Lee suggested, now that the basket was full, leaving it at the spot and making an excursion to the head of the gorge, she readily assented. The sun was still far from setting; the air between the rocky walls was pleasant; and the canon held forth a fresh enticement. They walked for an hour, and though they failed to gain the end of the long mountain crevice they ascended to where the springs that fed the brook had their source, and where the rivulet trickled over ledges and among boulders, finding themselves in the heavy timber that forested the upper mountains. There they sat on a rock, Ruth holding the wild flowers she had plucked on the way, and talked.

"Does your going now have to do with your project?" she questioned.

"Yes; I've finished the preliminary work."

"But Charlie Menocal said you were making no progress, that you were blocked."

"What Charlie doesn't know would fill lots of space," Lee said. "In spite of the Menocals' opposition and tricks, I've established my survey—but don't breathe it yet! And now I'm ready for the financing of the scheme. When that's done, I'll begin actual work."

Ruth considered him with shining eyes.

"I'm glad you succeeded; I knew you would succeed," she exclaimed. "You've worked so hard. And I hope that it makes you famous and wealthy."

"So do I," he laughed. "I need the money."

She nodded.

"One needs money to be happy in this world."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he responded, thoughtfully. "I've probably been as happy while hammering out this survey as I'll ever be, that is, happy in my work. Of course, money means comforts and luxuries. But I doubt if it really ever brings contentment."

The obstinate touch grew in her chin.

"If I had plenty of money I'd have the contentment, or I'd soon find it," she declared. "Pretty clothes, and fine furniture, and automobiles, and servants, and parties, and so on, are things—at least with women—that go a long way toward satisfaction. I sometimes don't blame girls who marry rich old men; they can put up with them for the pleasures their money will procure."

"Ruth, Ruth, don't utter such nonsense! At any rate, you've too much common sense ever to waste yourself on a doddering money bags."

"I'll never have the chance," said she. "But if I had, I'd think it over carefully. A young man with money I could be especially nice to, and I might even set out to catch him. You see, I'm quite frank and open about it."

"Nonsense," he repeated. "You'd marry no one just for his money."

"That depends whether or not he caught me at a moment when I was feeling sick of everything and reckless. Look at my hands, all calloused from work. If I have to work, I shall do it for myself; not marry to work."

Bryant lifted her hands and regarded them.

"They please me immensely as they are; they're lovely hands," he asserted.

"Then your vision is poor."

"It's clear enough when I look at you, Ruth. And when you talk as you have, I become impatient because I know you don't mean it. But nonetheless, you deserve the best that any man can give, and you ought to have all the comforts and pretty things any woman has, for you're too sweet and good for a bare, commonplace life." He pressed gently the fingers he yet retained. "I told you once that you had bewitched me. It was true; I am bewitched, have been ever since I touched your dear lips. And I love you. It hurts my heart to think of you at this homesteading business—"

"What else was there for me?" she asked. "I've had no business training, nothing but two years in a college, no knowledge of anything that a girl needs to hold a position. And I'm not even a good homesteader." Her tone rang with a trace of bitterness.

"You ought not to have to do it—and you shall not, Ruth, if I have my way. I want to save you from it, and make life pleasant and happy for you. The money I have now is little, but I'm going ahead; I'm going ahead, and nothing shall stop me, I tell you. Soon I shall have ample means. Within a year or two. Already I've told you I love you, though this you must have known, for I've made no effort to conceal my love. To me you're the dearest, sweetest girl in the world; and all I ask is the chance to strive and toil for you, and make a home for you, and relieve you of anxiety and care, and have you for a joyous companion and mate."

Ruth closed her hands on his, while her eyes grew wet.

"You mean it, Lee?"

"Ah, I do, I do! I love you; I hold you dearer than anything in the world."

The smile she gave was tender, trustful.

"I believe you," she said.

She yielded to his arms. Her head fell back upon his shoulder and her look lifted to his blissfully. When he kissed her a thrill of passionate desire answered, as when on that fragrant evening in the canon he first had fiercely pressed her lips. This was happiness—happiness. If it could but last forever!

"And my love is yours, too, Lee," she exclaimed, so earnestly that he felt his heart quiver. "I want to be happy; I want to be loved; I don't want to live a life of just dreary commonplaceness, alone, uncared for, with no outlook, with no prospect of joys. I want the most there is in happiness—every girl wants that; and this monotonous existence has been robbing me, stifling me, until sometimes I've been wild enough to leap off a high rock. But now!"

Bryant's arms went closer about her.

"It shall be different now," he murmured.

"Yes, yes; it must, it shall. There's no sense in people not being happy when the world was made for that very purpose."

"Whenever you say, we'll be married," Lee stated.

Ruth was silent for a time, considering this. It, indeed, left her a little startled.

"But it mustn't be too soon," she replied, at last. "We had best go on as we are while your project is being started, for I wouldn't be so selfish as to make a command on your time at a critical moment, Lee dear. And I must plan clothes and things. Knowing that happiness is ahead of us, oh, homesteading then will be only a lark! I'll never need follow it up, but just abandon it when we're ready. Kiss me again, Lee, and then we must start back."

They retraced their steps down the canon, obtaining the basket of berries on the way. Once, as they neared the cabins, Ruth paused, gazing at her lover.

"I had actually come to hate these claims," she said. "I felt chained to the spot, as if something would keep me in the miserable place for the rest of my life. Had I known how lonely I should be here, I never would have come."

"But that's over now, Ruth. A little while longer, that's all."

She gazed at him with an odd, intent, anxious expression upon her countenance.

"You'll not let your irrigation project keep you here always?" she asked. "Or live in other places like it? These mountains and this desolate mesa get on my nerves. If I thought you were going to stay away from other people, foregoing all the pleasures of cities and the like, I think I should lose my courage and not be able to love you enough to stand it. I want you most of all, but shall want other things, too."

He smiled indulgently.

"A few years perhaps," he replied. "Till I'm solid on my feet—till I get going well—we're both young—and then——" He dismissed the matter with a wave of the hand.

But that evening, when Lee and Dave had gone, when Imogene was asleep, when the soft darkness was thickening over the mesa, Ruth walked forth to the edge of the sagebrush.

"I wonder," she murmured, leaving her thought unfinished.

The hush of the mountains, the silence of the plain, the vastness, the emptiness, the seeming purposelessness of it all, irritated and oppressed her spirit. And she so yearned to be where the world was alive and throbbing!

"I wonder if I really love him enough, or if I made a little fool of myself this afternoon?" she muttered to herself. "I wonder!"



CHAPTER X

Charlie Menocal's object in calling upon the young ladies at Sarita Creek was merely diversion. He was fond of girls, especially lively ones, and knew a good many here and there within reach of his motor car, including a number of pretty Mexican maidens of humble parentage. But his serious attentions centred about Louise Graham of whom in secret he was very jealous. Whenever he could find an excuse, and frequently when not, he went to the Graham ranch on Diamond Creek, five miles south of the girls' claims, where his figure was as familiar (and of about as much interest) as the magpies in the pasture. He fully meant to marry Louise, whose beauty and gracious manner even to the smallest bare-legged Mexican boy on the ranch captivated him and stirred in his breast a maddening desire for possession, so that he might cut off the rest of the world from her sweetness, so that it might alone feed his passion. Yes, he meant to have Louise.

When he was with her his black eyes would shine and a ruddy tinge appear in his dusky cheeks that were as soft and smooth as a Mexican girl's, and he would restlessly finger a point of his little, silky, black moustache and feel unutterable agitations proceeding in his heart. Louise Graham did not allow him to declare his adoration, which he would have done every moment they were together; when he tried, she walked away. But Charlie counted on his good looks and his father's wealth to win her in the end. One fear alone lurked in his heart, that some young American might come along who would win her interest; and earlier in the summer he had a decided uneasiness lest Bryant prove to be the man. The scoundrelly engineer, however, had fallen head over heels in love with Ruth Gardner, so that Charlie's mind was relieved on that point. To his knowledge, Louise and Bryant had never met—which was as it should be.

Charlie, having stopped about ten o'clock in the morning at the Graham ranch for a chat with Louise while on his way to Kennard, was considerably surprised and exceedingly nettled at beholding the engineer, with Dave behind him on the horse, presently riding up the lane between the rows of cottonwoods. Young Menocal had persuaded Louise to leave her household duties for the moment to sit on the veranda and talk with him. But now had come this impudent upstart! Charlie's warning of someone at hand was when Louise ceased to speak and gazed intently along the lane. His annoyance at the interruption changed to a quick jealousy as his companion rose, descended the steps, bade the engineer welcome, and extended her hand in greeting.

Bryant explained that he was dropping Dave here to take the stage for Kennard when it came along after dinner. He himself was riding on.

"He'll eat dinner with us, of course, and I'll put him aboard the stage myself," she exclaimed, with a pat on the shoulder of the boy who had now dismounted. "Won't you stop for a moment, Mr. Bryant? I'll give you a glass of fresh buttermilk to speed you on your way; a stirrup cup, we'll call it. The woman has just finished churning."

Lee declared that he would drink a glass with very great pleasure. He was thirsty, he said, and in addition was fond of buttermilk.

Menocal listened and watched him dismount and ground his teeth. Louise knew the thief, after all. Where the devil had they become acquainted? It was but one more instance of the engineer's pushing in where he wasn't wanted. And she had not invited him, Charlie, to partake of buttermilk, though, to be sure, she knew he did not like it. He felt slighted.

When Bryant and Louise ascended the veranda, Dave loitering below, the engineer said nonchalantly, "Hello, Charlie, how are tricks? Anything new up your sleeve?"—in a way that set the other's blood boiling; and when he carelessly added, "What about that story the stage-driver's telling of you and a senorita going into a ditch with your car at Rosita the other night?" he was quite ready to murder both Bryant and the stage-driver.

So upset was Charlie that he was unable to share in the conversation. He curtly refused a glass when Louise brought a pitcher of buttermilk, then changed his mind, and ended by choking over the wretched stuff. The situation was intolerable; his pride was smarting; the others talked on with unperturbed countenances, ignoring his silence; and his self-respect required some action in the face of the affront. He abruptly stood up and announced that he was departing.

In Louise's manner at this news there was no repining that he could observe. She did not protest. Her words were impersonally pleasant as ever, but vague; and he perceived that she only half heeded his going; and that her eyes brightened when once more she turned to her visitor. This was the final stab. With hatred in his heart and a wicked glitter in his eyes, Charlie Menocal went down the steps to his automobile, feeling the need of a victim, preferably the engineer. Bryant had insulted him at the ford; he was attempting to rob him and his father; he had insolently threatened the elder Menocal; he stopped at nothing; and now he was intruding here and deceiving Louise with his arrogant pretentions. He came on Dave, standing beside the car and examining the latch of a door.

"Keep your hands off that!" he snapped. At the same time he gave the boy a cuff that sent him sprawling. "That will teach you!"

In two bounds Lee Bryant was at the spot. He caught the still-extended hand in an iron grip.

"You miserable coward! Striking a boy!" he said, harshly. "Feeling that you must vent your spite on someone, you pick on this unoffending lad. If you ever raise so much as a finger against him again——"

"Let him keep away from my machine! And drop my wrist!" Charlie Menocal snarled.

"And you leave him alone hereafter, in any case," Lee warned, shoving the speaker away in disgust. Then he helped Dave to rise.

Charlie straightened his disarranged tie and coat with trembling fingers. He could scarcely retain his rage; his body shook all over; his foot slipped twice when he sought to mount into his car. Leaning forward from his seat, he shook a finger in Bryant's face, exclaiming, "You'll get what's coming to you! Like your damned dog!" His face was entirely viperish. His finger came within an inch of the engineer's nose. His words carried a furious hiss.

Then he whirled his car about and went tearing down the lane with exhaust wide open and roaring.

When Bryant, leading Dave, rejoined Louise Graham, a flush of embarrassment dyed his face. She had sprung up at Menocal's blow knocking the boy over and remained standing, an indignant observer of the scene. When Menocal had departed, the engineer recalled suddenly what Ruth had said concerning Charlie and Louise Graham being practically engaged; and as he now saw her rigid figure and displeased countenance, he imagined he had lost her friendship. Still, he could not have acted otherwise.

"I'm very sorry for this occurrence, Miss Graham," he said, contritely. "Especially as I understand Charlie Menocal is very high in your esteem."

"Who dares say that!"

"Well, Charlie himself is the authority, I believe," Lee responded, with a slight smile.

Her eyes flashed at that.

"Well, it's not the case; and if it had been, this exhibition of bad manners and bad nature on his part would have changed it. Father and I consider him—well, a nuisance. There, I'm giving you a confidence. We've tolerated him because Mr. Menocal senior is a gentleman, and a friend. Now I hope you'll not think me too talkative, but an explanation was necessary; and as far as Charlie Menocal is concerned, I'd be pleased if I never saw his face again. To knock your young friend over so heartlessly! You treated him with altogether too much leniency, Mr. Bryant."

"I never do my fighting in the presence of ladies," Lee remarked, with a grin. "In fact, I try to confine my combats to those of wits."

She nodded.

"Of course," said she; and continued, "this is the second time he has acted disgracefully to you when I've been by. The first occasion was at Perro Creek ford. I could have sunk into the earth for shame of him when he knew no better than to fling you money after you had filled his radiator; it was pure insolence, to begin with, to ask you to do it when he should have attended to the matter himself. I admired your conduct and self-control under the circumstances, Mr. Bryant." And addressing Dave, she asked, "Will you drink another glass of buttermilk if I pour it?"

Dave could and did, an example Lee followed. The subject of Menocal was dismissed, and the man and the girl fell into a conversation of general matters. She assured the engineer, when he inquired, that he was not detaining her from household affairs; and urged him, on learning of his prospective absence, to leave Dick at Diamond Creek and he himself to proceed to Kennard by stage. She owed Dick a return for the favour of carrying her home that day her own horse went lame; he could run in the pasture with the other horses, where Bryant would know he was safe. The plan included Bryant's remaining for dinner, naturally.

"Have I your permission, Dave?" Lee asked. "Or do you refuse to share this pleasure with me?"

Dave looked at Louise and blushed furiously.

"I guess you've made your mind up," he said, to Bryant.

"I guess I have," Lee admitted.

Toward noon Mr. Graham joined them and laughingly stated that he was glad to make the acquaintance of the man who was causing such a furor among the Mexicans along the Pinas. He asked a number of questions and listened with interest to the engineer's brief exposition of the plan to unite the water rights of the Pinas River and of Perro Creek in a common system, though Bryant disclosed nothing of his survey on the mesa. Of the opposition Lee had met or might yet encounter the rancher was aware, for he remarked, "You have a fight on your hands." But that was his only comment.

After dinner they all continued to talk while the men were smoking cigars. Graham suggested that if Bryant should need an attorney it would be well to employ one from Kennard, as those in Bartolo were nearly all Mexicans. The engineer jotted down the name of one the rancher recommended, saying that he had his injunction suits to meet in the September term of court.

"Winship, the sheriff, appears to be one man in Bartolo who's all right," Lee stated.

"Yes, he's a good man," Graham replied. "Can't be influenced or bought; and is perfectly square and impartial in the execution of the duties of his office. He has served twenty years, with exception of one term when he and Menocal had a disagreement. Menocal controls the votes in this county, you know; that's general knowledge. But things became so lax under the Mexican sheriff who displaced him that he was put back in office. Menocal ordered it; he has much property and believes in law and order; and there's little or no stealing with Winship in the sheriff's saddle. I've heard that he first required the banker to support him unconditionally before resuming the place."

"I can believe that after a look at Winship," Lee said, smiling.

Mr. Graham presently went away to a field where his men were cutting and stacking alfalfa, after thanking Bryant for rendering assistance to his daughter on the road and inviting him to call again. Louise then showed him her flower garden, ablaze with poppies, nasturtiums, sweet peas, and other blossoms he could not name; and the orchard where apples and pears and plums weighed the branches. She was remarkably beautiful, he thought; and was quite sure the roses in the garden had no petals pinker or softer than her cheeks, and was sure the water rippling in the little, grassy orchard canals was no clearer than her brown eyes, or the sky more serene than her brow. She was not in the least proud or vain or haughty, as he imagined when he first beheld her at the ford. He had had doubts of that after her kindly treatment of his dying dog Mike. And now to-day he knew that such an opinion did her an injustice, was absurd.

Louise, too, was thinking as they strolled about. Which of the two girls on Sarita Creek did he love? For Charlie Menocal had said that he was infatuated with one. Charlie Menocal! Her cheeks grew warm. What he had boasted in regard to herself, and doubtless Mr. Bryant had softened the truth, filled her with anger. She would treat the insufferable wretch differently hereafter. And very likely his gossip of the engineer's feelings for one of the homesteaders was likewise a falsehood, though there was no reason in the world why Mr. Bryant shouldn't love one of them if he chose. She had never met them. They were very nice girls, she imagined. She had intended to call, but something had always prevented. As for Mr. Bryant, he seemed a very estimable young man, and good company, and an engineer of ability and will.

She continued to speculate after he and Dave had departed on the stage, with a vague sense of missing them. That, she reasoned, was because Lee Bryant had "personality." And presently her thoughts followed him. Lee's mind, however, was ranging back to Sarita Creek; but Dave's was loyally with the lady of Diamond Creek ranch, as was manifest when he murmured thickly, having fallen asleep during the warm ride:

"No more chicken, thank you—or jelly—or apple pie."



CHAPTER XI

In Kennard next morning Lee Bryant betook himself to a civil engineering firm, which he engaged to print a number of sets of blue-prints from his tracings, one set to be ready for delivery early that afternoon. Then while his suit of gray clothes, from out of his suit-case, was being pressed, he and Dave visited a florist, purchased a wreath of lilies-of-the-valley that Dave chose, and went to the cemetery to place it on the grave of the lad's mother. After that they proceeded to a clothier's, where the boy was fitted out with a new suit, a hat, shirts, underwear, and a tie. All of this caused Dave to swallow hard—but he swallowed hardest of all when Lee led him to a horse dealer's and helped him pick out a pony for trial, a gift from Bryant. He hadn't expected all this. He was too overcome to speak. "By golly, Lee, I—I——" he stammered; and stopped, and furtively wiped the moisture from his eyes. Finally they visited a savings-bank, where the engineer deposited a check to Dave's credit, his wages for a month and a half, forty-five dollars, to start an account, and the boy received a small yellow book whose one entry he thereafter studied at frequent intervals, for it was earning according to Bryant's statement four per cent a year, though Dave had not the remotest idea of how it did the earning. Then with all this business transacted they returned to the hotel, bathed, dressed in their fresh clothes, and went into luncheon.

"Luncheon, what do they call dinner that for?" Dave whispered to Lee across the table.

Along in the afternoon Bryant, having obtained a set of blue-prints and sent his young companion to a "movie" show, called upon the man that he all the while had had in view, Imogene Martin's uncle. A large, strong-bodied man, with a deeply lined, determined face, the latter swept his visitor with a quick, appraising look, invited him to take a seat, and to state his business.

"In five minutes you can tell," said Lee, "whether or not you wish to listen longer to my proposition."

"Yes."

"I now own the Perro Creek ranch, of five thousand acres. It was originally owned by Mr. Menocal, of Bartolo, but recently by a man named Stevenson, from whom I bought it."

"I know the place, Mr. Bryant. Proceed."

"It's worth possibly three dollars an acre as it stands, or a total of fifteen thousand dollars," Lee continued. "But it has an unused water right of one hundred and twenty-five second feet from the Pinas River, sufficient to water the whole tract. How much will the ranch be worth when water is actually delivered?"

"A good deal more than fifteen thousand dollars."

"Rather," said the engineer, smiling. "The appropriation was secured from the state by Mr. Menocal thirty years ago; it's never been cancelled, and is good to-day. He, however, has been using the water on ranches he owns down the river. A canal from the Pinas along the mountain sides to Perro Creek would be expensive to construct, possibly prohibitive; it appears the natural line; and I suppose this deterred him. I've located a new and practical course for a ditch on the mesa, have surveyed and mapped it in detail, calculated the cost, and compiled a statement of estimates, and can build the project for sixty thousand dollars. The tract of five thousand acres can then be sold for fifty dollars an acre, or two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Shall I stop, or do you wish to hear more?"

Now it was the banker's turn to smile. This visitor knew how to make a point.

"Go ahead," he said.

"All right. A Mexican dam across the Pinas, a mile and a half of hillside canal, some concrete drops, twelve miles of curving mesa ditch, and the ranch is reached. In addition, the flood water of Perro Creek can be utilized; I've worked this out, as well as the entire system of laterals for the land. As stated, the cost of the whole project will be about sixty thousand dollars, present price of material and labour. I'm on my way now to the capital to file application for a change in the present canal line, which, since it involves only government land, will naturally be allowed. Of course Mr. Menocal isn't taking kindly to my proposed use of this water." And Lee paused.

"What has he done? Anything yet?"

"Not much so far, except a little futile skirmishing," the engineer remarked, with twinkling eyes. "When I paid off his mortgage on the land, I advised him that I should use the water: and he threatened to have the water right cancelled. But he backed up on that line when I promised to lodge him in jail for making false affidavits if he tried those tactics. Thought I'd head him off in that direction at the start. I got the jump on him there. Well, now, he's using indirect means to keep control of the water, sending half a dozen Mexicans to file claims at the base of the mountains where he imagines the canal will have to go. He thinks these have blocked me; and I didn't undeceive him. He knows nothing about my actual line of survey on the mesa. Of course, the loss of this water that he fancied he had hits him where it hurts, but from what I can gather Mr. Menocal isn't a man to resort to illegal methods. He's wily, that's about all. So that's the situation."

The banker regarded Bryant for a time with a noncommittal face.

"State your proposition now," said he.

"This is it," Bryant went on. "I propose to bond the ranch and water right for enough to build the project, then construct it, then market the land in farms at fifty dollars an acre. The canal system can be completed easily next year, and sales and colonization proceed immediately when done. Naturally, as a sale is made, the mortgage and notes will be put up behind the bonds to secure the latter. The purchasers will pay down some cash, say, ten dollars an acre; that makes fifty thousand cash and two hundred thousand dollars in notes against sixty thousand dollars in bonds. A visible profit of one hundred and ninety thousand. That amount will be covered by a stock issue. I shall set aside sixty thousand of it as a bonus to whoever purchases the bonds. Thirty thousand more shall go to whoever markets the bonds, as a commission. The remaining hundred thousand of stock——"

"Goes to you, I presume."

"Yes; I keep that. It's payment for the ranch and water right, for my developing the scheme and building the project. What I need is someone to sell the bonds; I'll take care of everything else. And because you, Mr. McDonnell, know the character of the land hereabouts and know water rights, the fertility of the soil when watered, and the soundness of a proper irrigation project as an investment, I've come first to you. Millions aren't involved; it's a small project; the cost is uncommonly cheap and the security therefore exceptional; you know the property personally; I, as builder, and having everything at stake, would see that the construction is right. So small an issue of bonds should be quickly placed in the East. And the commission isn't to be sneezed at."

Mr. McDonnell's features relaxed into a smile.

"I never saw an irrigation scheme yet that didn't look a money-maker on paper," he stated, "nevertheless, seventy-five per cent. of them wind up in the hands of a receiver."

"Because of faulty estimates and wasteful construction, yes. Because they're generally too big, and the interest eats them up before the land is sold. Because some start building on a shoestring. Or because of changes in the projects that are costly, or rows in the management, or insufficient water, or bad land titles—I know, I know. I've studied and analyzed their troubles. And I propose that this Perro Creek scheme of mine shall be one irrigation project that shall succeed."

"And you think you've taken all precautions?"

"Yes."

"With Mr. Menocal, even?"

"Even with Mr. Menocal, yes. Once my application for changes has been approved and I have the money to build, what can he do?"

"You seem quite sure of yourself."

"I'm sure of this irrigation project, anyway. I'm going to build it." Conviction absolutely dominated his lean brown face; and the banker looking at the speaker's chin, his firm mouth, curving nose, and gray eyes full of purpose, wondered if Menocal had met his match.

"Well, suppose you leave your maps and estimates for me to look over," he said. "When do you go to the capital?"

"This evening."

"See me again on your return. My attorney will examine your title to the land and the water right. How are the young ladies on Perro Creek getting along?"

"They have plenty of fresh air and scenery," Lee responded, relaxing from the tension under which he had been.

"It was rather a wild notion, their taking claims, but they wanted the experience. I hope my niece is benefited in respect to her health. My wife and I run up once in a while to see if they're comfortable." Then he added, "Perhaps I had best confess that Imogene had told me of what you were at up there, and of your involvement with Mr. Menocal. So this thing isn't wholly new to me."

Bryant returned to the hotel, well satisfied with the progress he had made. In the lobby of the hotel he ran across Charlie Menocal, who gave him a venomous look and passed into the bar without speaking. What the young fellow might feel or think gave Lee no concern, though he might have taken warning from that hostile regard. For it was by Charlie's instructions that a short, stout, swart Mexican went from a native saloon to the depot that evening, where he presently identified Bryant and lounged nearer the spot. Dave at length noticed him and called Lee's attention to the fellow, whose face had a particularly sinister cast and whose eyes were fixed upon the engineer in a stony, unblinking stare. That look gave one the sensation of being gazed at by something poisonous in a clump of sagebrush. But the feeling was forgotten when the train came in on which they were departing and Bryant and Dave mounted the steps of a coach.

The Mexican, on his part, returned to the saloon, where eventually he was joined by Charlie Menocal. Charlie's face was flushed and his breath alcoholic; he was a little drunk. At a corner table they conferred, drinking whisky.

"You will know him now, the snake!" Charlie asked.

"I would know him in the dark, senor," was the reply.

They spoke in Spanish, since young Menocal's companion knew no other tongue. The latter was a newcomer to Kennard, of the name of Alvarez. He had come up from across the line, where he had been first with Carranza, and then with Zapata in his black troop, and then with Pancho Villa. He already had considerable reputation in the low Mexican quarter of the town: he had participated in many fights and raids "down there"; he was fearless; he could use a gun; he had many killings to his credit. When earlier in the day Charlie had made private inquiry of the saloon-keeper, an old friend, concerning a man of nerve that he could engage who would ask no questions, Alvarez was pointed out to him.

Presently an agreement was reached between them and Charlie produced his check-book and a fountain-pen.

"Here's a check for one hundred dollars," he said, writing. "Come to Bartolo, get you some blankets and food, and camp somewhere near. From time to time we'll meet and I'll tell you what's to be done. There's a saloon at Bartolo, if you get thirsty. Another hundred dollars will be yours when the job is finished, perhaps more. Meantime, you will act before others as if you did not know me. Here's the check."

Alvarez rose and walked to the bar.

"Is this money; a hundred dollars?" he inquired of the Mexican proprietor of the saloon.

"One hundred dollars, yes," said the latter, with an assuring smile. "Made payable to you, Alvarez. Good? Good at any bank, good here at my saloon, good as gold. Better than gold, Alvarez, because easier to carry. Do you wish the money for it?"

The Mexican ex-bandit jingled some dollars in his trousers' pockets.

"I have enough to eat and drink," said he. "If the paper is good, if you will give me gold for it, then I will wait until I return. As you say, it's not so heavy to carry."

"Bring it to me when you return. Mr. Menocal is very wealthy, very rich. He has much land and many sheep. Besides, he owns a bank full of gold and silver. The paper is good."

Alvarez was impressed. He stood in thought.

"Those sheep and that bank full of money! In Mexico we would form a company of revolutionists and help ourselves," he said.

"That isn't the custom here," was the reply.

Alvarez again stared at the check, then folded it, bit the edge with his teeth, placed it in a small leather bag suspended under his shirt by a cord about his neck, and returned to the table where Charlie Menocal waited.

"I will go up yonder in a few days, senor," he stated. "There are girls there, are there not?"

* * * * *

One day a week later, after Bryant and Dave had returned to Kennard, and after numerous conferences with Mr. McDonnell, his attorney and an engineer called in for consultation, Lee exclaimed to his companion, "We win. McDonnell will take hold of it. Bully for him!" And he went about clearing up the odds and ends of business at a great rate.

Moreover, McDonnell believed he could dispose of the bonds within a fortnight, by the middle of September. That would enable Bryant to make good headway with the dam on the Pinas River while the water was low and before cold weather set in. The attorney would look after the incorporation of the company and the stock and bond issues. Lee could at once engage a staff of assistant engineers and arrange to let the building contract. In the matter of the canal line, he had received ample assurance from members of the Land and Water Board at Santa Fe that the changes he asked would be granted. Everything was propitious, everything exactly as he would wish.

"Out of those town duds, Dave," he exclaimed. "You can't be a sport any longer. Back to Perro Creek for us and your new spotted pony. And it's high time, too, for I saw you making eyes at that girl with yellow hair and angel blue eyes, whose mamma——"

"You never did!" Dave yelled, crimson with ire.



CHAPTER XII

October. And the last golden leaves twirling down from cottonwood and aspen and mountain maple; the lofty brown peaks fresh powdered with snow; the air dazzling, keen, heady like wine; frost a-sparkle of mornings on stone, fence-post, roof, with a rainbow coruscation of diamonds; clear, high moons; marvellous, moonlit nights.

It was the middle of the month. Three weeks previous, with the bonds sold and the injunction suits dismissed, the contractor employed had unloaded his outfit at Kennard, moved up the Pinas River, raised in a day his camp at the mouth of the canon above Bartolo, and begun his task. This man, Pat Carrigan, had been in Bryant's mind from the first: a Pueblo contractor of Irish extraction, born in a railroad camp, trained on a dump, and now grizzled and aging but unequalled in handling men, in keeping them satisfied, in moving dirt. In his time he had turned off jobs from Maine to California, from Wisconsin to Texas. Already along the hillside a yellow gash was deepening from the dam site through the fenced fields where ran the right of way; while in the Pinas, low at this season, the traverse section of the river bed had been cleaned out and the base of the dam was building of stones and brush.

Late on a certain afternoon Ruth Gardner and Imogene Martin stood waiting by a gray runabout at the edge of the camp. A storm was sweeping up the Ventisquero Range from the south, one of the autumn storms that marked the change of seasons, enveloping, as it advanced, the gray peaks one after another in its fog and trailing over the mesa gauzy brown streamers of rain. In the west the sun still shone unobscured, but with its light failing to a chill saffron glare as the cloud expanded over the sky.

Bryant and another man, a newcomer in the last few days, an engineer from the East representing the bondholders, were walking toward the girl from the dam. As the men walked, they engaged in rather spirited argument.

"You'd better hurry, you two," Ruth called. "Don't you see that rain coming? Imo and I want to reach home, Mr. Gretzinger, without being soaked."

Bryant's companion waved an assuring hand without ceasing his rapid and forceful statement addressed to his fellow. Half a head shorter than Lee, he was of stockier build, a man somewhere near thirty-five or six years of age, with hair tinged with gray above his ears. Both in manner and speech he exhibited by turns superficial gayety, latent cynicism, and an egregious assumption. When Lee had introduced him to the young ladies at Sarita Creek, he had made himself at home in three minutes. He had the latest witticisms of restaurants and theatres, the newest stories, the most recent slang; his clothes were of the autumn's extreme mode; he was intelligent if frankly materialistic; and he interested, amused, and diverted the two girls. From his gay and airy talk they gathered that he had been married and divorced, that the West might have the scenery but New York had the bright lights; that money could buy anything from food to fame; and that "movies" were a bore. To the girls he was like a breath from the metropolis itself, that hard, throbbing, restless, glaring, convivial, avid, fascinating city in which is centred everything of wealth and misery, everything intense and abnormal, and everything to satisfy the desires. But the effect upon the girls was different. Imogene, though entertained, continued calm, unimpressed, unenvious; Ruth, however, as she listened and asked questions, the better they became acquainted, was bright-eyed and excited. "Don't you think him a remarkable man?" she had exclaimed to Imogene. "So experienced, so polished, so—well, everything." This was after his second visit, which he made without Bryant, stopping on his way from the dam camp to Kennard where he made the chief hotel his headquarters. Imogene had replied, "Oh, he's amusing company, and he can't be accused of being diffident, at least. But I wonder if he would wear well. His divorced wife's opinion would be valuable on that point, I fancy." That had caused Ruth to sniff. She said, "You heard his explanation; they didn't agree and so they just separated. That was sensible. When two people find they're not compatible, they shouldn't live together a minute. And I shouldn't be surprised if she was a cat."

Gretzinger's speech as he and Bryant advanced toward the girls and the gray runabout was quick, determined, and uncompromising. His fleshy, aggressive face, that lacked the tan of his companion's, was fixed in dogmatic lines. From time to time he switched his gauntlets against the skirt of his fashionably cut ulster with lively impatience.

"I certainly demand that these changes be made and shall recommend to the bondholders," he was saying, "that they also insist on them."

"Can't help it if you do," was Lee Bryant's reply. "I know what I'm talking about: concrete is necessary. No irrigation engineer to-day who knows his business would think of anything else. Mr. McDonnell's man approved its use, the state engineer likewise. The latter wouldn't allow the change even should I ask it."

"Pah! He'd not concern himself either way. I know how these state officers run things. Leave it to me; I'll arrange the matter."

"Not with my consent. And he'll never grant the change over my opposition."

Gretzinger gave his knee an angry slap.

"I tell you it must be different, Bryant. In addition to the bonds my men have their share of stock. They consider this stock bonus as part of their investment. It is. And they intend to see that that stock earns every dollar—every dollar, do you understand?—that's to be made out of the project. I'm here to protect their interests, and shall do it."

"Well?"

"Now, Bryant, be reasonable. It means more profit in your own pocket, too. You're no philanthropist pure and simple, I take it, and want to make money out of this thing. So agree to this change. You'll make a saving both in time and cash. Carrigan's contract doesn't include the building of these drops; you plan to do that yourself; and if you substitute wood for concrete in these drops and in the gate-frames, it would lessen the labour cost, the material cost, the freighting cost, the——"

"And in five years the wood will have rotted and then concrete will have to be put in after all," Lee interrupted. "More than that, the water will undercut wooden drops, then rip the devil out of the canal along the ridge, making the cost of rebuilding ten times what it is now and very likely causing a water shortage in the middle of an irrigating season so that the farmers' crops will be a dead loss. Fine! I suppose you didn't allow yourself to think that far."

"Why should I?" Gretzinger retorted. "It's not our business to figure on all the calamities that may occur in the next fifty years, or the next ten, or the next five. We build the canal, then it's up to the farmers to keep it in shape after we turn it over to them. If anything happens, that's their lookout and the lookout of the engineer in charge."

The two had come to a halt just out of earshot of the runabout. Bryant could discover on the speaker's face no other expression than a fixed intent to maintain his view.

"Leaving out the injustice of such a course——"

"Injustice, nothing!" the New Yorker derided. "This is cold business. The project must be built as cheaply as possible in order to give the investors the largest return. My father is one of them, and when he puts money into a thing he wants all out of it that's coming to him. So do his associates."

"Let me finish what I started to say," Lee remarked. "Aside from what purchasers of land under this canal scheme have the right to expect, and what they would suffer from a disaster, it hits our own pockets in the end. Poor construction always turns out to be expensive construction. Aside from the initial cash payments from buyers, all we have from them will be notes—mortgage notes that can be paid only by crops from the land. The water insures these crops. Let the canal system go smash, and where are these notes? Nowhere. I don't propose to lose fifty or sixty thousand dollars for a short-sighted gain of ten."

Gretzinger laughed, then tapped the other's shoulder with a forefinger.

"Do you imagine for a minute we'll keep the paper?" he inquired. "Well, I should say not! We'll discount it ten, and if necessary twenty, per cent. to make a quick clean-up and be out. A mortgage company in the East will attend to that part of the business. These mortgages run for ten years; you certainly don't think we'll sit around that long waiting for our money and profits. The discount will make the paper attractive to small investors, among whom it will be peddled and who want long-time securities. And you'll profit from that along with the rest of us; we couldn't leave you out if we wished."

"No, you can't leave me out of your calculations," said Bryant, grimly.

"You see now, I hope, why it's to your interest as well as ours to make the change I suggest," Gretzinger continued. "It will equal the amount of the discount. In a year or so we'll all be out from under with bonds and stock liquidated dollar for dollar. In other words, with our profits in cash in the bank instead of in notes."

"And somebody else holding the sack, eh?" Bryant's aquiline nose came down a little as he asked the question. "No, Gretzinger, you haven't persuaded me, and you never will by that argument. A pretty rotten scheme, that of yours. I shall go right ahead and use concrete."

"Then you don't intend to consider bondholders as having a voice in matters?"

"No."

"Well, they're stockholders as well."

"Minority stockholders, that's all," Lee stated, coolly. "You've said this is a matter of cold business. Very well; I'm the majority stockholder and have the control. I consider it cold business to build the drops of concrete as planned. I consider it cold business and good business to provide the farmers with a safe system. And I shall do that."

Again came Ruth's call, urging Gretzinger to hurry. He answered and spoke a last word to Bryant, with a suddenly altered mien.

"You're an obstinate devil, Lee," he exclaimed, cheerfully. "I'll have to think up some new arguments to get you over, I find. Now I must run along, or the ladies will be up in arms—and not my arms, either."

Bryant helped him to button the curtains on the hood of the car, found an instant when he could press Ruth's hand unobserved and murmur a word in her ear, and stated that if the rain did not last he would run down (he had picked up a second-hand Ford in Kennard) to Sarita Creek after supper.

"I don't see half enough of you," Ruth said, giving him a pat on the cheek with the gloved finger that now wore a diamond solitaire. To Mr. Gretzinger she continued, "If you get us home without a wetting, you may stay and eat with us; but if you don't, why, you can go straight on to town."

Off the car sped down the trail toward Bartolo where it would gain the well-travelled mesa road, a hand thrust through the curtains waving back at Bryant.

The engineer did not go to Sarita Creek that night, for the rain settled into a steady drizzle that lasted until well toward morning. After supper he went, however, to the adobe dwelling of the Mexican who once had warned him from his field. The man's seven-year-old boy had fallen from a horse the day previous and fractured a leg; half fearfully, half recklessly, the parent had come running to camp for medical aid; and Lee had despatched the camp doctor, a young fellow recently graduated, to treat the injury. Bryant was admitted into the house. The youngster, he learned, was resting comfortably and had been visited by the doctor that afternoon. Lee was even conducted to the bedside, where the boy's leg thick with splints and wrappings was exhibited for his benefit.

"The doctor, he said I was to speak to you about his pay," the Mexican stated after a time, when he and Bryant had talked awhile in Spanish.

Bryant waved the words aside.

"There's no charge, nothing," said he. "I was delighted to send the doctor. I hope your son improves rapidly. The physician will continue to pay you calls until the boy no longer requires them. Those are very pretty geraniums you have in the window, senora. Are they fragrant?" Lee crossed the room and bent his face above them.

The man's wife rubbed her hands together under her apron with much pleasure. Thus politely for him to notice and praise her flowers! In her heart, as in the heart of her husband, there formerly had been resentment at this white canal-builder for cutting their field with a big ditch, an occurrence which the county judge somehow had stupidly permitted. But now she did not know what to feel. Yesterday he had sent them a doctor for nothing, and this evening was smelling her flowers admiringly. He could not be exactly a monster. Removing one hand from beneath her apron, she inserted a finger-nail in her black hair and scratched her scalp, considering the subject. Winter was coming, too. Food would be needed—and besides, she long had desired one of those loud phonographs at Menocal's store, and also needed a new stove. She perceived that her husband was staring at Bryant's back with a thoughtful air. Undoubtedly he was thinking the same thing as she.

"You yet want men and teams for your work, senor?" she inquired.

"All I can get."

"If a man falls sick while at work, would he have the services of the doctor?"

"Yes, without charge. There will be work on the dam most of the winter, where the building is only a matter of stone and brush. I can use all who want employment. Then in the spring there will be the digging of the ditch on the mesa."

"Five dollars for a man and his team, is it not so?" the Mexican inquired.

"Yes."

"What if a man's wife or children fall sick?" the woman asked.

Bryant hid a smile at this shrewd bargaining. Yet he was perceiving an opportunity. There were no Mexicans at work on the project; one and all they had held off. Likewise they refused to sell him grain and hay, which necessitated the hauling of feed from a distance. But now this accident to the boy might prove a heaven-sent chance to break Menocal's monopoly of influence.

"In case of sickness in the man's family, the doctor shall attend free," he stated.

The woman took thought afresh.

"And if the man's horses are taken sick?"

"Nay, he's not a horse doctor," said Lee, smiling. And even the woman smiled.

"But there's another matter. I fear it prevents," the man remarked. "It is a note for fifty dollars that the bank holds against me. If I work, Menocal will make trouble about that. I think we had best talk no more of employment."

"Suppose I advance the amount in case he does, letting you work out the debt. I could keep, say, two dollars out of each day's five until you owed nothing."

"That would be agreeable to me, senor. But what if he then refuses to sell me goods from his store?"

"You can buy at the commissary," Lee said. "Why should you lose five dollars a day because of Menocal's bad feeling for me? You remain idle—but does he pay you, or feed you? And the wages I offer you, and the doctor's services, and the other accommodations, I also offer to other Mexicans who will work. You may tell them so. Remember, there will be teaming on the ditch until it freezes up, then work on the dam throughout the winter, then scraper work on the mesa in the spring. Five dollars a day coming in the door! You can buy meat and flour and clothes and tobacco and candy for the children and a new wagon and pictures of the Madonna, yes, all. But now I must go."

"But Menocal would be very angry," said the man, with a shake of his head.

Bryant bade them good-night and departed. He went up the muddy road through the wet darkness to the camp. Domination of the native mind by Menocal appeared too strong for him to break.

But to his surprise next morning the Mexican came driving his team into the camp. Lee sent him to Pat Carrigan, who gave him a scraper and set him to work on the ditch. Toward noon the engineer encountered him moving dirt from the deepening excavation; the sight had an amusing feature. The man, Pedro Saurez, laboured in his own field building the canal at about the spot where he had warned Bryant away when surveying.

When Saurez beheld Lee, he grinned and removed the cigarette from his lips.

"It will be a fine ditch, this," was his remark.



CHAPTER XIII

Work on the canal section near the river advanced without incident until, one morning early in November, the plows unexpectedly uncovered a forty-foot-wide body of granite just beneath the surface. This particular difficulty was not serious, and was the contractor's; but Pat Carrigan was no more pleased than any other contractor would have been at finding rock, even a small amount, when he had figured his excavation costs on a dirt basis.

"That wipes out a piece of my profits," he remarked to Bryant, after a first profane explosion. "I'll send out for some dynamite and shoot it. If it wasn't for damned troubles like this, I'd been a retired man and fat and rich long ago. Don't grin, you heartless blackguard! You'll have miseries of your own before we're done."

Pat Carrigan was a true prophet. A blow of fatal nature, indeed, was preparing at the moment and fell within a week. From the state engineer Lee received a letter advising him that an application for use of the water appropriated to Perro Creek ranch had been made by a man of the name of Rodriguez, of Rosita, under an old statute long forgotten. This law was mandatory upon the Land and Water Board. It required the latter to cancel rights and to reappropriate water elsewhere to the amount in excess of what a canal actually carried, or what a canal had failed to carry for five successive years if it were not shown within ninety days after a filing for reappropriation that the said canal had been enlarged to a capacity to carry the original appropriation, and proof given of the owner's intention to employ said appropriation.

Menocal once more! He had been very quiet all this while; he apparently had made no effort to dissuade the Mexicans who, following Saurez's lead, had come in increasing number to work on the canal or the dam; the man had almost passed from the engineer's mind. But he had not been idle. He had had shrewd legal talent seeking a deadly weapon for him among the musty statutes, with which he could deal the irrigation project a coup de grace. And as the import of the letter penetrated Bryant's brain, his heart seemed to turn to ice. Ninety days—finish dam and canal in ninety days! As well fix a limit of ninety hours!

Finally he rushed off to Pat Carrigan superintending scraper work and dragged him aside.

"For God's sake, read that, Pat!" he cried. "Read what the Land and Water Board are going to do. They're going to cut the heart right out of us! Kill the project! All for a law nobody ever heard of! Read it!"

Pat knit his brows and slowly extracted the meaning from the state engineer's formal, involved announcement. That something serious had occurred he guessed before Bryant had opened his lips. He had never seen the engineer so wrought up, so white, so agitated.

"Let me get this right," the old contractor said, at length. "They're going to cancel your water right."

"Yes."

"But not at once. You've ninety days to——"

"Ninety days! We can't do a year's work in ninety days, and in winter time at that!" Lee cried.

"Of course not," was the answer. "But it gives you time to argue with 'em and fight this thing. My advice is to go see this Board at once. Maybe if you explain the situation, they'll call off this fellow Rodriguez."

Bryant, however, remained depressed. Clearly the officials had no liberty of action in the matter.

"I don't know that it will do any good," he said, "but it's all that's left to do. Pack your grip, Pat; I want you to go with me. Leave Morgan in charge. Can you start in half an hour?"

The ride to Kennard was made at high speed, and on the way the men did little talking. Both wanted to weigh the disaster confronting the project. In town they sought out McDonnell, who promised to have his attorney go into the matter at once and who appeared very grave at the news. Then they returned to the hotel to await their train.

Here Lee was surprised to encounter Ruth in company of Gretzinger, Charlie Menocal, and a Kennard girl with whom he was not acquainted. Ruth and Imogene, he learned, had come down the day before with the New Yorker and were staying at the McDonnell home.

"We're just roaming around and amusing ourselves," Ruth said, slipping her arm within Lee's. "Come on and join us."

Lee smilingly shook his head.

"Can't possibly do it," said he. "I'm leaving for the capital soon."

Ruth drew him aside.

"But give me ten minutes of your time before you go, will you, dear?" she asked. "Come, we can go into one of the parlours where we'll be alone." And when they were seated there, she continued, "I know why you're going to Santa Fe. Charlie said he understood you were involved in some new legal trouble and that you might lose your whole project. Mr. Gretzinger laughed at him and so did I, for we knew it couldn't be true. But it's bothering you, I see; your face is anxious. I hope you'll clear up the horrid matter, whatever it is, while you're gone." Then after a pause, she remarked, "Perhaps Mr. Gretzinger could be of assistance to you."

"Not in this matter," said Lee.

"He has a great deal of influence, especially in the East."

"But this is the West—and I don't care much for Gretzinger, besides," he stated.

"So he says. More than once he has wished you would be more friendly. Isn't it a little inconsiderate of you, Lee, to hold him off at arm's length, especially when he's here as representative of the bondholders? He has a vital interest in the canal and its success. Really, I think he might be of great help if you'd permit. And it would be of great advantage to us in the future, his friendship and that of the men behind him, for they are wealthy and influential. That's one reason why you ought to cultivate him, Lee."

"Go on," said he, as she paused.

"Well, I thought we should discuss the matter. I'm of the opinion that you misunderstand him. You'll not deny that he's a man of ability."

"No—though I know little of him."

"He is, though, Lee. And an engineer of high standing, too, and of experience. Wouldn't it be wise to consult him a little more than you do? He has talked to me at times about the project and has, I believe, ideas you could use. For instance, he says that if you made certain changes in the canal there would be a considerable saving of money, by which the stockholders would benefit, you among them. He says that if in certain places wood were used instead of concrete it would mean thousands of dollars in your pocket."

"It would, but it would also endanger the canal."

"Mr. Gretzinger said you asserted that as your reason," she proceeded, "but he claims there's no more prospect of danger from that source than from a fly. And anyway, isn't it a matter that concerns only the buyers afterward? He says so. I don't know much about such matters, of course, but you really must look after your own best interest first—and mine. I say mine because mine will be yours after we're married. Mr. Gretzinger says your share of the saving would be at least five thousand dollars and possibly more. Lee, do this for me."

"What he proposes is dishonest, Ruth."

"But why? He says the state board would grant the change if proper representations were made. If the officials allowed it, I can't see where it would be dishonest."

"The officials would have to be deceived to gain their consent to such a change," Lee said, patiently. "But the real point at issue is the permanency of the water system, Ruth. The poor devils who buy the land and who toil for years to pay for it are to be considered. If the canal is too cheaply constructed, they'll probably lose their crops; and losing their crops means ruin. As far as possible an engineer must insure against this danger when he builds the canal; then if any accident happens later, his conscience, at any rate, is clear."

"But he says you over-estimate the risk, that wood is perfectly safe. And he's an expert engineer, too. More experienced than you, Lee."

"You seem to have discussed this thing with him at great length," Bryant remarked, dryly.

"I have, indeed I have, because I have your success so greatly at heart, dear. I want to see you receive every penny that you earn and all the credit you deserve; I want you to go ahead in your profession and become both wealthy and famous; but sometimes I think that you're so absorbed in the engineering part of the work that you're careless of the future. One has to be practical, too. One has to look out for one's own interests. And I don't see why your responsibility for the project doesn't end when you've built the canal, sold the land, and turned the system over to the farmers. You can't go on looking out for them after that; you're not answerable to the 'hay-seeds' who settle here for what may or may not happen. And we shall need the money that would be saved by using wood instead of concrete, Lee. When you're through here, we shall want to live in New York at least part of the time. With Mr. Gretzinger's friendship you could perhaps form a connection so that you could be there all the while, and make a big fortune. You will do this for me, won't you, Lee? It means just that much more happiness for us."

She slipped her arms about his neck and kissed him impulsively, eagerly. Lee felt himself tremble at that clasp, at that kiss. Words seemed futile. His anxiety over the fate of his project gave way to a profound sickness of soul. That Ruth should thus reveal such a cloudiness of spiritual vision, such an inability to distinguish between moral values, such a ready acceptance of Gretzinger's vicious philosophy, was the final drop in his bitter cup this day.

"It's not a question of either wood or concrete just at present," he said, rising. "It's whether I'm to have a project at all. I'll not go with you, Ruth, to your friends; I must think over what I'm to do and say at Santa Fe to-morrow."

As he rode thither with Carrigan that night it seemed as if he now was at grapple with forces, invisible, powerful, malevolent, that strove to dispossess him of everything that was dear. His project! What means, what help, what law was there of which he could make use to ward off this deadly assault on it? And Ruth! How should he save her—save her from herself, clear the mist from her eyes, arouse her drowsing soul? All that he had aimed at and all that he had striven for hung on finding answers to those questions.



CHAPTER XIV

By noon Bryant and Carrigan had concluded their interviews with members of the Land and Water Board. All of them had listened, asked questions, expressed their regret at the situation in which Perro Creek project found itself, but stated that the Board had no course other than that of executing the law evoked in the case. They suggested that Bryant bring an action in the courts to test the law; they admitted that his company might be forced into the hands of a receiver; they inquired concerning the possibility of gaining the consent of the adverse party to a withdrawal of his application. Their hands, however, said one and all, were tied in the matter.

The engineer and the contractor went down the steps of the state house and found a seat on a bench at a shady spot of the grounds.

"Just as I expected it would be," Bryant said, grimly.

He sat humped over, his elbows on his knees and his cheeks between his fists. His eyes were dull, heavy; he had not closed them during the previous night. He wore the mud-caked lace boots and stained khaki, as did Carrigan, in which he had departed from camp.

"Well, we haven't quit breathing yet," Pat remarked, licking the wrapper on the cigar he was about to light.

Lee sat silent for several minutes.

"Anyway, I'll see you don't lose, Pat," he said. "You can figure out what profit you would have made on your contract if the ditch had been built and I'll pay you that. Then you can call off your crew."

"Oh, I'll let you down easy, Lee. That wasn't worrying me any," was the rejoinder. "I was just thinking——" But his words broke off there, and he again gave his attention to the cigar wrapper that persisted in coming loose.

Bryant continued his gloomy cogitation. The muscles of his cheeks moved in hard lumps beneath his fists as if he were champing some resistant substance. Over his eyes his lids from time to time drooped sleepily. But all at once he leaped up.

"If I but had something I could take hold of, Pat!" he exclaimed. "Something I could lay hands on and move, like that bed of rock you uncovered! So I could go ahead! A law is so damned immaterial that one has nothing to work against. It leaves a man nowhere, helpless. It lifts him off the ground and holds him kicking futilely in the air. Just that. By God, I'm desperate enough to try anything—to try building the ditch—try whipping Menocal even under this moth-eaten law he's dug up!"

Pat shut one eye against the smoke curling into it.

"I was speculating a little along the same line," said he, slowly.

"But twelve miles of ditch in ninety days! The whole mesa line! We'd be crazy to think of it. Let's talk of something else."

Lee's mouth, nevertheless, was twitching, while gleams like light came and went on his face.

"I always had a weakness for the bad bets," said Pat.

"But twelve miles of ditch!"

"And the nights freezing harder every week," the old contractor added.

"And the days short."

"Yes, and nerve shorter yet," said Pat.

The remark was airily given, but the inference was plain. Lee took a step aside and stood staring across the capitol grounds, with brows knit, with lips compressed, the prey of struggling hopes and doubts.

"Pat," he said, turning.

"Well?"

"Do you think we could do it?"

"God knows; I don't. But we could give the job an awful whirl," the contractor stated.

"The thing looks impossible, preposterous, but if you see the slightest chance of success I want you to say so. Dirt moving is your game, not mine. Ninety days; that's thirteen weeks. Almost a mile a week. Can it be done? Can you do it?"

Pat at last threw away the cigar that refused to draw.

"With men and teams enough I could build a ditch to tide-water in that time," said he, with sudden energy. "Men and scrapers, scrapers and men—that's all. You can rip the insides out of any dirt job on earth if you have the crews. Of course, it takes money, big wages, to get and hold them."

"Money! What do I care for that if we build the canal? How much more will it take? How much will you need?"

"Say twenty thousand more."

"Get out your pencil and begin figuring it."

"I don't need a pencil," Carrigan answered. "I haven't been moving dirt for fifty years without figures sticking to my hair. I've digested your blue-prints and know what's to come out of the ground. Now I'll tell you what it would be if there was no frost in the ground, as in summer—and we'll afterward allow for the frost; and what's necessary in men, horses, fresnos, shacks, horsefeed, food, clothes, and general supplies."

And thereupon Carrigan began to pour forth a stream of data so exact, so comprehensive, so full, that Bryant listened in astonishment. All carried in his head, ready for use!

"I hope I know my business at your age as you know yours," Lee exclaimed.

"You will, or ought to. I've paid for what I know in mistakes and miscalculated jobs, as does every man some time or other—paid in hard cash. What he learns is all he gets out of losses. Now, the figures I gave were for summer work; winter dirt moving is another kind of animal. Work is slower, men are harder to keep, weather is generally bad."

"This autumn has been later than usual, and it may last," said Lee.

"And it may not," Carrigan stated, emphatically. "It's that that worries me about this thing. As it is, the ground freezes on top every night. Let the thermometer make a low drop, and we won't be able to stick a plow-point into it anywhere."

"There's no moisture to speak of in the soil of the mesa."

"Enough to freeze the dirt, just the same," said Pat.

"We can leave the dam out of consideration."

"Yes; no trouble about finishing that. And your concrete work, Lee, won't lose you any sleep. A carload of cement from here, gravel from the river, and a dozen Kennard carpenters to knock together gate and drop frames—no trick to crack that nut. Frost, lad, frost! It's the thing to set us groaning."

Bryant sat down and put his hand on the speaker's knee.

"Pat, if we go into this thing and put it through, there will be a good fat bonus for you."

"Maybe there will be and maybe there won't. Maybe you'll have some money left when we're done and maybe you'll not have a red cent. In any case, the old man is with you, Lee, to the end of the scrap—if you go ahead. What about your bondholders? Will they stand for risking what's not yet spent? They will save considerable by your stopping now; they'll lose all if we fail."

"What do you——"

Pat's raised hand halted him.

"Ask me nothing," said he. "That's for you alone to settle. If you spend their money and win, they'll say 'Thank you'—maybe; and if you go under, they'll damn you up one side and down the other and probably try to send you to the pen. You're the chief; you have to decide; you can't share the responsibility—anyway, not with me. And if you're inquiring, I'll remark that its considerable responsibility. Go off yonder by yourself and think it over a bit."

Bryant left the old contractor lighting a fresh cigar. He walked to another bench a short distance away, where he sat down. In his first exultation at perceiving a fighting chance to save the project he had seen only the opportunity, but Carrigan's unexpected turn of the subject had brought him back to earth. He was guardian, as well as dispenser, of company funds. He had obligations to the bondholders. Therefore, would he be justified in risking the money on such a desperate venture? His soul sank.

But his mind would not cease to revolve about the undertaking, for he could not at once relinquish his long-cherished dream. The thought of tame surrender was as wormwood in his mouth. To stand by acquiescent while the project collapsed! That prospect he could not endure. Never again, if he capitulated now, would he be able to strike out with the same courage as in this project; never with the same courage, or spirit, or faith. The project was his creation! The thing of his brain and will! Part of himself! And how confidently he had made his plans and acquired the property and started work! No doubts of his ability to carry it through! No question of his right to go ahead! No fear of the task!

The engineer came suddenly to his feet.

Builders throughout the world took equal risks and overcame as great obstacles every day; it was the measure of their genius and will. Engineers elsewhere crushed a way through earth and rock to their goals, and under adverse circumstances, with no thought of failure. Were there not men who would unhesitatingly take hold of this project now and complete it in the time allotted? Yes, any number. For the very same reason that he had launched the scheme. Because they had the ability, because they had the will, because, most of all, they had faith—faith in their own powers.