CHAPTER XIV
Farwell was by nature obstinate; he was also resourceful, andaccustomed to carrying out his instructions by hook or by crook. Thatwas one reason why he was such a valuable man. He accomplished his endsor his employers' ends after some fashion. Therefore, when the almostcompleted dam was destroyed, he recognized merely a temporary, ifexpensive, setback. The company could afford to pay for any number ofdams; but, in order to push their sales, and, as a first step towardacquiring other properties at a minimum figure, they wanted the wateron their lands at once. Very well, they should have it.
Though the dam was practically wrecked, the main canal was intact. Itsintake was just above the dam, solidly built of masonry, with sluicegates to control the volume of water. Without the dam it carried acomparatively small stream. With the dam, and the consequent raising ofthe water level, it would roar full from wall to wall, a river initself.
Just at its lower lip Farwell began to drive piles at an angleupstream. He sank brush with hundreds of bags of sand, made cribworkfilled with whatever rubbish came to his hand, and soon he had themakings of a temporary dam, rude, but effective. It would serve threepurposes: It would fill the company's ditches; it would practicallyempty the ranchers'; and it would render the rebuilding of thepermanent dam easier. Farwell was quite satisfied with himself.
Meanwhile, he found time to ride over to Talapus occasionally. Hisfooting there was anomalous, and he felt it. On the one hand he wishedthe McCraes well and had done all he could for them; on the other hewas ruthlessly carrying out a project which would ruin them. Underthese circumstances he looked for no more than tolerance. He now ownedfrankly to himself that he was in love with Sheila. He had made littleprogress with his wooing, nor did he expect to make more just then. Hisblunt assertiveness covered a natural shyness where women wereconcerned, and he had about as much idea of the fine points of the gameas a logger has of cabinet-making. Still, he was drawn to her by adesire which he was unable to resist. He had a profound belief inhimself and in his capacity for material success; he considered himselfan eligible match for any girl, and he relied on Sheila's good sense torealize what he had taken pains to make plain--that while his loyaltyto his employers forced him to carry out their instructions, hissympathies were with her and her family. Of this he had givenindubitable proof. He had no intention of dropping out of sight, ofdiscontinuing his visits, so long as they were tolerated, of leavingthe field clear to another, perhaps to Dunne. With her he bore a whiteflag always, insisting that between them there was friendly truce.
He was of the opinion that the McCraes, father and son, had no hand inthe dynamiting; though he conceded that they could make an excellentguess at the perpetrators. But Farwell thought he could do thathimself; he fixed the responsibility on Casey Dunne.
The McCraes did not mention the dam, but Farwell had no hesitation inbroaching the subject. He predicted speedy and exemplary punishment forthe guilty.
Donald McCrae listened gravely, his face expressionless. Sandy wore afaint, ironic smile which irritated Farwell.
"You don't think so?" asked the engineer pointedly.
"You're doing the talking--I'm not," said Sandy.
Farwell reddened angrily. There was more in the tone than in the words.It implied that talk was Farwell's long suit. Farwell disliked Sandyextremely, but with a self-control which he rarely exercised, forboreto retort. Hot-tempered as he was, he realized that he could notdeclare his belief in the guilt of any person without some evidence.His smouldering eye measured Sandy, taking him in from head to foot,and rested on the smoky golden tan of a pair of new moccasins which hewore.
Now, Sandy had acquired the moccasin habit in childhood and retainedit. It was rarely that he wore boots around the ranch. Farwell, lookingat the new moccasins, which were handsomely embroidered with silkthread, noted the straight inner line of the foot, from toe to heel. Itwas like the foot of an aborigine; undeformed, undeflected fromnature's lines by fashionable footgear. By suggestion the moccasintrack at the dam occurred to him. He recalled its straight inner line.McCrae's moccasined foot would make just such a track. Was it possiblethat he, at least, was one of the dynamiters?
Not only possible, Farwell decided, after a moment's reflection, butprobable. The elder man he exonerated mentally. The son, young,hostile, possessing unlimited nerve, was just the man for such anenterprise. And if he were concerned in it, and the fact wereascertained what a devil of a mess it would make!
For a moment he was tempted to test his suspicion by some pointedallusion, but thought better of it. And shortly after the two menwithdrew, leaving him with Sheila.
"This is a nasty business," said Farwell, after a long pause, revertingto the former topic. "I wouldn't like it--no matter what turns up--tomake any difference between us."
"There isn't much difference to make," she reminded him.
"No, I suppose not," he admitted, slightly disconcerted. "We're merelyacquaintances. Only"--he hesitated--"only I thought--perhaps--we mightbe friends."
Which was going very strong--for Farwell. He said it awkwardly,stiffly, because he was quite unaccustomed to such phrase. Sheilasmiled to herself in the growing darkness.
"Well, friends if you like. But then we are of different camps--hostilecamps."
"But I'm not hostile," said Farwell. "That's nonsense. Business isbusiness, but outside of that it cuts no ice with me."
"Doesn't it?"
"Not with me," he declared stoutly. "Not a bit. You didn't blow up thedam. Even if you had----"
"Even if I had----"
"I wouldn't care," Farwell blurted. "Thank the Lord I'm notnarrow-minded."
Sheila laughed. Her estimate of Farwell did not credit him withwideness of outlook. But her reply was prevented by the _thud-thud_ ofrapid hoofs. A horse and rider loomed through the dark.
"Hello, Sheila!" the rider called.
"Why, Casey, this is luck!" she exclaimed. Farwell scowled at theevident pleasure in her voice. "Light down. Better put your horse inthe stable."
"That you, McCrae?" said Dunne, peering at the glow of Farwell's cigar."I want to see you about----"
"It's Mr. Farwell," Sheila interjected quickly.
A pause. Casey's voice, smooth, polite, broke it.
"I didn't recognize you, Mr. Farwell. How are you?" He dismounted,dropped his reins, and came upon the veranda. "Lovely night, isn't it?Well, and how is everything going with you?"
"I'm fairly busy," Farwell replied grimly, "thanks to the actions ofsome persons who imagine themselves unknown."
Casey Dunne lit a cigar and held the match in his hand till the flametouched his fingers. He spoke through the ensuing greater darkness:
"I heard that your dam wasn't holding very well."
"Not very well," Farwell agreed, struggling with his temper. "Perhapsyou _heard_ that it was dynamited?"
"I think I've heard most of the rumours," Dunne responded calmly.
"I have no doubt of that," Farwell observed with meaning.
"Great country for rumours," Casey went on. "Somebody always knows yourinmost thoughts. Your intentions are known by others before you knowthem yourself. You are no exception, Mr. Farwell. The mind readers arebusy with you. No action you might take would surprise them. They arequite ready for anything."
"I may surprise these wise people yet," said Farwell. "I suppose theycounted on depriving our lands of water by destroying our dam?"
"That's certainly an original way of putting it," said Casey. "Well?"
"Well, they didn't foresee that, though our permanent work is wrecked,and will take time to rebuild, we would put in a temporary wing oflogs, brush, and sand which would give us a partial supply."
"No, they didn't foresee that, likely," Casey admitted. "This wing damof yours is quite an idea. By the way, I'm not getting enough waternow, myself. Couldn't you get along with less than you are taking?"
"No," Farwell returned shortly.
"These wise people thought you could or would,"
said Casey, and,turning to Sheila, asked for her father. A few minutes afterward hestrode off in search of him.
Farwell endeavoured to pick up the broken thread of conversation withSheila. But this proved difficult. She was preoccupied; and he himselffound Dunne's concluding words sticking in his memory. Did they hide asinister meaning? He disliked Dunne heartily, and he was jealous of himbesides, without having any definite cause; but he no longer underratedhim.
On his way to camp he turned the problem over and over in his mind, butcould make nothing of it, unless the words foreshadowed an attempt onthe temporary dam. But there seemed to be little chance for the successof such an undertaking. Big acetylenes flared all night by themakeshift structure, and two men with shotguns watched by it. The wholecamp was under almost martial law.
Farwell walked down to the river before he retired, to find thewatchman very wide awake and a torrent booming through the stone-facedcanal intake, to be distributed through a network of ditches upon thecompany's lands miles away. Farwell, satisfied, instructed the watchmento keep a bright lookout, and turned in.
Once in the night he awoke with the impression that he had heardthunder, but as the stars were shining he put it down to a dream andwent to sleep again. In the morning one of the watchmen reported adistant sound resembling a blast, but he had no idea where it was.Farwell attached no importance to it.
But in the middle of the morning his ditch foreman, Bergin, rode inangry and profane. And his report caused similar manifestations inFarwell.
The main canal and larger ditches had been blown up in half a dozenplaces, usually where they wound around sidehills, and the releasedwater had wrought hideous damage to the banks, causing landslides,washing thousands of tons of soil away, making it necessary to alterthe ditch line altogether or put in fluming where the damage hadoccurred.
Nor was this all. Some three miles from the camp the main canal crosseda deep coulee. To get the water across, a trestle had been erected anda flume laid on it. The fluming was the largest size, patent-metalstuff, half round, joined with rods, riveted and clinched. To carry thevolume of water there were three rows of this laid side by side,cemented into the main canal at the ends. It had been a beautiful andexpensive job; and it reproduced finely in advertising matter. It wasnow a wreck.
Farwell rode out with Bergin to the scene of devastation. Now trestleand fluming lay in bent, rent, and riven ruin at the bottom of thecoulee. The canal vomited its contents indecently down the nearestbank. A muddy river flowed down the coulee's bed. And the peculiarlybitter part of the whole affair was that the water, following thecourse of the coulee, ran back into the river again, whence it wasavailable for use by the ranchers. It was as if the river had neverbeen dammed. What water was diverted by the temporary dam got back tothe river by way of the canal and coulee, somewhat muddied, but equallywet, and just as good as ever for irrigation purposes.
Bergin cursed afresh, but Farwell's anger was too bitter and deep formere profanity. He sat in his saddle scowling at the wreck.
Once more it had been put over on him. He thought he had taken everypossible precaution. Of course, ditches might be cut at any time; shortof a constant patrol there was no way of preventing that. But thiscoulee was a thing which any man with eyes in his head and a brain backof them might have seen and thought of. And he had allowed this costlybit of fluming to lie open to destruction when it was the very key tothe situation, so far as the ranchers were concerned!
His instructions had been to take the water to bring them to a properlyhumble frame of mind. It was part of his job to protect his employers'property; that was what he was there for. He had taken ordinaryprecautions, too, so far as the dam was concerned. But he had entirelyoverlooked the fact, as obvious as that water runs downhill, that ifhis canal were cut at the coulee its contents must flow back into theriver. Everything was now set back. With this second outrage land saleswould stop altogether. It was a sickening jolt. He thought of thequestions he would have to answer. He would be asked why he hadn't donethis. It would be no answer to point out that he had done that. Peoplewere always so cursed wise after the event!
And then he remembered Casey Dunne's words. Dunne had said that he wasnot getting enough water, had asked for more, had practically given himwarning. Now every rancher's ditches were running full, and all he hadto show for his work was a horrible mass of wreckage.
Farwell had disliked Dunne at first sight; now he hated him. He wouldhave liked to come to actual grips with him, to break that lean, wirybody with his own tremendous strength, to bruise and batter thatquietly mocking face with his great fists.
But the worst of it all was that he had nothing to go on. There was nota shred of evidence to connect Dunne with the destruction of the damand flume. The detective sent down by the company had looked wise buthad found out nothing. The only thing in the nature of a clew was amoccasin track, and that led to young McCrae, whom, for Sheila's sake,he did not wish to involve. He felt that through no fault of his own hehad made a mess of everything. The ranchers had won every round. AsAfrica had been the grave of countless military reputations, so Farwellsaw his own repute interred along the Coldstream.
Something had to be done. He was tired of taking unavailingprecautions, of sitting passively waiting for attacks. In the nature ofthings it was impossible to guard adequately works extending over milesof uninhabited country. Guerilla warfare could not be met by regulartactics.
As he scowled down at the muddy torrent an idea began to germinate inhis mind. The main thing was to crush these ranchers, to bring them totheir knees. After that all would be easy, there would be an end ofdifficulties. The engineering problems were the least. He had a freehand; he was backed by an enormous corporation which would go thelimit. He resolved to fight fire with fire--to give the ranchers a doseof their own medicine.