CHAPTER XXIII
Bob tore the letter open with one rip, and read it with his back to thedesk:
DEAR SIR:
We regret to say that dredging and other immediate repairs on our canalmake a rather heavy assessment imperative. The work must be done atonce, and the company's funds are entirely exhausted. Your assessmentis $10 an acre; and this must be paid before we can serve you with anymore water.
Very truly, DILLENBECK WATER Co., Per R. Jenkins, Pres. & Mgr.
Ten dollars an acre! Fifty thousand dollars! Bob walked slowly out ofthe hotel. There was no use to go up to his room. No sleep to-night.
Jenkins' plot was clear now. He had merely been waiting for the mostcritical time. The next two waterings were the most vital of the wholeseason. The little squares that form the boll were taking shape. Ifthe cotton did not get water at this time the bolls would fall offinstead of setting.
Bob walked down the street, on through to the Mexican section of town,thinking. He must do something, but what?
It was a sweltering night and people were mostly outdoors. Under thevines in front of a small Mexican house a man played a guitar and awoman hummed an accompaniment. Across the street a little HolinessMission was holding prayer meeting, and through the open windows anorgan and twenty voices wailed out a religious tune.
Bob turned and walked back rapidly, and crossed the Mexican line. Atthe Red Owl he might hear something.
It was so hot that even the gamblers were listless to-night. The onlystir of excitement was round one roulette wheel. Bob started towardthe group, and saw the centre of it was Reedy Jenkins with his hattipped back, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to elbows,playing stacks of silver dollars on the "thirty."
Bob leaned against one of the idle tables and talked with the gamekeeper, a pleasant, friendly young chap.
"Wonder what the Mexicans are going to do with so many motor trucks?"the gamester asked casually.
"Motor trucks?" Bob repeated.
"Yes, they unloaded a whole string of them over here to-day. One ofthe boys said he counted twenty."
As Bob left the gambling hall Reedy was still playing the roulettewheel at twenty dollars a throw.
Rogeen got his car and started south. He would see for himself ifthere was any basis for Jenkins' claim that immediate work must be doneon the water system. It was late and there were no lights at any ofthe little ranch shacks over the fields.
Chandler's place was dark like the rest. They were sleeping. Theirnotice would not come until to-morrow or next day. He would not wakethem. Anyway to-night he had forgotten his fiddle, but he grimlyremembered his gun.
He drove through the Red Butte Ranch without stopping. He couldscarcely bear even to look to the right or left at those long rich rowsof dark green cotton.
Turning off the main road south toward the Dillenbeck canal, somethingunusual stirred in Bob's consciousness. At first he could not thinkwhat was the matter; but directly he got it--the car was runningdifferently. This road across a patch of the desert was usually sobumpy one had to hold himself down. To-night the car ran smoothly.The road had been worked--was being worked now--for a quarter of a mileahead he heard an engine and made out some sort of road-dragging outfit.
The simplest way in the world to make a road across a sandy desert, orto work one that has been used, is to take two telephone poles, fastenthem the same distance apart as automobile wheels, hitch on an engine,and drag them lengthwise along the road. This not only grinds down theuneven bumps but packs the sand into a smooth, firm bed for themachine's wheels.
That was what they were doing here. Bob stayed back and watched. Hedid not want to overtake them. The road-breaking outfit crossed thecanal directly and headed south by east off into the desert. Bobstopped his machine on the plank bridge, and watched them pull awayinto the night. Then he gave a long, speculative whistle.
"I wonder," he said, "what philanthropist is abroad in the land at oneo'clock in the morning?"
Rogeen left his machine and followed on foot along the bank of thecanal for two miles. The water was flowing freely. There was no signof immediate need for dredging. Some of the small ranches were gettingwater to-night. He was glad of that. The Red Butte had finishedwatering its five-thousand-acre crop a week ago. It would be threedays before they would need to begin again.
He went back to his machine and drove clear up to the intake from theValley Irrigation Company's canal. The water was running smoothly allthe way. The ditches seemed open, and in fair shape. Some work wasneeded of course every day; but there was no call for any quick,expensive repairs.
"Make it plain to the Chandler girl that this is herlast chance to sell before I ruin her crop."]
No, Jenkins' call for money was purely for himself and not the watersystem. The whole thing was robbery. But how could it be prevented?Injunctions by American courts did not extend over here, and Reedyundoubtedly had an understanding with the Mexican authorities.
There was nothing for it, thought Bob, but to choose one of two evils:Be robbed of $50,000, or lose five thousand acres of cotton. He sethis teeth and started the little car plugging back across the sandtoward the American line.