U. S. R. S.
The long trip across the continent proved to be no hardship for Bob.
It was the first time he had ever gone alone on so long a journey and
he could not help but feel a certain sense of liberty. He made friends
with everybody on the train and many tired travelers saw the scenery
through his enthusiastic eyes, finding beauty in what ordinarily would
have seemed to them commonplace.
One thing only served to disturb his perfect enjoyment: This was a
conviction not to be denied, that his father was hurt by his action.
As he thought over their talks he knew that underneath the approval
his father had given, lay a deep disappointment. That Bob would not be
a lawyer was a hard blow; the knowledge that his son’s choice of an
occupation in life would mean almost constant separation, must hurt
the elder Hazard, who thought the world of his only son.
Bob realized these things keenly and they were painful to him, yet he
could not bring himself to give up his plan to be an engineer.
“Dad made his own way, tackled the job he wanted and made good. I’ve
_got_ to do the same. Probably _his_ father wanted him to do something
quite different. I’ll ask him about that some time. Besides, if I just
took up Dad’s business, it wouldn’t seem right somehow.”
But thoughts such as these occurred to him less and less as the
distance between him and the East grew greater. By the time he dropped
off the train at Williams, Arizona, where he changed to the day coach
that would take him to the Grand Canyon, his mind was so full of the
future that there was no room for the things he had left behind him.
When the jolting train stopped at the last station, the boy stepped off
almost at Whiskers’ side. Dropping his suit case, he caught the hand
that was stretched out to him and was happy when he saw the man’s grin
of welcome.
“Good work, Bob, my boy! It’s great to see you! Have a good trip?
You’ve grown since I saw you--how’re the other fellows? How’s Big
Chris?”
“Fine! Fine!” answered Bob. “And it’s good to see you too. I’m awfully
glad you’ve got a place for me. Is the job here at the Canyon?”
Steve Whitney shook his head. “No--but I’ll tell you all about it as we
go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”
“Right you are, Whisk--I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some
confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be _Mister_ Whitney now since you
are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us
kids and we took liberties.”
“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will
have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be
bad for discipline if you called me by that--‘vacation’ name, let’s
call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t
we?”
“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget ’em.” For a moment he said
nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then--“But where _is_ the job? You
said it wasn’t here.”
“No, just now there isn’t any job at all--”
“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously.
“Don’t worry,” the engineer assured him; “there will be plenty of work.
I have just finished a project in Colorado and am waiting for further
orders. I told you to meet me here because I wanted you to see the
greatest natural wonder we have in the United States, the Grand Canyon,
and I am going to work you so hard later on that you won’t have another
chance to get here before you go back to college. And I want your first
sight of it to be at sunset. Then it is most wonderful.”
By this time they had reached the hotel.
“Go and wash up and come down quickly,” urged Bob’s new boss. “It’s
almost sunset, and I don’t want you to miss it! I’ll wait for you here
on the porch.”
Bob wasted no time and a few minutes later joined Mr. Whitney. The
veranda of the hotel is built almost on the edge of the great rift
in the surface of the earth. Bob started to pull up a chair to the
railing where his friend was sitting but stopped as the other rose.
“I’ve got a better place than this to see it from,” said Mr. Whitney.
“A lot of folks will be coming out here presently and too many people
spoil the thing. Come along.”
Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the
edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and
disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a
comfortable seat.
“Some class, eh, Bob?” laughed Whiskers as they settled themselves. “I
found it and try to get here every night. But let’s stop talking; it’s
about to begin.”
There was no need to talk; in fact, the glorious beauty of the panorama
spread before him would have made it almost impossible to talk even if
Bob had wanted to.
As far as the eye could reach, the great chasm extended. In it rose
pinnacles, spires and mountain ranges, alternating with deep valleys
and gulches. At the very bottom wound a tiny thread of silver, the
Colorado River, for whose passage nature had undertaken such a
gigantic task and, in its accomplishment, had created such beauty.
Bob’s first feeling was of his own littleness, his unimportance in
the face of such magnitude. But this went away as the sun, dropping
steadily to the opposite horizon, began to paint the scenes with magic
colors.
It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his
efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each
moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the
shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different.
When at last the sun dropped below the edge of the distant hills,
leaving the Canyon in deep purple shadow, Bob turned to Mr. Whitney.
“That is all I can stand now,” he said. “It is too wonderful.”
He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he
had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the
boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house
Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon.
“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!”
The man laughed. “Even the Grand Canyon can’t keep a good, healthy
appetite down for long, can it? I guess supper is pretty nearly ready
now. But wait a minute--here is someone I want you to know.”
Bob looked up to see a young fellow of about his own age coming towards
them. He was rather tall and dark and dressed in khaki, and wore canvas
leggins. It was the costume of a regular civil engineer, thought the
boy from the East.
“This is Jerry King, Bob,” said Whitney. “Another member of my corps.
Shake hands with Bob Hazard, Jerry. We will all be together this
summer.”
The newcomer put out his hand and Bob grasped it warmly. He was
prepared to like anybody and anything in this new life he had begun.
After a few words they moved off in the direction of the dining room.
“What have you been up to this afternoon, Jerry?” asked the Chief, when
they had found their table.
“Nothing much,” was the answer. “Fooling ’round the Canyon a little.”
“You go down into it, then?” asked Bob.
“Yes, there’s a trail but there’s nothing much down there anyway.” This
from Jerry in an unenthusiastic tone.
The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that
Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem
exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between.
And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney
appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to
Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard
job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the
summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every
advance he made.
When supper was over the party went out on the porch of the hotel. The
Chief lit his pipe and settled into a big rocking chair. “Well, Bob,”
he said, “now that you are here, are you glad that you came?”
“You bet I am,” was the enthusiastic answer.
“But he hasn’t seen any work yet,” put in Jerry shortly.
“I’m not worried about that,” Bob said confidently. “I think I’ll like
that too.”
“It’s not all a cinch,” said Whiskers. “The Reclamation Service is a
hard taskmaster. Jerry knows. He has been with me almost a year--ever
since I came back from Virginia.”
There was silence for a moment and then Bob asked quietly.
“Please, Mr. Whitney, won’t you tell me something about the Reclamation
Service? Although I have read what I could, I know very little about
the real spirit of it, only just figures showing what it’s done or is
going to do.”
“All right, Bob, I will, but you’ll have to stop me if I begin to bore
you. The Service is an enthusiasm of mine, you know.”
“I guess you know very well I won’t be bored. Go ahead.”
Steve Whitney filled his pipe and then began a description of what is
perhaps the most important thing the Government has ever done for the
West.
“About twelve years ago,” he said when his pipe was well lighted,
“after a great deal of agitation over it, Congress passed a bill
which created the thing we call the Reclamation Service. Its object
was to increase the number of farms and to increase the total area of
productive land. As you no doubt know, almost all the desert land in
the United States would be extremely productive provided it could get a
sufficient supply of one thing.”
“Water?” put in Bob.
“Yes, just that. In other parts of the country this water is provided
by rainfall. But deserts are deserts only because the rainfall is
slight, if there is any at all. Therefore it is necessary to build dams
in the country where there is rainfall, collect the water, and send it
down to the desert lands where it is needed.”
“Is that what the Service does?”
“Yes, that is our biggest job. We call it irrigation. But it isn’t
always necessary to build these dams where the rainfall is heavy. If
we can dam a river above the point where it begins to dry up, we can
usually collect enough water during the flood season to supply a great
area of dry land below it during all the months of the year.”
“And has the plan been a success?” interrupted Bob again.
“Decidedly. During 1913 the value of the crops produced on the lands we
have already irrigated was nearly sixteen million dollars. If all the
land had been worked which we are now able to irrigate, we would have
had nearly a million and a half acres of productive land which before
was only plains of alkali dust. The projects already planned and not
yet completed, or in some cases not even started, will more than double
the results I have just told you about. It is a great work.”
“But does the Government pay for all this?” asked Bob.
“At first it does, but the plan is that farmers who use irrigated lands
must pay a water tax which will eventually repay the Government the
amount of money it has invested. On some projects the farmers have
entirely repaid the Government. On others it will be years before the
money is finally returned.”
Bob drew a long breath. “This is work really worth while doing,” he
said, his eyes shining. “It must be great to know that each new dam you
complete will make thousands of acres of land green and productive. I
will be glad to help.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Whiskers. “As I said before, it is good work.
The reward is not all in the pay you get. It is in the achievement and
the service that you render. That is all that you can look forward to
in the way of payment. But I have talked too long. You must be tired
after your long trip. You’d better chase off to bed.”
But Bob would not go. He kept asking Mr. Whitney questions about the
details of the work and the man had to answer. He saw in the boy’s
enthusiasm something of the enthusiasm he himself had felt when he
had joined the Service, and which he had never lost, in spite of
the disappointments and hard knocks that had come his way. Finally,
however, he insisted on breaking up the conversation. But before Bob
left he said to him quite earnestly and seriously, “I have told you
about the Service, Bob, and I want you to think pretty carefully about
it. If you once start, you will have a hard time breaking away. There
are a lot of other things you can do which will bring you more money
and more fame. This working for the Government, the extending of the
territory of the country and increasing its value, gets into your blood
and once it does you will never be fit for anything else. It is not too
late to stop now if you want to. Good night, and let me know in the
morning what you decide to do.”