THE PROJECT
“Well, fellows, what’d you do with yourselves while I was away? Must
have been pretty tiresome up at the Canyon, wasn’t it?” It was Mr.
Whitney talking. He had told them that his trip to Washington had
been a great success. They had sent for him to put him in charge of
finishing up the big Rio Grande project.
“That’s great!” said Jerry, who had experience enough to know that a
great honor had been conferred on his Chief. The Rio Grande project was
the biggest thing the Service had yet attempted and to be in charge of
it was equivalent to a high promotion.
Bob Hazard knew from Jerry’s spontaneous outburst that Mr. Whitney was
to be congratulated, so he made a little speech.
“Thanks, fellows, thanks,” laughed the Chief. “It will be fine for all
of us. But that’s enough of my news--what have you chaps been up to?
Been bored?”
“Oh, we found plenty to do,” said Jerry.
“At the Canyon?” asked Mr. Whitney. “I don’t see how you could. It is a
pretty dreary place, if you have to be there long.”
“But we weren’t at the Canyon,” put in Bob.
“So? You surprise me. But wherever you were, I bet you were in
mischief. Just from the look of you two, I can see that you were up to
some devilment. Besides, you’re almost boiling over with the desire to
tell me about it. Come on, out with it.”
“We went through the Labyrinth Canyon,” said Jerry calmly.
This news made Steve Whitney jump out of his chair. “What!” he cried.
“You went through the Labyrinth? You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” said Bob calmly. “We got tired of doing nothing and we
went up the Green River and went through it.”
“But--but nobody’s ever gone through alive,” stammered the man. “I’ve
always wanted to try it myself but never found the chance. How did you
do it?”
“Boat partly and swimming,” returned Jerry, anxious to state the exact
facts.
“But didn’t you have an awful time?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” said Bob. “Once or twice we had a little
trouble but all in all it was just fun. And the reason we went was
because Jerry thought there might possibly be a project there.”
The calm way in which the boys announced their feat forced Whiskers to
believe what at first glance seemed to be a preposterous yarn.
“I’m sure proud of you two,” he said warmly. “But I ought not to be.
It was a foolhardy thing to do and if you had asked my permission I
certainly would not have given it.” But as he reproved them his eyes
glistened with the pride he felt. “I want to hear all about it, but
first tell me, did you find a place where you think a dam could be
built? There is a wonderful valley out there ready to spring into life
if we only could get water to it.”
“You bet we found a place,” said Jerry. “The dam is already half built
by nature. Besides, I feel sure a road can be made down from the top of
the canyon.”
“That’s great!” said Steve Whitney. “Now go ahead and spin me the whole
yarn.”
Jerry let Bob tell of their adventure, putting in a word here and
there. But when it came to the part where Bob had saved his life after
dropping over the waterfall, he took the narrative in his own hands
and in spite of Bob’s protests, told the Chief the whole story of the
rescue.
When they had finished, Mr. Whitney was very much excited. “We’ll have
to make a report of your find to Washington at once and, if possible,
get a bill brought up in the next Congress to authorize us to make a
preliminary survey. We can do it next summer.”
That their discovery had a good chance of being acted upon, was a big
measure of reward to the two boys. Mr. Whitney’s interest seemed to
settle the matter.
“You--you think Congress will authorize it?” ventured Bob, just to make
sure.
“They will have to!” was the confident reply. “I’ll draw up a report
the moment we strike camp! But now we’ll have to run for our train.
I’ve been so interested, I forgot the time.”
The trip passed quickly for Bob and his Chief. Mr. Whitney was on his
way to the biggest job he had yet tackled, and Bob would taste for the
first time the flavor of the work he felt he most wanted to do. To
Jerry, however, the train was only bringing him to a new spell of hard
labor.
When at last the jolting cars stopped, they found a car waiting, into
which the three piled. Once under way, Bob asked Mr. Whitney, “Doesn’t
the railroad go into the camp? It seems to me it must be pretty heavy
hauling all the big machinery from here across the desert.”
“A railroad goes to the job all right, Bob, but it’s meant for freight
and a train runs only three times a week. The line was built by the
Service and belongs to the Government. We’ve come the wrong day to
catch that train.”
“I see. And does the Service build other things besides dams and
railroads?”
“Surely! On a job like this so far away from any regular transportation
line the Service has to construct all the necessities of life--and some
luxuries. It built the town that we’ll be coming to shortly, put in the
electric light system, erected a school and a hospital. In some places
we’ve even built a motion picture theatre to keep the men satisfied.
Probably there’s one on this job. When I was up here last they were
planning it. I bet you never thought Uncle Sam was in the amusement
business.”
Bob laughed. “There sure must be a lot of men working up there.”
“It’s a young city. But here we are.”
The road had been steadily climbing and now it topped the crest of the
hill. Before their eyes lay a wonderful panorama. To the north, the
wide valley of the river stretched into the distance, a winding band of
green and gold, flanked on each side by the glowing desert. Immediately
below them the peaceful face of nature was broken.
It was the place where the dam was to be built--where already part
of it was built. From the height from which they looked the network
of cables and railroad tracks and rushing ant-like figures, seemed a
confused jumble without a sense of direction. But as the car coasted
down the well-made road--also constructed by the Government, Bob
learned later--the jumble became clearer. The cables, extending
from one side of the hill to the other, carried buckets which rushed
incessantly to and fro. These were lowered and hoisted seemingly by
chance. The puffing engines pulled cars of rock to the crusher and
backed away for new loads. The swarming men now showed themselves
as workers, the directing units, and their rushing about was merely
carrying out their part of the great work.
Finally the car came to a stop before a large two-story adobe house.
The boys followed Mr. Whitney inside. “This is the Quarter-house,”
Mr. Whitney explained as they went in. “They have rooms here for the
engineering force and it is also used as a hotel if any guests happen
to come along. I’ll see if you boys can be put up here until we can
find permanent quarters for you.”
Hardly were they over the threshhold, before a short, stocky,
middle-aged man came up to them. He rushed up to Whitney with
outstretched hands and said, “I certainly am glad to see you, Whitney.
Ted Adams has been gone two weeks and I have been expecting you almost
any day. I couldn’t get down to meet you at the station, as they needed
me over at the spillway. Little matter of extra shoring. It’s all right
now.”
The Chief shook the other man’s hand warmly. “You’re staying on, aren’t
you, Taylor?” And when the other nodded his assent, he continued, “I’m
glad! Couldn’t have better luck! I was hoping that you would stick as
my assistant. My first job for you is to find jobs for a couple of
rodmen I brought along with me. Here, boys, I want to introduce you to
Mr. Taylor, the assistant engineer and therefore your immediate boss.”
Taylor had flushed at Mr. Whitney’s words of confidence. It was easy to
see that he would probably always be an assistant, never a full-fledged
chief. He was the kind of man who could execute orders perfectly but
when left with the responsibility of making decisions for himself, was
likely to become flustered and upset. He took refuge in the inquiry
about the boys.
“There’ll be plenty of work for ’em. It happens we’re a little short
on rodmen just now. But about sleeping quarters--I’ve got your house
ready for you, Whitney, and as soon as your dunnage comes along you can
move right in,” he said.
“That’s fine,” returned Whitney. “But the boys--”
“Oh, there’s room here for the time being. We can see about something
else later. But you must be famished. Come along to my shack. It’s
about supper time. You come too, fellows. The regular mess is over.”
Both Bob and Jerry were overjoyed at the invitation. The long trip had
made them hungry and they rather wondered where their supper would come
from. Mr. Taylor waited until they had taken their suit cases up to the
room that had been assigned them and then the little group walked up
the street to the cottage that was the assistant engineer’s. His wife,
a pleasant-faced woman, welcomed them and seemed especially pleased
to see Whitney. Bob realized that his friend evidently was a great
favorite and had made many friends during his years in the Service.
Mrs. Taylor had prepared what seemed to Bob an especially fine supper,
considering that they were miles away from civilization. During a lull
in the conversation he mentioned it. She was much pleased.
“Oh, New York has very little on us up here,” she said. “What with a
cold storage plant and an ice factory, we don’t want for anything.”
It was so. In this frontier camp practically all the comforts that the
civilization of a city could give were present: electric lights, ice,
excellent stores--and the movie theatre. It was like transplanting a
little corner of a city.
After supper they went out on the porch from which could be seen the
works. Dusk had come during the meal and already the stars shone pale
in the sky. Down at their feet vague outlines of the excavations could
be seen, the darker shadows marking their extent. Down to the left was
a cluster of bright lights.
“What is that?” Bob asked.
“The town,” was the answer; “the mechanics’ houses and the bunk houses
for the Mexican laborers. The only people who live up here on the hill
are the engineers and executives.”
When the men got their cigars lighted they began to talk. Whitney was
of course anxious to know what the situation was on the job he was
to tackle in the morning. If the laborers were satisfied, how the
work was progressing, and a thousand and one other things he needed
to know bubbled forth. The assistant engineer was a veritable mine of
information. Practically every question was answered without a moment’s
hesitation. Bob was contented to sit and listen, drinking in all the
information he could. This was the Reclamation Service and to-morrow
would see him taking an active part in the work.