TED HOYT
Two or three Sundays after they had come to the dam, Bob and Jerry
found themselves with a day on their hands.
“Come on, Bob, let’s get a couple of horses and ride up into the range
country. I hear there are some wonderful ranches farther up country.”
“No,” said Bob. “I’ll stick to the water. I found a canoe and I am just
aching to do some paddling. Come on with me.”
“Didn’t you get enough water in the Labyrinth?” laughed Jerry.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough water,” returned Bob. “Are you
coming?”
“No, I reckon I’ll let you go alone. Me for the high places!”
So the two boys spent their Sunday apart. The canoe had belonged
to one of the engineers who had left for another project, and the
storekeeper who had bought it was willing to rent it out. Bob decided
to go down stream the first day and take a look at the land which would
be irrigated by the water stored up by the dam when it was finished. He
took his lunch with him as he expected to make an all day trip of it.
Soon after leaving civilization the river broadened out into a shallow
slow-moving stream. Bob lay back in the canoe and merely paddled
sufficiently to steer it, letting the lazy current carry him slowly
along. Close to the river bank everything was green and fresh looking,
but this vegetation did not extend so far that Bob could not see where
the green left off and the desert began.
His mind’s eye pictured the network of canals that would run off on
each side and which, by bringing that magic thing, water, to the
parched earth, would transform it into fruitful acres. Once around a
bend from the dam he was alone in the immense country. Not a vestige of
human occupancy could be seen. The desert stretched way out on either
side, broken here and there by hills, or buttes, as they are called.
Therefore, when he saw in the distance a figure seated on a rock
fishing, it came as a great surprise. He pointed the canoe’s nose
toward the fisherman. When he got close he saw that it was a boy of
perhaps his own age.
“Hello,” said the stranger as he grew nearer. “Where you from? The dam?”
“Yep,” answered Bob.
“But what are you doing down here?”
“Just out on a little jaunt. Where did you come from?”
“I live over the hill there,” answered the other boy. “Dad’s a stock
raiser. You can see the house from the river after you get down a
little further. I sneaked away from my old man this morning to see if
I could get a few fish. They aren’t biting very good here, though,” he
concluded. “I wish I had a boat, because I know of a peach of a place--”
“Come along with me then,” suggested Bob. “I would be tickled to death
to have company, especially if you’ve got another line and plenty of
bait.”
“Sure Mike!” said the other boy. “I’m with you.” And he stepped
gingerly into the canoe. The newcomer did not seem particularly
familiar with the easily capsized craft, yet Bob noted with
satisfaction that he had sense enough to keep very quiet once he was
aboard.
As Bob shot out into the stream he asked the newcomer, “Want to paddle?”
“Don’t know much about it, to tell you the truth. All the boatin’ I’ve
done was in a flat bottomed scow I had up to the last flood. The high
water swiped it on me and I reckon the Mexicans have got it by now,” he
grinned. “I felt pretty sore about losing it, but my Dad figured it was
good business. Said I spent too much time on the river anyhow; that I
ought to be out riding range for him.”
“Cowboy?” said Bob, at once interested by the two magic words “riding
range.” He had met them in many books of adventure. They brought up
thoughts of bucking bronchos, fights with Indians, and all the rest of
the romance of the West. That this boy of about his own age could be
a cowboy was really exciting. But he missed the woolly chaps and the
sombrero. The boy was simply dressed in overalls, went barefooted and
wore a heavy slouch hat.
“Nope,” said the other. “Dad don’t want me to be a cowboy. I wouldn’t
mind that much. He wants me to be a farm hand! Nix on that! I wish I
could go up to the dam. That’s regular work. Reckon I could get a job
up there?”
Bob did not know what to say. Mr. Whitney had given him the feeling
that for anyone who was really enthusiastic about the Service, the
Service had room. But he thought he had better not be too encouraging.
“Why don’t you come up and try? I’ll introduce you to the Boss.”
The other boy laughed. “My old man would whale the tar out of me if he
caught me monkeying around up there.”
“Doesn’t your father believe in the project?”
“He’s a cattleman,” said the boy, as if that explained everything.
“But what difference does that make?” insisted Bob. “He ought to be
glad to see the dam built!”
“You must be a tenderfoot,” the other said pityingly. “It’s this way.
My father raises cattle. For cattle, you need the range on which
they feed and which has been free to all. About all the range there
is around here is along the banks of the river. Now this irrigation
business comes along and the Government won’t let anybody have more
than 160 acres of land. Then my Dad has got to get rid of all his
cattle and go to farmin’--which is pretty nigh as disgraceful for a
cattleman as sheep-keeping. That is, of course, if he wants to stay
around this part of the country.”
“I see,” said Bob. “Then he’s got a real reason for not liking the
irrigating scheme. But you don’t seem to think the way he does about
it.”
“You bet I don’t train along with him. I’m so sick of cows that I never
want to see a long horn again. I’d like to be an engineer. I sneaked
up once or twice to the dam. It must be fun to help built it. But I
reckon it’s not for me.” The boys were silent, each busy with his own
thoughts. Then the newcomer exclaimed, “But here’s the place we want to
do some fishing. Grab a line and bait up!”
For several hours the boys fished with more or less success, and
during this time Bob learned a lot about his new friend. His name was
Ted Hoyt and he had never been farther away from home than Las Cruces.
He had had some schooling and the coming of the Reclamation Service
had fired him with an ambition to rise higher in the world than was
promised by the education he had received. The boys grew very chummy
and it was when they were eating their lunches that Bob finally made up
his mind to side actively with his new-found friend.
“I think it’s a rotten shame. I don’t think your father ought to stand
in the way of what you want to do.”
“I don’t reckon he ought myself,” was the laconic answer. “But he does
and that’s about all there’s to it as far as I can figure.”
“Don’t you think it might help if I got my boss, Mr. Whitney, to come
down and talk to him about it?”
“Gee whiz, no!” the other cried. “I reckon Dad would set the dogs on
the Chief Engineer from the dam. He hates him worse than poison.”
“But my boss has only been here two or three weeks. I don’t see how
your father has had time to quarrel with him.”
“That makes no never mind. The man he is laying for is the feller
bossing the dam. Dad don’t care if they change them every two days. He
can shift a grudge as fast as they can shift men!”
But when they finally parted they had come to the arrangement that Bob
was to keep his eyes open for a possible job for Ted. Ted on his side
promised that he would make one more effort to get his father to let
him do as he wished. They planned to meet the following Sunday at the
same place and compare notes.
Once back at the dam Bob took his share of the fish he had caught up to
Mr. Whitney’s cottage. “Brought you some fish, Chief,” he said. “But I
think I’ve hooked a much bigger fish. I met a young chap down the river
who seems to be the right stuff for the Service. He’s crazy about it.”
“I can always make use of a fellow like that,” said the Chief when
Bob had finished his story. “Tell him for me that he can have a job
whenever he can take it.”