TROUBLE
But Bob didn’t have to go down the river to tell his new friend that
there was a job waiting for him whenever he chose to come and get it.
Ted showed up at camp one night just before quitting time. He was
waiting for Bob when the latter knocked off and had started homewards.
“Hello there,” said Bob. “What’re you doing up here?”
“I came up after that job we were talking about the other day.”
“Your father’s let you go?”
“Not so’s you could notice it. We had an awful fight to-day and I just
up and left. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Do you think there is a
chance of my hooking on? I’ve got to have it because I haven’t any
money to go any further hunting one.”
Then Bob told him the news that he had been saving for next Sunday.
“Come along to the Quarter-house with me and feed, and then we’ll go
hunt Whiskers--I mean Mr. Whitney.”
Ted was puzzled at the reference Bob had made to the Chief Engineer.
“You called him Whiskers--is that your nickname for him?”
“Not the one we use on this job,” laughed Bob. “We used that back in
Virginia.” And during supper Ted made Bob tell the adventures he had
had in Virginia with the man who was now in entire charge of the dam.
Mr. Whitney was as good as his word and gave the newcomer a chance to
make good as a rodman. Bob felt that because he had found him he was
a sort of protégé of his and they were together a good part of the
time. At first Jerry was one of their group. But little by little he
slipped back into the mood of silence and reserve which had been most
noticeable about him before the trip through the Labyrinth had been
made. Again he would go off by himself, seeming to prefer it to the
companionship of the other two boys. Bob noticed that very rarely did
he go down stream when he started off from the camp, but was headed in
the general direction of the north. Never since that first day had he
invited Bob to go along with him and after several of the trips he let
fall remarks about the Service and his job that did not ring true in
Bob’s ears. It was as if Jerry were nursing a grudge. But the fact that
the boy who had shared the great adventure of the Labyrinth with him
seemed to be growing away from him again, did not bother Bob as much as
it might have had he and Ted Hoyt not become such good friends.
On Sundays they went fishing together and spent most of the time
talking about the Service and their work. Ted soon grew to have the
same passion for the Service as had Bob. He was quick to learn and
together the boys pored over such text books as they could lay their
hands on.
The work on the dam had gone smoothly since Mr. Whitney had taken the
job over. Except for minor accidents, nothing really bothersome had
happened to delay the work in any way, yet Bob, who was now constantly
with the Chief, realized that something was bothering the man he was
so fond of. Gone was the half chummy, half paternal air of Mr. Whitney.
He was irritable and not at all himself.
Finally it got too much for Bob and one day, taking his courage in both
hands, he blurted forth, “Say, Whisk--Mr. Whitney, what’s gone wrong?
Is it anything money won’t cure?” He held his breath awaiting the
answer. It was a cheeky, nervy thing to do and if his boss did not take
it the right way, he would be perfectly justified in sending him back
to the horrible punishment of the draughting room. But he need not have
worried. Mr. Whitney was too much of a big boy himself and had too much
understanding not to realize that the question had been asked because
anything that troubled him meant so much to the boy.
“I guess I’ve been a bear lately, Bob,” he said laughing. “But I’m up
against an awfully queer proposition and I don’t yet see just how to
tackle it.”
Bob was about to ask another question, but thought better of it.
Evidently his keeping silence was wise, for a minute later Whitney
continued, “Although everything seems all right on the surface,
I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble with the Mexican laborers.
Somebody’s been tampering with them and the trouble down on the border
isn’t helping the situation any.”
“Gee, if the Greasers struck it would tie us up for fair,” broke in Bob
anxiously. “Except for the mechanics, and that bunch of Indians from
the reservation, they are about all we’ve got. We would have to shut
down, wouldn’t we?”
“I don’t reckon it would be as bad as that,” answered Whitney. “When
Uncle Sam once starts something, he is pretty likely to carry it
through. But we’d have a rough time of it all right. If I could
only find out who’s behind ’em--they are not capable of stirring
it up amongst themselves--I’d be able to nip the trouble before it
got started. If they do strike and we are delayed, the Water Users
Association will start on the rampage again.”
“Who are they and why should they be worried by what happens here?” Bob
wanted to know.
[Illustration: A bullet whistled by him. Then came another and another.
(Page 195.)]
“They are the farmers who expect to benefit by the water stored by
the dam,” explained the man. “They are the people who got together and
collectively pledged themselves to pay the Government a certain amount
of money each year until all the money the Government has spent is
returned. They firmly believe that the engineers in charge of the dam
take a malicious pleasure in delaying progress and that they try to
spend as much money as possible simply to make the farmers pay more in
the end. Naturally, as they make such a fuss, all the engineers know
that whenever trouble comes, they will be the first mourners.”
“Gee, that’s tough!” commented Bob, happy that Mr. Whitney had enough
confidence to tell him all these things. “But about the Mexicans; you
don’t suspect anyone around the job is the trouble maker, do you?”
“No.” The answer was final and assured. “But I wouldn’t put it beyond
a lot of the stock and cattlemen around here. They’ve been sore about
the dam, with as little reason as they have on every job the Service
has tackled. They always end by being a lot better off with the project
finished than they ever would have been if the range had been left
alone. At first they can’t help but suffer some annoyance from the
building of the dam. A good part of the land which we will irrigate,
while not sufficiently productive to be good farming land, raises
enough natural grass to feed stock. Above the dam the stored water will
form a lake that will cover thousands of acres of such pasturage, I’ll
admit. But the cattlemen are so blind that this point is all that they
can see. They will have the same chance to profit by the irrigated
lands below. It has always worked out well in the end.”
“I think it’s a rotten deal they’re handing you!” exploded the boy.
Big Chief Whitney laughed. “It would have come sooner or later, so
don’t worry your head about it. I’ve got to beat this some time and it
might as well be now. I’ll find a way. But don’t let this bother you,
kid. These are my exclusive troubles. Some day or other, if you stay
with the Service, I suppose you’ll be a Chief Engineer and then you’ll
have to worry over things like this. No use in borrowing trouble.” And
with this he closed the talk.
Bob could hardly wait until the quitting whistle blew. He wanted to
see Ted, and wanted to see him in a hurry. When he finally located the
other boy, he sketched out rapidly what Mr. Whitney had said.
“You’re with us--the Service, I mean--aren’t you?” finished Bob
seriously. “Even if it means going against what your father thinks is
best?”
“You can just bet your boots I am,” returned Ted, holding out his hand.
Bob shook it warmly.
“Well, then, I want you to help. The Chief needs to know who’s back of
the trouble and I believe you can find out!”
“Me?” the other boy echoed. “How? Shoot!”
“This is the plan. You go back home and say you are sick of
engineering--that riding range is good enough for you. If you do that
your father will be likely to take you back, won’t he?”
“Mebbe so. I dunno, but go on.”
“The Chief thinks the cattlemen are behind the trouble. I guess if you
get home and can mingle with ’em, you ought to find out what’s up.
Don’t you?”
“I get you. I can try it anyhow. But, Bob, I figger there’s a lot
in that trouble down at the border. Before I left home some broncho
busters happened in from Columbus and they said somethin’ was liable to
bust most any time. The Greasers are sore as pups since we sent a bunch
of troops down there. If some yellow half-breed could blow up what
we’ve got finished of the dam, wouldn’t it be a mighty fine feather to
stick in his sombrero?”
“P’r’aps that’s got something to do with it, but I’ve a hunch Mr.
Whitney’s right about those cattlemen. It’s up to you to find out.”
“I’ll hike up home to-morrow and see if the old man will let me stick
around. He was pretty much het up when I left. But, wait a minute. Are
we going to let Jerry in on this play?”
Bob hesitated for a perceptible interval before he answered. “I don’t
know. Somehow I don’t think we’d better,” he said at last. “Lately
I don’t know what has come over him. He never was very enthusiastic
about the Service but I thought he was really fond of Mr. Whitney. But
he’s let out some funny remarks and it might be possible that someone
has hurt his feelings. I’ve a sneaking notion that we ought not to tell
him. I don’t know why, but I just feel it.”
“You’ve got a hunch?” cried Ted. “Out West here we always play hunches.
Go to it; you’re probably right. By the way, don’t he go up the river a
lot?”
“He starts that way,” answered Bob. “And I remember a long time ago he
asked me to go up to some ranch with him. It just so happened that I
didn’t want to go. It was the day I met you, Ted.”
“Do you think--” began the other boy.
“I guess we haven’t got a right to think until we know for sure,
because if Jerry is in cahoots with the cattlemen, we’ll be on to it
before long. Oh, thunder, Ted, I just _don’t_ believe Jerry is mixed up
in anything wrong.”
“Then you’ll let him in on this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it some more. P’r’aps I can get
him to explain. I’ll try to.”