MAINLY ABOUT CHETWOOD
When Angus came to investigate the damage wrought by the hail, he found
it very complete. There would be no grain to thresh. It turned out that
his had been the only ranch to suffer, the swath of the storm having
missed his neighbors. It seemed the climax of the bad luck which had
attended that twenty-four hours.
Jean, when she saw that her brother was absolutely determined that she
should have another year of study, gave in, knowing nothing of the money
he had borrowed. In the fortnight that elapsed before her departure, she
was very busy, not only with her own preparations, but with preserving,
pickling and mending for the ranch.
During this time Chetwood was an intermittent visitor. On these visits
most of his time was spent in Jean's vicinity. Thus, on the eve of her
departure, when she was very busy with a final batch of preserves, he
appeared in the door. In his eyes, Jean, uniformed in a voluminous blue
apron, her face flushed and her strong young arms bare, made a very
charming picture. But Jean did not know that. She was extremely hot and
somewhat sticky, and believed herself to be untidy. She felt all the
discomfort and none of the dignity of labor. Hence her greeting was not
cordial.
"I haven't time to stop," she said, indicating preserving kettle and
jars with a wave of a dripping ladle. "You had better go and find the
boys."
"Please let me stay. I like to watch you."
"I don't like being watched. You can't find much amusement in watching
me work."
"Very jolly thing, work," Chetwood observed gravely.
"Bosh!" Miss Jean returned. She eyed her guest with pardonable
irritation. "What do you know about work?" she demanded.
"Why--er--not a great deal, I'm afraid," he admitted.
"Then don't talk nonsense."
"But it isn't nonsense. I mean to say work keeps one occupied, you
know."
"I notice it keeps me occupied," Miss Jean retorted, still more
irritated by this profound observation.
"I mean one gets tired of doing nothing."
"Then why doesn't one do something?" she snapped.
Chetwood regarded her whimsically. "I'm afraid you mean me."
"Well," said Miss Jean, "I would like to see you busy at something,
instead of looking so blessed cool and--and lazy."
"Oh, I say!"
"A man who doesn't work in this country," Jean stated severely, "is out
of place."
"But a man who is out of a place doesn't work, does he?"
"I'm not joking," Miss Jean said with dignity. "I believe in work for
everybody."
"So do I. Admire it immensely, I assure you."
"Bah!" Miss Jean ejaculated. "I don't believe you could do a day's work
on a bet. You're like all the rest of--of----"
"Go on," Chetwood encouraged as she came to a stop in some confusion.
"Well, I will," said Miss Jean with sudden determination. "You're like
all the rest of the remittance men. That's what I was going to say."
"One would gather that your opinion of what you call 'remittance men,'
is not high."
"High!" Miss Jean's tone expressed much.
"H'm! Wasters, rotters, what?"
"And then some."
"And I'm like them, you think?"
"Oh, well, I didn't mean just that," Miss Jean admitted under
cross-examination. "But you _don't_ work, you know."
"Would you like me to work?"
"Why should I care whether you work or not?"
"It _is_ strange," Chetwood murmured.
"I _don't_!" snapped Miss Jean. "I don't care a--a darn! But I'll bet
when I come back in the spring, if you're here you'll be doing just what
you're doing now."
"I'm sorry you're going away. I thought if we were better acquainted we
should be rather pals."
"We might be," Miss Jean admitted, "but we have our work to do--at least
I have."
"I see plainly," said Chetwood, "that this demon of work will get me
yet."
"Well, it won't hurt you a little bit," Miss Jean told him, and
thereafter gave her exclusive attention to her preserving.
With the going of Jean, Angus buckled down in earnest. The next year
must make up for his loss, and with this in view he began to clear more
land. He threw himself into the labor, matching his strength and
endurance against the tasks and the time. He worked his teams as
mercilessly as he worked himself, and for the first time he began to
drive others.
But to this speeding-up Turkey did not take kindly. By nature he was
impatient of steady work, of control, of all discipline. He craved
motion, excitement. He would ride from daylight to dark in any sort of
weather rounding up stock, and enjoy himself thoroughly, but half a day
behind a plow would send him into the sulks. He had broken a fine, young
blue mare for his own use, and he took to being out at night, coming in
late. He never told Angus where he went, but though the latter asked no
questions the youngster could feel his disapproval. But as he possessed
a vein of obstinacy and contrariness, this merely confirmed him in his
course.
Angus maintained grim silence, repressing a strong desire to speak his
mind. He recognized that the boy was becoming increasingly impatient of
his authority, and desired to avoid a clash. As he let things go, Turkey
took more and more rope. Angus learned accidentally that he consorted
with a number of men older than himself, of whom Garland and Blake
French were leading spirits. He knew that this was no company for the
boy, but as reference to it would inevitably lead to unpleasantness, he
put it off. But Turkey's deliberate slacking of work, just when it was
most necessary, got on his nerves to an extent greater than he knew.
It was necessary to explain to Mr. Braden that he was unable to meet the
mortgage payments. To his relief, the mortgagee made no difficulty about
it. Indeed he was most genial.
"I heard you had been hit by the hail," he said. "Well, well, these
things will happen, and I am not a harsh creditor. I will carry you
along."
"That's very good of you," Angus acknowledged. "I am doing considerable
breaking, and next year, if I don't bump into more hard luck, I'll be
able to make a good payment."
Mr. Braden nodded. "Meanwhile there is something you can do for me. I am
selling a piece of land to young Chetwood--about five hundred acres--but
before closing the deal he wants your opinion of it."
Angus had not seen Chetwood for nearly a fortnight. He had not
introduced him to Mr. Braden, but it appeared that they had become
acquainted otherwise.
"Do I know the land?" he asked.
"I think so. It's about five miles from your ranch, on Canon Creek.
There is a little cleared, and an old shack, but otherwise it is mostly
unimproved. A splendid opportunity for an energetic young man to build
up an excellent ranch."
"Do you mean the old Tetreau place?" This was a piece of land long since
abandoned by a man of that name.
"Why--er--yes, I believe that is what it is called," Mr. Braden replied.
"It's good, level land--most of it. I am offering it at a very low
figure--all things considered--twenty dollars."
"And I particularly want this deal to go through," he concluded. "I
should not mind paying you a little commission, my boy--say five per
cent.
"I couldn't take a commission from you for valuing land for a buyer."
"Nonsense! Done every day. I might--er--stretch it a little. You are not
to worry about that note of yours and the mortgage money, my boy. One
good turn deserves another, hey?"
"I know the place," Angus said, "but I never thought of putting a value
on it. How about water?"
"Tetreau had a record of eight hundred inches on Canon Creek. That goes
with the place. And there's a good spring creek."
"That little spring wouldn't irrigate more than a few acres," Angus
objected. "Seems to me I heard the old man quit because he couldn't
bring water from the main creek."
Mr. Braden frowned. "Nonsense! Plenty of water. Tetreau was too lazy to
run a ditch, that's all. Lots of water. Never mind that. The main thing
is the land, which is good. I'll depend on you for a good report, and
I'll tell Chetwood to run out and see you."
Angus rode home, none too well pleased with the prospect. He could just
remember Felix Tetreau, a stooped old Frenchman, and he had a vague
recollection that the latter had given up the place after a vain attempt
to make water run up hill. But it was possible that he had been wrong in
his levels, or, as Mr. Braden had suggested, too lazy to put in a ditch.
Anyway, he had gone years before, and it appeared that Mr. Braden who
owned a big block of land in that vicinity, had acquired his holding.
The clearing had grown back to wild, which as there had not been much of
it, mattered the less. But the question of water mattered a great deal.
For in that district water was a _sine qua non_. Angus was no victim of
the dry-farming delusion. Water and plenty of it, was essential in most
years to grow paying crops. Therefore the value of the land, no matter
what the quality of the soil, was conditional upon whether water could
be brought upon it. It was that question which, in spite of Mr. Braden's
airy dismissal, must be investigated in justice to Chetwood. Therefore
when the latter came to the ranch, Angus took with them a hand level.
The land in question lay close to the foothills, and back of it a small,
round mountain rose, but this was evidently not part of the parcel. The
soil was a dark, sandy loam, which would give good result if properly
fed, watered and cultivated. Angus pointed out these facts to the
prospective buyer.
"Then you think it a good investment?" Chetwood queried.
"I did not say just that," Angus replied. "You have to add the cost of
clearing to your purchase price. Then there will be your buildings and
fencing and ditches. You have to figure on raising enough to pay
interest on your total investment, and wages as well."
"I meant to ask you about the price. Is it fair, or shall I jew old
Braden down a bit? Fancy I could, you know."
"The price is high--as land sells," Angus told him. "You can get good,
wild land now for ten dollars an acre. Five years ago you could have got
it for two dollars, and five years before that for fifty cents."
Chetwood whistled. "In the noble language of the country, I was about to
be stung."
"Well," Angus explained, "if land values keep climbing, it might be a
good investment, after all. I would not say it might not be. But you can
buy just as good land cheaper."
"Then why does Braden ask so much?"
"I suppose he thinks he can get it."
Chetwood grinned. "In the terse vernacular of the land, 'I get you,
Steve.' Shall I offer him ten dollars?"
"That would depend on the water supply."
"Oh, that's absolutely all right. I've seen the government certificate.
Eight hundred miners' inches. That's ample, what?"
"Yes--if you can get it on the land."
"But surely that sort of thing was looked into long ago, when the record
was made."
Angus shook his head. "A water record isn't a guarantee of water. It's
merely a right to take it if you can get it. Water is one thing you
can't take for granted. We have time to run a line to the creek, and see
where we come out. As for the spring here, it wouldn't water more than
ten acres or so."
There is nothing more deceptive, even to the trained eye, than levels in
a broken country. The unaided eye can tell nothing about them. To all
appearances, in many places, water runs up hill. Nothing but the level
can prove whether it can be brought upon any given area.
Starting from the upper end of the block they began to take sights. The
distance to the creek was further than Angus had supposed. They ran into
a broken country where the ground was rocky and less adapted to
ditching. There were sidehills, which are dangerous because they have an
annoying habit of sliding when water-soaked, and gulches which would
necessitate fluming. All the time they drew nearer and nearer to the
base of the round mountain. Unless the line could run around the lower
foot of it the way was barred to water. And finally the line ran into
the base of the hill. There was no going around it. It definitely
settled the question of water. The land, then, was non-irrigable.
"I wonder if that old blighter, Braden, knew this?" Chetwood speculated.
"He might not," Angus replied, though he had his own ideas on the
subject.
"And then again he might," Chetwood grinned. "_Caveat emptor_, and all
that sort of thing. I'm awfully obliged to you, you know."
"That is all right."
"Left to myself I might have bought." He hesitated. "I wish there were
some way for me to show my appreciation."
"Any one who knew the country would have told you the same thing."
"I'm not so sure of that. For instance, there is a rancher named
Poole--know him?"
"Yes," Angus returned, for Poole to whom Braden had once purposed
renting the Mackay ranch, had now some sort of place on the other side
of town.
"Well, friend Braden, when I spoke of getting the opinion of some
practical rancher, suggested Poole. Took a look at Poole, and thought
I'd rather have you. Braden didn't seem to take kindly to my
counter-suggestion, which naturally confirmed me in it. It's a sound
system to play the game your opponent doesn't like. I'll tell the old
blighter you didn't recommend the buy."
"That will be the truth."
Chetwood glanced at him keenly.
"I say," he exclaimed, "I don't wish to seem impertinent, but is there
any personal reason why I should let Braden suppose I am doing this on
my own?"
Angus hesitated. "I owe him more money than I can pay just now," he
said, "but you may tell him what you like."
"Oh, thunder!" Chetwood ejaculated. "I'm afraid I've let you in for
something. I'll say we never mentioned water, and quite on my own I'll
tell him I must have an engineer's report on that."
But perhaps Chetwood did not tell his story convincingly. Or perhaps Mr.
Braden was too old a bird. At any rate, when he next saw Angus he asked
him what he had told Chetwood. Angus replied bluntly. Whereupon, Mr.
Braden in high indignation accused him of blocking the sale.
"I merely told him what is so," Angus said.
"You brought up the water question yourself."
"Land is no good without water. You know that as well as I do."
"I don't admit that water can't be got on this land. Now, see here, I'm
going to have a surveyor run the line of a ditch, and I want you to tell
Chetwood you were mistaken in your levels. Understand?"
"If you can show me I'm mistaken, I'll be glad to tell him. But I'm
certain of them. I've checked them up since."
"Dammit!" Mr. Braden exploded angrily, "do you know I hold a mortgage on
your ranch? Do you know I hold your note? Hey?"
Angus stared at him for a moment, his black brows drawing down, his eyes
narrowing. "And what has that got to do with the levels of this land?"
he asked with disconcerting directness.
But Mr. Braden shirked the show-down.
"Do with it, do with it!" he sputtered. "Oh, not a thing, not a damned
thing, of course. You were my agent to conclude this sale, and you threw
me down."
"I wasn't your agent. I was acting for Chetwood."
"You were to get a commission from me."
"I told you I couldn't take one."
"Well, you won't get one," Mr. Braden snapped. "Levels! What do you know
about levels? I'll get somebody that does."
But for some reason Mr. Braden did not do so.
It was nearly a week after this interview, that old Paul Sam rode up on
his paint pony, leading Chief.
"Me sell um cooley kuitan," he announced.
"Who bought him?" Angus asked. For answer the old Indian drew forth from
the recesses of his garment a slip of paper, which he handed to Angus.
The latter read:
"Dear Mackay: I want you to let me have the pleasure of
presenting a good horse with a good owner. This, not by way of
payment for the service you did me, but in token of my
appreciation of kindness to a pilgrim and a stranger here. Am
leaving for a few weeks, and will look you up on my return.
Faithfully,
"E. W. F. CHETWOOD.
"P. S.--Don't be a bally ass. Keep the horse."
From this surprising letter Angus lifted his eyes to the big chestnut.
As he did so he realized that he had wanted him very badly. He took the
lead rope from the old Indian.
"All right, Paul Sam," he said. "Thanks for bringing him over. Put your
cayuse in the stable and come up to the house and have some muckamuck."