A week sufficed to put the ranchers' ditches and dams in condition to
take care of water; but at the end of that time there was little water
to take care of. It was being diverted into the company's ditch system.
Their ditches were running full, emptying upon lands on which scarcely
a pretence of cultivation was being made, while the actual farmers,
just when they needed it most, had barely sufficient water for their
domestic purposes, for stock, and for their small gardens. There was
none for the main crops in the fields.
Naturally the crops suffered, the grain most of all. A series of hot,
dry winds came. With water they would have done little or no damage;
without it the leaves curled, shrivelled, and turned pale, starving for
lack of moisture. And the peculiarly galling feature of it was that the
water which would have meant so much was practically running to waste.
In spite of these troubles Casey managed to devote time to his guests.
His projected excursion to the foothills was abandoned, but he and
Clyde rode almost daily. He had reserved his little gray mare, Dolly,
for her use, and she was becoming, if not expert, at least confident in
the saddle.
She grew to love the long evenings, the soft twilights, the warm, sweet
scent of the grasses, and the great stillness broken only by an
occasional word and the beat of willing hoofs. On these evening rides
she allowed her imagination to run riot. It pleased her to pretend that
she and Casey were the only inhabitants of the land--an Eve and Adam of
the West, pioneers of a remote civilization. All day she looked forward
to this hour or two; at night, in her bed, she lived them over,
recreating each mile, each word, each little thing--how the great owl
had sailed ghostly across their path, the gray shape of a coyote fading
into the dusk, the young broods of grouse hiding in the grass.
Occasionally she undertook to analyze her feelings toward Casey Dunne,
but the result was indefinite. She enjoyed his companionship, looked
forward to it, remembered his words, his tricks of manner and speech.
But these things, she told herself, were not conclusive.
His sentiments she had no means of judging. He was forever doing little
things to please her; but then he did as much for others. At times he
was confidential; but he seldom talked of himself, his confidences
taking the form of allowing her to share his private viewpoint,
revealing to some extent his mental processes. But he had never said
one word which indicated more than friendship. Clyde saw little of
Sheila McCrae. The latter had ridden over once or twice to see, as she
said, how Casey was treating them. On these occasions Clyde experienced
a recurrence of latent hostility. Sheila took no pains whatever with
her appearance. She came in a worn riding costume, plain, serviceable,
workmanlike; and she talked water and crops and stock with Casey and
McHale, avoiding more feminine topics. If there was any understanding
between her and Casey it did not appear to Clyde. But it was this
unreasoning hostility more than anything else which made Clyde doubt
herself. Was it, she wondered, in reality jealousy?
She put the thought from her indignantly, but it refused to be
banished. She even catalogued her attractions, comparing them with the
other girl's. The balance was in her favour; but in the end she felt
ashamed of herself. Why should she do this? She found no satisfactory
reply.
After a week of the water famine she saw a change in her host. He was
more silent, thoughtful. Often when they rode together he had nothing
to say, staring at the horizon with narrowed eyes.
"Do you ever tell anybody your troubles?" she asked abruptly one
evening. They were riding slowly homeward, and the silence had been
especially marked.
"Not very often," Casey replied. "People I've met have usually had
enough of their own. They didn't want to hear mine."
"Well, I haven't many troubles, and I'd like to share yours, if I may.
I suppose it's this water question."
"Why, yes," he admitted. "It's getting to be a mighty hard thing to
swallow--and look pleasant."
"I know." She nodded sympathetically. "You feel helpless."
"Not that exactly. The difficulty is to know just what to do--whether
to do anything or not. The boys are very hostile. It wouldn't take much
to start them."
"In what direction?"
"In any that would give action. They'd like nothing better than open
war."
She exclaimed at the words. "Surely there's no possibility of that?"
"More than a possibility," he returned gravely. "Water is a necessity
to us. The people who have taken it do not require it. They have
established what is practically an armed camp. Also they have brought
in a number of hard citizens--what are known as 'gunmen'--to overawe
us. These patrol their ditch system, and warn us to keep away from it.
It is guarded at every important point. Not satisfied with this, some
of these fellows have been apparently looking for trouble in town and
elsewhere. One of these fine days they will get it."
He shook his head forebodingly. They topped a rise as he spoke. Below
them lay the line of the company's main canal. As they rode down to it
a man on a horse seemed to appear from nowhere in particular, and came
toward them. As he drew nearer Casey recognized the man Cross.
Cross raised his hat in acknowledgment of Clyde's presence. But his
words to Casey were very much to the point.
"You got notice to keep off this property," said he.
"Well?" said Casey.
"Do it," said Cross. "Hike--meanin' _you_, understand, and not the
lady. She's plumb welcome to ride where she likes. I savvy your game,
Dunne. You ain't got nerve enough to ride out here alone, and you bring
a woman with you to play safe."
Casey paled with anger beneath his tan. "Mr. Cross," he said quietly,
"that goes--because the lady is with me. But I rather think one of us
will stay in this country a long time."
"Cheap bluff," Cross sneered. "You ain't goin' to prospect round these
ditches, linin' them up for powder. Come here alone, and I'll make you
eat the sights off of my gun."
Casey laughed softly--with him most dangerous of signs.
"Mr. Cross, you really amuse me. I won't argue the point just now.
Later, perhaps. Good evening."
Clyde had listened in amazement. Once more she had experienced the
sensation of standing on the brink of tragedy. Once more it had failed
to occur.
"And that's one of the gunmen," said Casey. "That's what we have been
putting up with. I think it will have to stop."
"Don't get into any trouble," she begged. "Promise me you won't. What
do you care what men like that say?"
"I'm partly human," he replied grimly. "I can stand as much as most
men, but there are some things I won't stand. I'm not going to climb a
tree for any man. However, I won't crowd things with Cross, though I
know plenty of men that would, on that provocation. I'm all for peace
and a quiet life. You won't think I'm afraid, I hope."
"Certainly not," she said indignantly. "You don't give me much of your
confidence, but I know you better than to think such a thing. I wish
you would tell me more of what is going on. Let me be your friend, and
not merely your guest. Talk to me as you would to--Miss McCrae."
It was the first time she had spoken to him of Sheila. It was her
challenge. She would be on the same footing.
"Sheila's different," he replied. "Sheila's one of us. I've known her
for years. She's a good deal like a sister."
"Oh," she said, "a _sister_?"
To have saved her immortal soul she could not have kept the note of
sceptical interrogation from the word. He laughed.
"Yes, a sister. Why, great Scott! you didn't think I was in love with
her, did you, just because I call her by her first name? I think
everything of her, but not in that way. She's a thousand times too good
for me. Besides, she knows me too well. That's usually fatal to
sentiment. That's why no man is a hero to his wife."
"How do you know he isn't? Kitty Wade simply worships her husband."
"Maybe. But I'll bet his pedestal isn't nearly so high as it was before
they were married. When you marry, Miss Burnaby"--he smiled at her
frankly--"you will occupy the pedestal yourself."
"Doesn't your rule work both ways?" she laughed.
"I won't admit it--to you, anyway."
"Why not--to me?"
"Because Wade tells me no man can be forced to incriminate himself," he
replied.
Clyde glanced at him swiftly, flushing in the dusk. But she did not
press for an explanation. She was satisfied. She was no longer jealous
of Sheila McCrae.
When they arrived at the ranch Dunne took the horses to the stables.
Clyde, entering the house, found Wade alone, deep in newspapers, the
accumulation of a week which he had just received. There was a package
of letters for Clyde.
"Look here, Clyde," said the lawyer. "Here's a funny thing." He held a
newspaper open at the market page. "This Western Airline stock is as
jumpy as a fever chart. For a while it went down and down and down,
away below what I should think to be its intrinsic value. There was a
rumour of a passed dividend. Nothing definite--merely a rumour. Then
came another rumour of an application for a charter for a competing
line. Both these stories seem to have brought out considerable stock.
There was heavy selling. Likely the traders went short. I'll bet some
of them were nipped, too, for the market went up without warning--yes,
by George! bounced like a rubber ball."
Clyde looked up from a letter which enclosed a formal-looking
statement. "What would send it up?"
"Buyers in excess of sellers--in other words, demand in excess of
supply," Wade responded. "That's on the face of it. Probably not half a
dozen men know the inside. Orders may have been issued to support the
stock--that is, to buy all offered in order to keep the price from
declining farther. It's hard to say, at this distance. It's possible
that the depressing rumours may have originated with the very men who
are now supporting the stock."
"Why should they do that?"
"To buy more cheaply shares which would be offered in consequence. It's
funny, though," he continued, opening another paper. "Now, here's a
later date--let's see--yes, here we are. The market opened five points
higher than it closed on the preceding day, and it closed ten points
above that opening. Holy Moses! do you know what that means?"
"Demand in excess of supply."
"Demand! Supply!" Wade echoed contemptuously. "Economics be hanged! It
means a fight for Western Air. It means that somebody is willing to pay
a fancy price for shares. Why? Because a few shares one way or the
other mean the ownership of the road, the dictation of its policy.
There's no other explanation. I wonder who----"
"Look at this," said Clyde. She handed him a telegram. He read:
Sell nothing whatever until you hear from me. Instruct Bradley &
Gauss.
JIM.
Wade's lips puckered in a noiseless whistle. He did not need to be told
that "Jim" was Clyde's uncle, wily old Jim Hess, of the Hess System. It
was he who was out gunning for York and Western Air, and he had the
reputation of getting what he went after. What his tactics had been
Wade could only surmise. But the antics of the stock were proof that he
was in earnest.
"Well," he queried, "what do you know about this, young lady? Have you
been holding out on me?"
"I haven't much information," she replied. "Bradley & Gauss are my
brokers. They have been buying Western Air for me as it was offered.
There's their statement. Uncle Jim told me to buy it--said that it
ought to be worth as much as Hess System some day."
"Heavens! What a tip!" Wade exclaimed. "This will be good news for
Casey."
"I don't want him to know."
"Why not?"
"Well, he--he--that is, he might be disappointed. Uncle Jim may not get
control. If he does he'll treat everybody fairly, of course. I don't
want to raise false hopes."
"Considerate of you," said Wade, "not to say ingenious."
She flushed angrily for a moment, and then laughed.
"It's all the reason you'll get. Be a good friend, do. Promise! Also
you are to say nothing to Kitty."
"Afraid of being jollied?"
"Mr. Wade, you are impertinent!" But her eyes laughed at him.
"I'll keep your dark secret," said Wade. "It will be a joke on Kitty!"
And so Casey Dunne was left in ignorance.