Charlie Menocal, who after his sleep had read a few chapters in a
novel, went out of the shaded room where he had reposed and into the
garden. There he discovered his father in talk with Joe García.
"What's going on?" he exclaimed. "Lost a horse, or a wife or
something, Joe?"
"No, Charlie; this is business," García said, with a grin.
Menocal continued to give his instructions to the latter. They had to
do with bringing a few hundred sheep from one of the bands feeding in
the hills. They were to be driven down on the mesa to graze, and kept
moving about near the Stevenson ranch house; García was to observe
what the young man there did, all he did, whom he saw, and as far as
possible where he went. Particularly was he to note if surveyors came
and set to work anywhere. If the young man appeared to be engaged at
any task on the mountain side, Joe was to approach with his sheep. And
he was to report everything he learned.
Charlie's attention became more lively as he listened to his father's
directions to the man, and when García had departed he asked, "Who are
you after? Who's this young fellow you speak of as being at the Perro
Creek ranch? Didn't Stevenson deed the place back?"
Menocal senior twisted an end of his flaring moustache.
"May a thousand damnations fall on him! No, he didn't," he responded,
wrathfully.
"But that only means you'll have to foreclose the mortgage. It will
take longer, that's all."
Charlie was vice-president of his father's bank--his name was so
printed on the stationery, at least--and was familiar with his
parent's affairs, though he was averse to anything like industry. He
much preferred the pursuit of pleasure to work, and his automobile to
the grille of the bank. He was accurately aware, too, of his father's
weakness for him, an only child, and of his father's inclination to
indulge his desires; and shrewdly played upon the fact. Nevertheless,
in matters of business he possessed a certain sharpness.
"Stevenson sold the ranch to this young man Bryant, who just now paid
off the mortgage," Menocal explained.
"Then he was stung," Charlie averred.
"Wait, you don't know all, my son. He plans to build a dam and a canal
and use that old water right out of the Pinas, taking the water with
which we irrigate the farms down at Rosita. It will leave them dry;
the alfalfa will die; no more grain or peas or beans will be raised on
them; they won't have even good pasturage; they will go back to
sagebrush and cactus--all those farms, all those beautiful ranches!
Altogether four or five thousand acres! They are worth two hundred
thousand dollars now--to-morrow worth nothing! Half my winter hay
comes from them; half my peas for fattening lambs. I shall have to
sell part of my sheep. I'm a millionaire now, but I'll be reduced,
I'll be less than a millionaire, and so almost poor again. It's very
bad; it mustn't be; I must stop him using the water."
Even Charlie became solemn at the prospect of losing two hundred
thousand dollars and being less than a millionaire.
"The right hasn't been used; we'll have it cancelled," he said, with
sudden confidence.
"He refused to sell the place to me for ten thousand dollars cash,"
the father stated. "He's no fool--and he's a bad customer, Charlie; he
said he would send me to prison for perjury if I tried to cancel the
right."
"Perjury, pouf!" Charlie sneered.
"He couldn't send me to prison, of course, for I have too much money,
but he might make it unpleasant for me, very unpleasant. Politics are
to be considered; I mustn't get a bad name in the party and in the
state. I must be careful. The records show that the ranch has had the
water, and while in my possession. As he says, that would be difficult
for me to explain if I entered court against him. The matter mustn't
get into court or into the land office. Later we can have the water
right cancelled and reappropriated--later, when he has gone away, when
no dust can be raised about it."
"Is he going away?"
"Don't be stupid, Charlie. He must go away; that is necessary: I'm
considering plans. He must be pursuaded--or----"
"Or forced," said his son, with reckless bright eyes.
"Men generally depart from a locality when public opinion is brought
to bear on them," the elder remarked. "He can be made unpopular until
he desires to leave."
"We'll run him out, just leave that part to me."
"Charlie, nothing rash must be done, remember that, and nothing
illegal. I shall think of some plan soon."
"Nothing rash, but nothing uncertain, father. Two hundred thousand is
a lot of money. I, too, shall plan."
The prospect of ousting an intruder who had challenged his family's
right to control what it wished here, who indeed had the audacity to
attempt to robe the effort under a claim of legality, appealed to
young Menocal as an undertaking most attractive. The fact that all the
advantage was on his side, of influence, of wealth, of race, of power
that might be exerted through ignorant Mexicans in a hundred subtle
and vindictive ways, made the enterprise all the more alluring. The
Indian strain in his blood--a strain which accounts for much that sets
American and Mexican apart, unconsciously in his case gave a tinge of
cruelty to his anticipation. Aspiring himself to pass as an American,
it never failed to please him when he could slight or humiliate an
American; and he lacked his father's restraint of impulses, as he came
short of his sagacity and perseverance. Indeed, secretly the son
believed his father too conservative, too cautious, too old-fashioned
and slow; and at times was exceedingly impatient with methods that he
was confident he could immensely improve.
His father considered him for a time.
"Charlie, you leave this matter alone," he said. "You keep out of it.
Whatever's to be done, I'll do. You would go too far. You can give
your attention to seeing that the crops are watered and the hay cut on
time; you should be down at Rosita now looking after things."
"I'll run down in the car this evening," was the answer. "To-morrow
I'm going to Kennard, where I haven't been for two weeks. The wool in
the warehouse there should be sold, and a buyer from Boston wrote, you
know, that he would be there this week. And I think we can get our
price."
Kennard was the nearest railroad point and forty miles south. It was a
pleasant little city, with some of the attractions of larger places.
Of these Charlie was thinking rather than of the wool. He would attend
to the wool business, of course, but it was an excuse instead of a
reason for the projected visit on the morrow.
"Very well, it's time the wool is sold; the price is good at present,"
his father agreed.
Charlie recurred to the matter of the Stevenson ranch.
"What's this fellow's name who bought out Stevenson?"
"Lee Bryant. A young man. And I don't like him; I'm afraid he's a
trouble-maker. You should remember him, Charlie, for he's the fellow
who filled the radiator of the car at the ford on Perro Creek and who
threw your money back in your face."
Young Menocal's thin figure stiffened, while his small black moustache
rose in two points of ire.
"Him! That scoundrel who insulted me before Louise! That
lamb-stealer!" he shrilled.
"That is the man," his father affirmed.
Charlie spat forth a string of Spanish curses. When he had recovered
from his outburst of passion, he said:
"Well, I'm glad he's the man. He'll pay for that. Louise said nothing,
but she heard him. And now he's trying to steal our water, too! I'd
like to tie him down on a cactus-bed and run a band of sheep over
him."
"Charlie, Charlie, control yourself. Don't exhaust your strength by
being angry; it's bad for you in this heat; sunstrokes are sometimes
brought on that way. Besides, such talk as you uttered is foolish and
dangerous."
"Bah, I'm not afraid of a sunstroke."
"Anyway, it's unwise to be angry," his father warned. "When you're in
a temper, you talk loud; and people may hear it and repeat it, making
trouble. Now I must return to the bank. But remember what I say:
you're not to meddle in this Perro Creek matter. Do you hear?"
"Oh, yes, I hear," said Charlie.
His face as his father walked away did not, however, indicate
acquiescence in this tame course. His heart was full of rancour for
the insulting stranger of the ford; and where the fires of his hatred
blew, his feet would follow.