"When gentlemen of a dark and sinister cast of mind deliberately set
out to frustrate one's legitimate efforts under a misapprehension as
to the course to be pursued, the proper diplomacy in such a case is to
foster the delusion circulating in their craniums as long as possible
and thus divert their attention from the real purpose. Don't you agree
with me, David?" Lee Bryant gravely inquired of his young companion,
as they were about to set forth next morning.
"Yes, sir," Dave affirmed, to whom the statement was so much Greek.
"Then since the vote is unanimous, we'll proceed to run a line along
the mountain side where it will collide with these new homesteads."
The engineer shouldered tripod and rod, whistled Mike to heel, and
with Dave started forward. Half way to Bartolo they perceived three
men busy on the hillside, so Bryant swung up to a point a quarter of a
mile off and began surveying. When he approached the workmen, Mexicans
naturally, he saw that they were engaged in setting fence posts, of
which a row was already in line part way up the hill.
The men dropped their tools and confronted him as he drew near.
"This is my land; you keep away," one exclaimed, with waving arms,
while the other backed him up in a show of force.
"How can I build a canal here if you won't let me go through?" Bryant
demanded.
"No go through, no canal on my claim!"
"Well, just let me run a line, anyhow."
"No. Keep off, keep off," was the obstinate answer.
The engineer continued to argue, now as if in anger and now with a
conciliatory mien, all the while protesting that the homesteader must
not prevent the construction of the canal. But he received only shakes
of the head, short replies, and malicious looks. So at length, with
every pretense of disappointment and dejection, he went down the
hillside.
A mile farther along, where he found two more men occupied at similar
labour, he likewise dissembled his purpose, with the same opposition,
controversy, and retreat. He thereupon led Dave back to the ranch
house, where he prepared and ate dinner with satisfaction. Very likely
Menocal would receive reports that evening faithfully depicting his
chagrin and despair, or whatever were the Mexican equivalents.
Yet while he deluded the banker, he must secretly carry on his actual
surveying on the mesa. Since the men setting fence posts had a fairly
wide view of the plain, he determined to work in the open only for two
or three hours at daybreak before the Mexicans were about. For
Menocal, or any one else, must have no suspicion of his real ditch
line until an application for construction of the project had been
filed in the state engineer's office.
Signs that the banker had taken measures to keep him under
surveillance were not wanting.
"Dave," he said, "have you noticed a sheepherder with a bunch of sheep
hanging around here, when he should be up in the mountains where the
range is good?"
"Yes, I've seen him. And he hasn't a full band, either."
"Looks as if he's grazing down here on the mesa so as to watch us,"
Bryant mused. "When we went north, he and his sheep drifted in that
direction; when we were over on the mountain side, they followed
there. What shall we do about it?"
"I don't see that we can do anything except to watch him, too, and
fool him." The lad took thought for a moment, and then proceeded,
"Somebody was around here yesterday while we were away, for I saw a
brown paper cigarette stub on the ground in front of the door this
morning. You use white papers; it's mostly Mexicans who have those
straw papers."
"Then we had better put an extra nail or two in the windows as a
precaution," Lee stated, "before we go down to Sarita Creek. And I'll
leave Mike here also. If anybody comes fooling around, he'll take a
piece out of the fellow's leg."
In addition to nailing the windows and leaving Mike at the door, much
to his dissatisfaction, Bryant secreted his papers, note-books, and
maps, the theft of which would be an extremely serious loss. Menocal
probably would not instigate open lawlessness, but his hirelings might
break into the house on their own initiative. And this was not
unlikely since a bitter feeling was systematically being aroused
against Bryant and his project among the preponderate Mexican
inhabitants.
But for the time being he dismissed this matter from his thoughts,
when with tripod and rod and a bundle of stakes on Dick's saddle he
and Dave set out for Sarita Creek, leading the horse. Bryant had
postponed, under pressure of work, the business of fixing the feminine
homesteaders' garden ditch, until his conscience began to prick him on
the subject. He had neither seen nor had news of them since the chance
meeting at the ford; but now, as he could survey his canal line on the
mesa only during the early hours, he planned to make frequent visits
to the girls.
That they already had a caller this afternoon he discovered on
arriving at the two little cabins built of boards, peeping forth from
among the trees in the mouth of the cañon. The place was indeed
charming, with its grass and shade, with its brook flowing close by
the dwellings, with walls of rock rising behind. Just now an
automobile rested before the trees; and the engineer saw a man sitting
on the grass with Ruth Gardner and Imogene Martin, the three chatting
and laughing gaily. When Bryant got a good look at the other visitor
he gave vent to an ejaculation in which was blended surprise and
contempt. "That magpie! Of all damn impudence!" For the cavalier so
debonairly entertaining the young ladies was none other than the
olive-skinned Charlie Menocal.
A sense of pique was Bryant's succeeding feeling. He would have
disdainfully denied that he was moved by a pang of jealousy. But he
had anticipated finding the girls alone and having a pleasant chat
with them, enjoying their companionship, relaxing from the strain of
arduous work, harkening to their badinage. Indeed, if the interloper
had been someone else, some other man, at least, he would have
experienced a turn of disappointment--but that the individual should
be this tricky, coddled, egotistical Charlie Menocal! Well, he should
align the girls' irrigating ditch and then go about his business.
"I've been delayed in coming to correct your water flow," he remarked,
when the fair homesteaders had given him greeting, "but I'm on hand at
last."
Ruth Gardner, looking prettier and fuller of spirits than ever,
assured him the ditch was behaving no better than before. Her next
words, however, left him with an impression that he and not Charlie
Menocal was the intruder, which hardened his annoyance into a desire
to have done with the matter.
"I wish you had come some other day, for we're just about to depart,"
she exclaimed. "Mr. Menocal is very kindly taking Imo and me in his
car to see the old ruins of a pueblo somewhere over west. We'll be
gone probably all the rest of the afternoon, and there'll be no one to
show you the ditch and what's wrong with it."
"Oh, I'll find out what's wrong and straighten out the trouble," the
engineer replied. "You've a spade or shovel, I suppose? Go right ahead
with your exploring expedition and don't worry about me; the ditch
will be working properly when you return."
"Well, if you don't really need us----"
"Not in the least," was his assurance.
She still hesitated, while her look travelled from Bryant to Menocal
and back again. To the engineer that inclusive regard indicated that
her mind was less concerned with the garden ditch than with a
comparison of her two visitors; and with a sudden feeling of warmth
about his neck Bryant admitted to himself that he presented no
attractions. He wore laced boots, soiled khaki trousers and flannel
shirt, with his hat pulled over one eye against the sun; Menocal was
dressed in light gray clothes, thin and cool, low white shoes, a pale
pink silk shirt (trust a Mexican for colour somewhere!) a vivid
rose-hued scarf, and a white cap. To further emphasize the contrast,
Bryant led a loaded horse and a gangling boy, while Charlie Menocal
leaned at ease against his twin-six. Quite a difference, for a fact.
And it was plain that Ruth Gardner noted it with discrimination.
Imogene Martin now spoke.
"I don't think I'll go, Ruth. I've not been feeling well the last day
or two, as you know, and I'm afraid to risk the sun."
"Oh, come on, Imo. The ride will do you good," her friend replied,
with a trace of impatience.
"No, I told Mr. Menocal when he proposed the expedition that I doubted
if I should go."
"Too bad not to come, Miss Martin," that worthy remarked, without
enthusiasm. Clearly his interest in what company he should have did
not point toward her.
"I'm going, at any rate," Ruth Gardner said. And then, "Oh, dear! I
overlooked altogether introducing you you two gentlemen."
Bryant was human; the opportunity was one he could not let pass. So
smiling broadly he said:
"We've met before, haven't we, Menocal? At Perro Creek ford." And
receiving no response but a scowl, he spoke at large, "Well, I must
get busy if I'm to save those beans."
He led Dick, with Dave at his side, toward the garden on open ground
below the trees, where the bean vines were already turning yellow for
lack of water. He chuckled as he went, for the disappearance of
Charlie Menocal's patronizing air and the sudden thundercloud hanging
on his visage attested that the charge had gone home.
Ten minutes later the automobile passed the garden, but Bryant, who
had set up his tripod and stationed Dave with his rod some distance
off, did not see the hand Ruth Gardner waved. His eye was where an
engineer's eye should be, at his transit.
"She waved at you," Dave called.
"Who?"
"That girl with the Mexican."
"Well, what of it?"
When Bryant used that tone, Dave recognized the wisdom of silence. He
pretended that he had not heard. Even his employer, whom he
worshipped, had strange, mysterious moods.