“Where'd our water be by the time he got an injunction for us?”
He fell into a brown study, during which his pipe went out.
“Jim,” he said finally, “it isn't a fair game. I don't know what to do.
Delay will hang us; taking men off the work will hang us. I've just got
to go up there myself and see what can be done by talking to them.”
“Talking to them!” Denning snorted. “You might as well whistle down the
draught-pipe of hell! If they're just up there for a row, there'll be
whisky in camp; and you can bet McNeill's got some of 'em instructed on
YOUR account. They'll kill you, sure!”
“I agree with you it's risky,” replied Orde. “I'm scared; I'm willing to
admit it. But I don't see what else to do. Of course he's got no rights,
but what the hell good does that do us after our water is gone? And Jim,
my son, if we hang this drive, I'll be buried so deep I never will dig
out. No; I've got to go. You can stay up here in charge of the rear
until I get back. Send word by Charlie who's to boss your division while
you're gone.”