Under Handicap

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER XII

  Tommy Garton spoke swiftly, clearly, concisely, explaining thoseessentials of the work in hand which Conniston must grasp at thebeginning. Filled with an ardor no whit less than Mr. Crawford's,there seemed to be no single detail which he did not have at hisfingers' ends.

  Taking from the drawer of his table a map which bore his own name inthe corner, he pointed out just where their source of water was, andjust how it was to be brought down from the mountains into the"valley." He indicated where the work was being pushed now. He showedwhere the big dam had already been thrown across a steep-walled, rockycanon; how, when the time came, a second dam (this purely a diversionweir) was to be constructed across a neighboring canon, higher up inthe mountains, deflecting the waters which poured down through it intothe lower dam, and from it turning them into the main canal at theupper end of Rattlesnake Valley. He pointed out, five miles to thenorth of these two big dams, the place where a third was to be flungacross yet another canon, imprisoning a smaller creek and turning ittoward the southwest to join the overflow of the others in the maincanal. He ran over blue-print after blue-print, to show the type ofconstruction work being done. He explained where there was levelingcalled for, where the canal must be turned aside.

  "We'd bring her straight through, and d--n the little knolls," hecried, banging his fist down upon his table in sudden vehemence, "butthere is a time-limit on this thing, Conniston. And we've got to getwater here, right here in Valley City, when the last day is up. Nottwenty-four hours late, either. No, not twenty-four minutes!"

  He ran the back of his hand across his moist forehead, and sat staringout of the window as though he had forgotten Conniston's presence.

  "What sort of a time-limit? I thought that Mr. Crawford was alone inthis thing, that he had the rest of his lifetime to finish it in if hewanted to take that long."

  Garton snorted.

  "He's got until just exactly twelve o'clock, noon, on the first day ofOctober. If he is five minutes late--yes, five minutes!--there'll bemen right here holding stop-watches on the thing like it was ablooming foot-race!--he'll be busted, ruined, smashed, and the wholeproject a miserable abortion!" He paused a moment, biting the end ofhis pencil. And before he went on he had turned his eyes steadily uponConniston's face, studying him. "If you're going to work with us, toget into it with your sleeves rolled up like Bat Truxton and Billythere and me and a few others of us, you might as well know in thebeginning what's what in this scrap. For it is a scrap--the biggestscrap you ever saw, a fight to the finish, with one man lined upagainst--do you have any idea what John Crawford is bucking?"

  Conniston shook his head. "I know virtually nothing of this thing,Garton."

  "Well, I'll tell you. Single-handed that man is fighting the desert!And he'd beat it back, too, and conquer it and muzzle it and make iteat out of his hand if they'd only let him alone. But they won't, thecold-blooded highway robbers! He's got them to fight with his lefthand while he hammers away at the face of the desert with his right!Who are 'they'? 'They' are a syndicate; organized capital. 'They'spell many millions of dollars ready to be spent to defeat JohnCrawford."

  He stopped suddenly, frowning and gnawing at his pencil. Conniston wasabout to ask a question when Garton went on rapidly, such hotindignation in his tones that Billy Jordan dropped his hands from thekeys of his machine to listen to what he had heard many a time before.

  "You know already how Mr. Crawford built the town which is named afterhim? He made that town just as a man takes clay into his hands andmakes a modeled figure out of it. And when the job was done he went tothe Pacific Central & Western and showed them why it would pay them tobuild a narrow-gage railroad from Bolton, on the other side of theridge, thirty miles through mountainous country. He had that plannedout long before the first shack was put up in Crawfordsville. And heknew what he was doing. The P. C. & W. built the road and have run anaccommodation train back and forth daily ever since. And they havemade money at it hauling freight, merchandise from the main line,building-material, farming implements--everything which had to go intoCrawfordsville; hauling farm produce from the new settlement back intoBolton.

  "Because he had shown the P. C. & W. that the thing could be done on apaying basis, because it _was_ done and did pay, the P. C. & W.listened to him when he made a second proposition to them. He wentstraight to Colton Gray, and Colton Gray listened to him. What Grayadvises, the P. C. & W. does. In the end, after many interviews andmuch investigation and discussion, Crawford made Gray see the matterthe way he saw it. The P. C. &. W. contracted to begin work on a linefrom Crawfordsville to Valley City and on across the desert to themain transcontinental railroad at Indian Creek the day that sufficientwater to irrigate fifty square miles of land had been brought intothis part of the 'valley.' It was agreed by both contracting partiesthat the water was to be brought to this spot by noon of Octoberfirst, or all contracts became null and void.

  "The day that Gray agreed for the P. C. & W. Mr. Crawford put men towork on the first preliminary survey. He had already the necessarywater concessions. He had studied his ground, made his plans with acarefulness which overlooked nothing which a man could foresee, andhad every reason to believe, to be positive, that he could have allthe water he wanted in the valley a whole month before the first ofOctober.

  "And I tell you he could have done it if they had just let him alone!But they wouldn't. Within thirty days after the first shovelful ofearth was turned there was a strong organization perfected to defeathim. Why? In the first place there is a certain bloated toad in ourlocal puddle named Oliver Swinnerton who has his hatchet out ongeneral principles for the Old Man. In the town of Bolton he's themayor and the chief of police and the board of city fathers and themunicipal janitor all rolled into one pompous, pot-bellied littlebody. He's got money and he's got brains. No sooner does word getabout of the Old Man's contract with the P. C. & W. than OliverSwinnerton gets busy. He went straight to Colton Gray, and at first hecould do nothing with him. Gray had taken time for his investigationsof Mr. Crawford's scheme, had been convinced that it was feasible, andnow stood pat. But Swinnerton with his counter-scheme interested a lotof other capital, and through some of the men he got in with him hegot the ear of some of the higher-ups on the P. C. & W. He even gothis scheme into the private office of the president, and from thepresident word ran down to Gray. I think even Gray began then to getshaky in the knees. I tell you, Conniston, the Old Man's project is sobig that until it is consummated there will always be a doubt in othermen's minds whether the thing ever can be done. If it can't, if itproves impracticable to irrigate this country, to build first ValleyCity and then a string of settlements across the desert, why then ofcourse there would be nothing in it for the P. C. & W. to run a spuracross to Indian Creek.

  "And Oliver Swinnerton made it his business to show the management ofthe railroad that the thing was impossible, that it was a mad fool'sdream, that when the first day of October came there would be nothingaccomplished because there never could be anything accomplished. Hescored his point, and then he played his trump card. He showed thatthe same money which the railroad would have to spend in stringingrails across the sand here could be spent more advantageously inanother direction.

  "On the other side of Bolton there are grassy foothills, well watered--abig stretch of country very much like that about Crawfordsville.Already there are orchards there, considerable small farming,grain-raising and hay. Swinnerton planned to build a town out there inthe heart of that fertile country where there are now a number ofsettlements and to have the P. C. & W. run a seventy-five-mile spur outthat way. The management naturally will not stand for the expense ofboth roads at the same time, since both would be very largely in thenature of experiments. Swinnerton's scheme looked more promising thanthe Old Man's. Swinnerton got his contract with the railroad. And thatcontract says that if on the first day of October Mr. Crawford has notmade good he will be given not a day's grace, but work will be begun onthe other road into Swi
nnerton's country. Do you see now what I mean byopposition? Do you see what will happen if we don't come up to time onour end of the game? Swinnerton is so confident that he holds thewinning hand that he has already founded his town, already sunk a pileof money in it. Somebody is going to go to the wall when the first dayof October comes."

  "But," demurred Conniston, "Swinnerton and his corporation are doingnothing actively to retard our work--can do nothing. If--"

  "He isn't?" snorted Garton. "That's all you know about it! How do weget all of our implements, our supplies, all of our men? They come tous by rail, don't they? And that means they come to us over the P. C.& W., doesn't it? And the P. C. & W. is scared out of its life,praying every day to its little gods for Crawford's failure. Whathappens? We get delayed shipments, we wait for our stuff, and it liessidetracked somewhere; we get our men stolen from us before they everget to Bolton, and shunted off to work for the opposition! There area hundred ways in which Swinnerton and the bigger men in with him canslip their knife into us every day of the week. And they are notmissing very many bets, either. Oh, Gray's all right; he's squareenough and willing enough to stand by his word. But he can't doeverything. It takes time to get matters up to him, and it takes timefor him to adjust them. And right now he's in San Francisco attendinga railroad conference, and he'll be there fifteen days, I suppose.What sort of service do you suppose we get in the mean time? You getthat idea out of your head that Swinnerton isn't doing anythingactively to retard us. He's doing everything he can think of, and Itold you at the jump that the man has brains."

  As well as a man could understand it without actually going over theground, Conniston learned that afternoon all that Bat Truxton'sassistant could tell him. He learned, roughly, of course, how much hadbeen done already, what remained to be done first, what could beallowed to wait until more men came to swell the forces now at work,what chief natural difficulties and obstacles lay across the path ofthe great venture.

  Little Tommy Garton's enthusiasm was so keen a thing, so spontaneous,so whole-souled, that long before time came for the noon mealConniston felt his own blood pounding and clamoring for action.Swiftly he was granted the first true glimpse which had ever come tohim of the real nature of work. Such work as he was now about toengage in was so infused with the elements of hazard, of risk, ofuncertainty, of opposition, that it was shot through with a deep,stern fascination. It was not drudgery, and almost until now he hadlooked upon all work as that. It was a great game, the greatest gamein the world. He already began to look forward to to-morrow, when hewas to leave the office and go out upon the field of action with BatTruxton with an eagerness such as he had felt in the old college dayson the eve of the big Thanksgiving football game. Something of thespirit which had made old William Conniston the dynamic, forceful manof business which he had always been, and which had never beforemanifested itself in old Conniston's son, suddenly awoke and shookitself, active, eager, the fighting spirit of a fighting man.

  At noon Billy Jordan pushed back his chair and got to his feet,stretching his arms high over his head.

  "Time to eat," he said, picking up his hat. "Coming, Mr. Conniston?"

  "And you?" Conniston asked of Garton.

  "Oh, me!" laughed Garton. "I don't travel that far. Not until my newlegs come. I had trouble with 'em," he explained. "Had to send 'emback to Chicago. I'm hoping," with a whimsical smile, "that they don'tget sidetracked with the rest of our stuff on the P. C. & W. Go withBilly, Conniston. He'll show you where to eat."

  He whirled about on his stool, squirmed suddenly over on his stomach,and lowered himself to the floor. Swinging the leathern-capped stumpsof his legs between his hands, which he placed palm down on the floor,as a man may swing his body between crutches, he moved with short,quick jerks into the room where the two cots were. Conniston turnedaway abruptly.

  With Billy Jordan he went nearly to the end of the short street beforethey came to a rude lunch-counter, set under a canvas awning, where athin, nervous little man and his fat, stolid wife set canned goods andcoffee before them. Billy produced a yellow ticket to be punched,Conniston paid his two bits, and they strolled back to the office.When Conniston suggested that they take something to Garton, Billytold him that a boy took him his meals.

  There was so much to be got over that day, Conniston was so eager tolearn what details he could, Tommy Garton so eager to impart them,that it was scarcely half-past twelve when the two men were back atthe long table going over maps and blue-prints. There were nointerruptions. An imprisoned house-fly buzzed monotonously andsullenly against a pane of glass, his drone fitting into the heavysilence on the face of the hot desert so that it became a part of it.

  At four o'clock a handful of ragged children, barefooted, bronzed oflegs and hands and faces, scampered by on their noisy way home fromschool. A pretty young woman in neat walking-habit and big white strawhat followed the children, smiling in through the open door at Garton,noting Conniston with a flash of big brown eyes and quickly droppinglids. Billy, in seeming carelessness, had wandered to the door whenthe children passed, and stepped outside, chatting with her for fiveor ten minutes.

  "Miss Jocelyn," Garton told him. "Bat Truxton's daughter, and thevillage schoolmistress. Billy thinks he's rather hard hit, I fancy."

  "I've heard of her," Conniston replied, frowning at the map he washolding flat on the table. "Dam Number Two is the one which iscompleted, isn't it? And Number Three is the smaller auxiliary dam?How about Number One, which seems to be the most important of thelot? When do we go to work on that?"

  Garton chuckled. "You're going to be as bad as I am, Conniston! Can'teven stop to look at a pretty girl? The Lord knows they're scarceenough out here, too. Yes, Dam Number One is the important one of thelot. It will be the biggest, the hardest, and most expensive to build,and it will control the water-supply which is going to save ourbacon."

  Whereupon he, too, forgot Miss Jocelyn and Billy, and launched intofurther explanation. At six o'clock Billy Jordan covered histypewriter and put on his coat and hat. He came over to the table andleaned his elbow on it, waiting for Garton to finish something that hewas saying.

  "I'm going around to Truxton's a little while this evening," he said,trying to speak as a man of the world should, but flushing up underGarton's twinkling eyes. "If you find time dragging on your hands youmight come along, Mr. Conniston. Miss Jocelyn"--he hesitated amoment--"Miss Jocelyn said I might bring you around."

  Conniston thanked him and asked him to thank Miss Jocelyn, but assuredhim that instead of having time lagging for him he had more to do thanhe could manage. So Billy went on his way alone. Nor did he seemdisappointed at Conniston's refusal to accompany him. It was only whenit began to grow dusk and the boy brought Garton's supper thatConniston got up and went down the street to his own solitary eveningmeal at the lunch-counter.

  It was after nine o'clock, and Conniston was lying on his cot in thelittle rear room of the office-building listening to Tommy Garton talkabout reclamation--it seemed the only thing in the world he cared totalk about during working-hours or after--when the outside door wasflung open and a man's heavy tread came through the office and totheir sleeping-room.

  "That'll be Truxton," Garton said. "Wants to see you, I guess."

  The heavy tread came on through the office, and the door to Garton'sroom was flung open with as little ceremony as the front door hadbeen. In the light of a kerosene-lamp upon the chair near his cotConniston saw a short, squat, heavy-set man of perhaps forty-five,very broad across the forehead, very salient-jawed, his mustacheshort-cropped and grizzled, his mouth large and firm-lipped, his eyessteady and keen as they turned swiftly upon Conniston from undershaggy, tangled, iron-gray brows. The man had nodded curtly towardTommy Garton, and then stood still in the doorway regarding youngConniston intently.

  "You're Conniston."

  It was a positive statement rather than a question, but Connistonanswered as he sat up on the edge of his cot:

  "Yes. I'm Conniston."
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  "All right." Truxton removed the lamp from the one chair in the room,placed it upon the window-sill, and sat down, pulling the chair aroundso that he faced Conniston. "You're goin' to work with me in themornin'. Now, what do you know?"

  His manner was abrupt, his voice curt. Conniston felt a trifle ill atease under the man's piercing gaze, which seemed to be measuring him.

  "Not a great deal, I'm afraid. You see, I--"

  "I thought you were an engineer?"

  "I am--after a fashion. Graduate of Yale--"

  "Ever had any actual, practical experience?"

  "Only field work in college."

  "Ever had any experience handlin' men? Ever bossed a gang of men?"

  "No."

  "Ever do any kind of construction work?"

  "In college--"

  "Forget what you did with a four-eyed professor standin' over you!Ever build a bridge or a grade or a dam or a railroad?"

  "No." Conniston answered shortly, half angrily.

  "Then," grunted Truxton, plainly disgusted, "I'd like to know what theOld Man meant by sendin' you over here! I can't be bothered teachin'college boys how to do things. What I need an' need bad is an engineerthat can do his part of the day's work."

  "Look here!" cried Conniston, hotly. "We all have to begin some time,don't we? You had your first job, didn't you? And I'll bet you didn'tfall down on it, either! It's up to you. If you think I'm no good, allright. If you give me my work to do I'll do it."

  "It _ain't_ up to me. The Old Man sent you over. You go to work in themornin'. If I was doin' it I wouldn't put you on. I don't say youwon't make good--I'm just sayin' I wouldn't take the chance. I'll stophere for you at four o'clock in the mornin'." He swung about fromConniston and toward Garton. "How're they comin', Tommy?"

  All of the curt brusqueness was gone from his tone, the keen, cold,measuring calculation from his eye. With the compelling force of theman's blunt nature the whole atmosphere of the room was altered.

  "First rate, Bat," Tommy answered, cheerfully. "How's the workgoing?"

  "Good! The best day I've had in two weeks. We get to work on thoseseven knolls to-morrow. You remember--Miss Argyl calls 'em LittleRome."

  "What have you decided? Going to make a detour, or--"

  "Detour nothin'. I'm goin' right straight through 'em. It'll taketime, all right. But in the end we'll save. I'll cut through 'em infour days or four an' a half."

  "And then--it's Dam Number One?"

  Truxton swore softly. "If I can get the men, it is! Swinnerton stolemy last gang--seventy-five of 'em. The blamed little porcupine offered'em two bits more than we're payin' an' grabbed every one of 'em. TheOld Man has wired Denver for a hundred more muckers. Swinnerton can'tkeep takin' men on all year. He's got more now than he knows what todo with. I guess this gang 'll come on through. As soon as they come,Tommy, I'll have that big dam growin' faster'n you ever saw a dam growbefore."

  For half an hour the two men talked, and Conniston lay back listening.In spite of Bat Truxton's sour acceptance of him, Conniston began tofeel a decided liking for the old engineer. After all, he toldhimself, were he in Truxton's place he would have small liking forputting a green man on the job. He realized that there was nothingpersonal in Truxton's attitude toward him. Truxton was not looking fora man, but for an efficient, reliable machine, one that had alreadybeen tested and found to be strong, trustworthy, infallible.

  Again the question had been put to him, "What have you done?" And itwas nobody's fault but his that he had done nothing.

  "I wish you had two legs, Tommy," Truxton said, when at last he got upand went to the door. "You an' me workin' together out there--well,we'd make things jump, that's all."

  Tommy laughed, but his sensitive mouth twitched as though with a sharpphysical pain.

  "Oh, I'm doing all right inside," he answered, quietly. "Somebody'sgot to attend to this end of the game. And Conniston will be on to theropes in a few days. He'll help you make things jump."

  Truxton made no answer. For a moment he stood frowning at the floor.Then he turned once more to Conniston for a short, intent scrutiny.

  "You have your blankets ready, Conniston," he said, shortly. "You'llsleep on a sand-pile to-morrow night."

  And he went out, slamming the door behind him.