CHAPTER X
Casey Dunne, busily engaged in strengthening a working harness withrivets, looked up as a shadow fell across the morning sunlight. Theshadow belonged to Tom McHale.
McHale, like Dunne himself, had seen rough times. Older than hisemployer, he had wandered up and down the West in the good old days ofcheap land and no barbed wire, engaged in the congenial, youthfuloccupation of seeing as much country as he could. In the process, hehad turned his hand to almost everything which had fresh air as acollateral, from riding for a cattle outfit to killing meat for railwaycamps. He and Dunne had come into the Coldstream country at nearly thesame time; but Dunne had some money and McHale none at all. Dunnebought land and hired McHale. They worked side by side to make theranch. McHale bought forty acres from Dunne and worked out the price,bought more, and was still working it out. But apart from financialmatters they were fast friends, and either would have trusted the otherwith anything he possessed.
"Say," said McHale, "there's something wrong. Our ditches ain't runnin'more'n half full."
Casey put down the hammer. "Maybe the ditch is plugged somewhere."
"She may be, but it ain't likely. I've followed her quite a piece. So Icome to get me a cayuse to go the rest of the way."
"I'll go with you," said Casey, throwing the harness on a peg.
In five minutes they were loping easily along the ditch, with sharpeyes for possible obstructions. As McHale had said, it was running nothalf full, and seemed to be falling. The strong, deep, gurgling note ofa full head of water was gone. Instead was a mere babble.
So far as they could see, the flow was unhindered by obstacles; therewas no break in the banks. Even around the treacherous sidehill therewas no more than the usual seepage. And so at last they rode down tothe Coldstream itself, to the intake of the ditch, a rude wing dam oflogs, brush, and sand bags, which, nevertheless, had served themexcellently heretofore.
"I'm an Injun," McHale, ejaculated, "if the whole durn creek ain'tlowered!" Because he came from a land of real rivers, he invariablyreferred to the Coldstream thus slightingly.
But unmistakably it had fallen. Half the dam appeared above thesurface, slimy, weed-grown, darkly water-soaked. Naturally, with thefalling of the water, the ditch had partially failed.
The two men looked at each other. The same thought was present in themind of each. It was barely possible that a land or rock slidesomewhere high upstream had dammed or diverted the current; but it wasmost improbable. The cause was nearer to seek, the agency extremelyhuman.
McHale bit into fresh consolation and spat in the direction of theinadequate dam.
"I reckon they've started in on us," he observed.
"Looks like it," Casey agreed.
"We need water now the worst way. I was figurin' on shootin' a big headon to the clover, and after that on to the oats. They sure need it.What's runnin' now ain't no use to us. We got to have more."
"No doubt about that, Tom," said Casey. "We'll ride up to theirinfernal dam and see just what's doing."
"Good enough!" cried McHale, his eyes lighting up. "But say, Casey,them ditch-and-dam boys ain't no meek-and-lowly outfit. Some of 'em isplumb hard-faced. How'd it be if I scattered back to the ranch first. Iain't packed a gun steady since I got to be a hayseed, but----"
"What do you want of a gun? We're just going to look at things and havea talk with Farwell."
"You never know when you'll need a gun," McHale asserted, as anincontrovertible general proposition.
"You won't need it this time. Come along."
It was almost midday when they came in sight of the construction campbeside the dam. To their surprise, a barbed wire fence had been thrownaround it, enclosing an area of some twenty acres. On the trail, aspace had been left for a gate, but it had not yet been hung. Beside itstood a post bearing a notice board, and, sitting with his back againstthe post, a man rested, smoking. As they came up, he rose and saunteredinto the trail between the gate-posts.
"Hey you, hold on there!" he said.
Dunne and McHale pulled up.
"Look a-here, friend," said the latter, "do you think you're one ofthem never-sag gates, or a mountain, or what? You want to see a doctorabout them delusions. They'll sure get you into trouble some day."
"That'll be all right about me," the big guardian of the gate returned."Just read that notice. This is private property."
They read it. It was of the "no-admittance" variety, and forbadeentrance to all individuals not in the company's employ.
"We've got business here, and we're going in," said Casey, and began towalk his horse forward.
The man caught the bridle with one hand. The other he thrust into hispocket.
"You get back now," he ordered, "or you'll walk home."
Dunne stopped instantly. His companion's hand made one lightninglikemotion, and perforce came up empty.
"And this," said Mr. McHale mournfully--"this was the time I didn'tneed a gun!"
"Well, you don't need it, do you?" said Casey. "Observe, the gentlemanstill keeps his sawed-off yeggman's delight in his pocket. Pull it,friend, pull it! Don't scorch the cloth by pressing the trigger whereit is. Steady, Shiner, while the gentleman shoots you!"
The guardian smiled sardonically. "Amuse yourselves, boys, but don'tcrowd in on me."
"Just as you say," replied Casey. "By the way, you needn't tire yourarm holding my horse. He'll stand. Besides, I don't like it."
The man released the bridle and stepped back. "Make this easy for me,boys, I don't want trouble, but I got my instructions."
"Now, you listen here," said McHale. "Lemme tell you something: It'sjust hell's tender mercy on you I ain't got a gun. If I'd 'a' had it,you'd been beef by the trail right now."
"There's always two chances to be the beef," the other returned,unmoved. "Go fill your hand before you talk to me."
McHale grinned at him. "I like you better than I did, partner. Nexttime you won't have no kick on what I hold."
"We want to see Farwell," said Casey.
"Why couldn't you say that before?" the guardian returned. "I'll take achance on you. Go in."
They found Farwell at his quarters before a table covered with printsand tracings.
"What can I do for you?" he asked curtly.
"My ditch has gone half dry," Casey replied. "I observe, too, that theriver is lower than usual; which, of course, accounts for the ditch. Itoccurred to me that perhaps you might account for the river."
"We have begun to take water for our lands," Farwell told him."Possibly that has something to do with it."
"I shouldn't wonder," Casey agreed dryly. "Why are you taking waternow?"
"That," said Farwell deliberately, "is entirely our own affair."
"It affects us. You can't possibly use the water, because your landsare not cultivated."
"The water benefits the land," Farwell rejoined coldly. "It showsintending purchasers that we are actually delivering a sufficientquantity of water. Our use of it is legitimate."
"It's a low-down, _cultus_ trick, if you ask me!" McHale interjectedforcefully.
"I didn't ask you," snapped Farwell; "but I'll tell you what I'll do.You make another remark like that, and I'll fire you out through thatdoor."
McHale ignored Casey's significant glance.
"That door there?" he asked innocently. "That big, wide door leadin'right outside into all that fresh air? You don't mean that one?"
"That's the one," Farwell returned angrily.
"Well, well, well!" said McHale, in mock wonder. "You don't say? And itlooks just like a common, ordinary door, too. Do you reckon you gottime right now to show me how it works?"
"Quit it, Tom," said Casey. "Farwell, I want to get right down to casecards. This is a raw deal. I ask you not to take water that you can'tuse."
"Not to mince matters with you, Dunne," Farwell returned, "I may aswell say that we intend to take as much as we like and when we like.There's plenty of water left in the river. It's merely
a question ofbuilding your dams to catch it."
"Will you say that there will be plenty when your big dam is finished?"
Farwell lifted his big shoulders in a shrug which coupled utterindifference with an implication that the future was in the hands ofProvidence.
"Good Lord, Dunne, there's no use talking about that!" said he. "Wewill take what water we want. You get what is left. Is that plain?"
"Yes," said Casey quietly. "I won't bother you any more."
"But I will," said McHale. "I'll just bother you to make good thatbluff of yours about firin' me out of here. Why, you durn,low-flung----"
"Quit it!" Casey interrupted. "Stay where you are, Farwell, I'm notgoing to have a scrap. Tom, you come with me."
"Oh, well, just as you say, Casey," grumbled McHale. "I ain't hostile,special. Only I don't want him to run no blazers on me. He----"
But Casey got him outside and administered a vitriolic lecture that hadsome effect.
"I'm sorry, Casey," McHale acknowledged, contritely. "I s'pose I oughtto known better. But that gent with the gun and Farwell between themgot me goin'. Honest, I never hunted trouble in my life. It justnaturally tracks up on me when I'm lyin' all quiet in camp. Course, ithas to be took care of when it comes."
"There'll be enough to keep you busy," said Casey grimly. Andapparently in instant fulfilment of the prophecy came the short,decisive bark of a six-shooter. By the sound, the shot had been firedoutside the camp, in the direction of the gate.
"It's that cuss that held us up!" snarled McHale, and swore viciously.
Both men went up into their saddles as if catapulted from the earth.McHale yelled as he hit the leather--a wild, ear-splitting screech, theold trouble cry of his kind in days gone by--and both horses leapedfrantically into motion, accomplishing the feat peculiar to cow andpolo ponies of attaining their maximum speed in three jumps. Theysurged around the medley of tents and shacks, and came into the openneck and neck, running like singed cats.
A few hundred yards away, where the new sign-board stood beside thetrail a horse struggled to rise, heaved its fore quarters up, andcrashed down again, kicking in agony, raising a cloud of dust. Facingit, bending slightly forward, stood a man, holding a gun in his righthand.
Suddenly out of the dust cloud staggered a second, who rushed at thefirst, head down, extended fingers wildly clutching, and as he came hebellowed hoarsely the wild-bull cry of the fighting male, crazed withpain or anger. The gun in the hand of the first man flashed up and cutdown; and, as it hung for an instant at the level, the report rappedthrough the still air. But the other, apparently unhurt, charged intohim, and both went down together.
AS HE CAME HE BELLOWED HOARSELY THE WILD-BULL CRY OF THEFIGHTING MALE, CRAZED WITH PAIN OR ANGER]
"It's big Oscar!" cried McHale. "That feller downed his horse. Holycatamounts! Look at them mix it! And here's the whole camp a-boilin'after us! Casey, did I hear you say this was the day I didn't need agun?"
Before they could pull up they almost ran over the fighting men. Thetwo were locked in ferocious grips. The big guardian of the gate wasfighting for his life, silently, with clenched teeth, every cord andmuscle and vein standing out with the heartbreaking strain put uponthem.
For the big Swede was the stronger man. Ordinarily mild andsweet-tempered, he was now a wild beast. Foam blew from his mouth andflecked his soft, golden beard, and he rumbled and snarled, beast-like,in his throat. He made no attempt to strike or to avoid the blows whichbeat against his face; but with one arm around his enemy's neck, thehand gripping the nearer side of the jaw, and the other hand pushing atit, he strove to break his neck. Little by little he twisted it.Gradually the chin pointed to the shoulder, almost past it. It seemedthat with the fraction of an inch more the vertebral column must cracklike a stick of candy. But the hand on the jaw slipped, and the chin,released, shot back again, to be tucked desperately down against thebreastbone.
"Get in here and pull Oscar off!" cried Casey as he leaped from hishorse.
"Not in a thousand years," McHale responded. "He can kill him. Let himdo it. Serve the cuss right."
"You cursed fool!" snarled Casey. "That gang will be here in half aholy minute. They'll pound Oscar to death if he's fighting then. Here,you crazy Swede, let go! Let go, I say! It's me--Casey Dunne!"
But Oscar was past reason. Once more he had got the palm of his handbeneath that stubborn chin and was lifting it from its shelter. As heput forth his huge strength, he roared out a torrent of Scandinavianoaths, interspersed with the more hardy varieties of Anglo-Saxonepithets.
"Catch hold of him," Casey ordered. "Jam your arm into his windpipewhile I break his grip." As he spoke, he kicked the big Swede sharplyon the left biceps. For an instant that mighty arm was paralyzed. Caseygrasped his wrists and dragged them loose, while McHale, his forearmacross the huge, bull-like throat, heaved back.
Oscar came apart from his victim slowly and reluctantly, as a deeplyrooted stump yields to the pull of a purchase.
"He kel my Olga! He kel my Olga!" he vociferated. "He shoot her yustlike she ban von vulf! By the yumpin' Yudas, you let me go!"
"Keep quiet, keep quiet, I tell you!" cried Casey. "You can get himlater. See this bunch coming? They'll kill you with their shovels inhalf a minute."
The rush of men was almost upon them. They carried the tools which werein their hands the moment the shots were fired--mixing shovels, hoes,axes, pinch bars, and odd bits of wood and iron caught up on theimpulse of the instant. Behind, straining every muscle to reach thefront, ran Farwell.
Meanwhile Oscar's opponent had risen unsteadily to his feet. His eyessearched the ground, and he made a sudden dive. But McHale was beforehim.
He swooped on the revolver half buried in the dust, and whirled on thefirst comers, holding the weapon jammed tightly in front of his righthip.
"Don't crowd in on us with them shovels and things," he advised grimly."There's lots of room right where you are."
The rush stopped abruptly. An ugly, short-barrelled gun in the hand ofa man who bore all the earmarks of a hip shot was not to be treatedlightly. There were rough and tough men in the crowd who were quiteready for trouble; but their readiness did not extend to rushing agunman unless an urgent necessity existed.
Farwell broke through them, breathless from a sprint at top speed. Hepaid no attention whatever to McHale's weapon.
"What's the matter here?" he demanded. "You, Lewis, speak up!"
"This batty Swede tried to ride over me," Lewis replied. "I give himfair warnin', and then I downed his horse. When he hits the dirt hegoes on the prod. These fellers pulled him off of me. That one's got mygun."
"You bet I have!" McHale interjected. "You tried to plug Oscar. I seenyou cut down on him at about ten feet--and miss. Looks like you ain'tgot the nerve to hit anything that's _comin'_ for you. You sorterconfines your slaughter to harmless cayuses and such."
"Guess again," said Lewis, unmoved. "I thought I could stand the Swedeoff, that's why. I shot two foot high on purpose."
"You kel my Olga!" shouted Oscar. "Yust wait, you faller. Ay gat mygoose gun, and Ay blow you all to hal! By Yudas, Ay gat skvare kvick!"
"This is crowding things," said Casey. "Mr. Farwell, you really mustnot plant gunmen by the trails with instructions to shoot our horses."
"Nobody has any such instructions," said Farwell. "This man tried toride Lewis down, and he protected himself. I'm sorry it occurred, butwe are not to blame."
"Without arguing that point," said Casey, "I warn you that we won'tstand this sort of thing."
"If you fellows will keep off our lands there will be no trouble,"Farwell responded. "We don't want you, and we won't have you. If youcome on business, of course, that's different. Otherwise keep away.Also we don't want your stock grazing on our property."
"We may as well have an understanding while we're about it," saidCasey. "The next man who pulls a gun on me--this Lewis, or anybodyelse--will have to beat me to the shooting. If you don't want yourlan
ds used as part of the range, fence them off. Don't interfere with asingle head of my stock, either. And, if I were in your place, I'doffer this man about two hundred dollars for his mare, and throw in anapology."
"But you're not in my place," snapped Farwell. "Nobody is going to pulla gun on you if you behave yourself. If this man puts in a claim forhis horse, I'll consider it, but I won't promise anything." He turnedto his men. "You get back to work, the lot of you." Without furtherwords, he strode off to the camp.
Lewis stepped up to McHale. "I'll take my gun if you're through withit."
McHale handed him the weapon.
"I don't reckon she's accurate at much over ten yards," he observed."If I was you, I'd fix myself with a good belt gun. It ain't unlikely Ipacks one myself after this, and we might meet up."
"Organize yourself the way you want to," said Lewis carelessly,slipping the weapon in his pocket. "And if you're a friend of that bigSwede, tell him not to look for me too hard. I don't want to hurt him;but I ain't taking chances on no goose guns." He nodded and marched offafter the others.
The three men, left alone, stood in silence for a moment. Then Oscar,with a rumbling curse, began to strip saddle and bridle from his deadpet mare, the tears running down his cheeks.
"And now what?" asked McHale.
"Now," Casey replied, "I guess we've got to make good."
Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters Page 10