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About Daily capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1903-1919 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 22, 1919)
" "Answer my question, please." "I should have to assemble them again," admitted Hardin sulkily. Rlckard consulted his notebook. 1 think we've covered everything. Now I want to propose the laying of a spur track from Hamlin's Junction to the Heading." His manner cleared the stage of supernumeraries; this was the climax. Hardin looked ready to spring. "And In connection with that the de velopment of a quarry In the granite hills buck of Humlln's," continued Rlck ard, nut looking at Hardin. Instantly Kurd In was on his foot. Ills fist thundered on the table. "I (shall oppose that," he flared. "It Is ab- Instantly Hardin Was on Hit Feet. Kulutely unnecessary. Wo can't afford It. Do yon know what that will cost, gentlemen)" "One hundred thousand dollars I" Rlckard Interrupted him. "I wunt an appropriation this morning for that amount. It Is, In my opinion, abso lutely necessary If we are to save the valley. We cannot afford not to do It, Mr. Hardin I" Hanlin glared at the other men for support i he found MucLenn's face a Wank wall ; Estrada looked uncom fortable. Babeock had pricked up his ears at the sound of the desired appro priation; his head on one side, he looked like an Inquisitive terrier. Hardin Bureau out his hands In help- loss desperation. "You'll ruin us," he Mild. "It's your money, the O. P.'s, hut you're lending It, not giving It to us. You are going to swamp the Des ert ItecluiiHitlon company. We enn't throw funds awny like that." One hun dred thousand dollars! Why, ho could luive stopped the river at any time If he had had that sum; once a paltry thousand would have saved them "I didn't ask the 0. P. to come In and ruin us, but to slop the river; not to throw money away ,In hog-wild fash Ion." lie was stammering Inarticulate ly. "There's no need of a spur-track If you rush my gute through." "If," Itlcknrd nodded. "Granted. It we can rush It through. But suppose it fulls? Marshall said the railroad would stand for no contingencies. The Interests nt Btake are too vital" "Interests !" cried Tom Hardin. "What do you know of the Interest at ptnke? You or your railroad? Coming In At the eleventh hour, what can you knowt Did you promise safety to thou sands of families if they made their homes In this valley? Are you responsi ble? Did you get up this company, In duce your friends to put their money Jn It, promise to see them through? What do you know of the Interests at RKilia? Vj.m U'titit mil nnu ttiitwlpAil thousand dollars Into a frill, (led, do you know what that means to my company? It un-ans ruin" Estrada pulled him down In his sent. Illikurd explained to the directors the necessity In his opinion of the spur-Vtu-k and the quarry. Rock In great , quantities would be needed; ears must he rushed In to the break. He urged the Importance of clenching the tssuo. "If it's not won this time, it's H lost cause," he maintained. "If It cuts a deeper gorge, the Imperial valley la a chimera ; so Is Lagunn dum," The other men were drawn Into the argument. Bahcock leaned toward Har din's conservation. MncLenn was Ju dicial. Estrada upheld Klckard. The spur-track, In his opinion, was essen tial to success. Hardin could see the meeting managed between the new- "comer" and the Mexican, and his anger impoteutly raged. His temper made Lira Incoherent. He could see Blckard, c-i ol mid Impersonal, adding to his points, and MncLenn slowly won to the- stioiiger sidA Hardin, on his feet v.:' ..ptittflns .bsJsfeaft at THE DAILY EDNAH AIKEN BuOcock, when RTcEard called" fbr a vote. The appropriation was carried. Hardin's face was swollen with rage. RIckard then called for a report on the clam-shell dredge being rushed at Yuma. Where was the machinery? Was It not to have been finished In February? "Why not get the machinery here? What's the use of taking chances?" de manded Rlckard. Hardin felt the personal Implication. He was on his feet In a second. "There are no chunees." He looked at Mac Lean. "The machinery's done. It's no use getting It here until we're ready." "There are always chances," Inter rupted his opponent coolly. "We are going to take none. I want Mr. Har din, gentlemen, appointed a committee of one to see that the machinery Is de livered at once, and the dredge rushed." The working force wns Informally discussed. Hardin said they could de pend on hobo labor. IV'kard agreed that they would find such help, but It would not do to rely on It. The big sewer system of New Orleans was about completed; he had planned to write there, stating the need. And there was a niun In Zacatecas, named Porter "Frank Porter?" sneered Hardin, "that murderer?" "Ills brother," Rickard answered pleasantly. "Jim furnishes the men for the big mines in Sonora and Slna loa. He'll Bend us all the labor we want, the best for our purpose. When it gets red-hot, there's no one like a peon or an Indian. "You'll be infringing on the Interna tional contract law," suggested Mac Lean. "No. The camp Is on the Mexican side," laughed Casey. "I'd thought of that. We'll have them shipped to the nearest Mexican point, and then brought to the border. Mr. Estrada will help us." , , The maetlng had already adjourned. They were standing around the flat top desk. Estradn Invited them nil to lunch with him, In the car on the sid ing. MacLean said that he had to get back to. Los Angeles. Mr. Bnbcoek wns going to take him out to Grant's Heading In the machine. He had nev er been there. They had breakfasted late. He looked very much the colonel to RIckard, his full chest and stiff car riage made more military by his trim uniform of khnkl-colored cloth. "May I speak to you about your boy, Mr. MucLean?" Hardin caught a slight that was not Intended. He pushed past the group at the door without civility or cere mony. The steudy grave eyes of the big frame looked at Ricknrd Inquiringly. "He wants to stay out another year. I hope you will let him. It's not disin terested. I shall huve to take a stenog rapher to the Heading this summer. There Is a girl here; I couldn't tnke her, and then, too, I'm old-fashioned ; I don't like women In unices. My posi tion promises to be a peculiar one. . I'd like to have your son to rely on for emergencies a stenographer could not cover." MacLean's grave features relaxed as ho looked down on tho engineer, who was no small man himself, and sug gested thut his son wns not very well up In stenography. "That's the least of It." "I hope that he will make a good stenographer! Good morning, gentle men." At table, neither Estrada nor his guest uncovered their active thought which revolved around Hurdln and his hurt. Instead, Rlckard had questions to ask. his host on river history. As they talked, It came to him that some thing was atulssi Estrada wns ac curate; he had all his facts. Was It enthusiasm, sympnthy, he lacked? Pres ently he challenged him with It. Estrada's eyes dreamed out of the w indow, followed the gorge of tho New river, as though out there, somewhere. the answer hovered. "Do yon mean, do yon doubt It?" ex clalmed Rlckard, watching the melan choly In the beautiful eyes. Estrada shook his head, but without decision. "Nothing you'd not laugh at. I can laugh at It myself, sometimes." Klckard waited, not sure that any thing more was coming. Tho Mexi can's dark eyes were troubled ; a puzzle brooded In them. "It's a purely nega tive sense that I've had, since I was a child. Something falls between nie and a plan. If I said It was a veil, It would be something 1" His voice fell to a ghost of tunefulness. "And it's nothing. A blank I know then It'i not going to happen. It Is terribly Dual! It's happened, often. Now, i wait for that veil. When It falls, I know what It means." , "And you have had that sense about this river business?" Estrada turned his pensive pane on the American. "Yes, often. 1 thought, after father's death, (lint that waj CAPITAL JOURNAL, SALEM. OREGON SATURDAY, wliaT It meant, liutll came again.- It kept coming. I had It while yon were all talking, just now. I don't speak of this. It sounds chicken-hearted. And Pm In this with all my soul my fa therI couldn't do it any other way, but" "You think we are going to fail?" ' "I can't see It finished," was Estra da's mournful answer. He turned again to stare out of the window. ' "Who are the river men In the va! ley?" demanded the newcomer. "I want to meet them, to talk to them." "Cor'nel, he's an Indian. He's worth talking to. He knows Its history. Its legends. Perhaps some of It Is his tory." "Where's he to be found?" "You'll run across hltn! Whenever anything's up, he Is on hand. He senses It And then there's Matt Hamlin." : Til see him, of course. Has he been up the river?" "No, but I'll tell yon two who have.' Maldonado, a half-breed, who lives some twenty miles down the river from Hamlin's. He knows the Gila as though he were pure Indian. The Gila's tricky I Maldonado's grandfa ther was a trapper, his great-grandfather, they say, a priest The women were all Indian. He's smart Smart and bad." i Estrada's Japanese servant came, back Into the car to offer tea, freshly Iced. i "That's what I want, smart river men, not teal" laughed Rlckard. T want river history." "There's another man you ought to meet. He was with the second Powell expedition. He's written the best book on the river. He knows It, If any man does. You wanted these maps." Es trada was gathering them together. "Thank you. And you can Just strangle thnt foreboding of yours, Mr. Estrada. For I tell you, we're going to govern that river 1" ; Estrada's pensive smile followed the dancing ctep of the engineer until it carried hltn out of sight. Perhaps? Because he was the son of his father, he must work as hard as If conviction went with him, ns If success awaited at the other end of the long road. But It was not going to be. He would never see that Mver shackled CHAPTER VII. A Garden In a Desert His dwelling leaped Into sight as Hardin turned the corner of the street. There was but one street running through the twin towns, flunked by the ditches of running water. The rest were ditches of running water edged by footpaths. Scowling, he passed un der the overhanging bird cages of the Desert hotel without a greeting for the loungers, whose chairs were drawn up against the shade of the brick walls. The momentum slackened as Hardin neared the place he called his home. An Inner tenderness diluted the sneer that disfigured his face. He could see Inncs as she moved around In the lit tle fenced-in strip that surrounded her desert tent' She luslstcd on calling It a garden, In spite of his raillery. "Gerty's In bed, I suppose," thought Tom. He had a sudden vivid picture of her accusing martyrdom. His mouth! hardened again. Innes, stooping over a rose, passed out of his vision. It came to Hardin suddenly that a man has made a circle of failure when he dreads going to his olflce and shrinks from the reproaches at home, "A 'has-been' at forty!" he mused.. Where were all his ships drifting? Innes, straightening, waved a gay hand. "She's raising a goodly crop of bar rels." Ills thought mocked and ca ressed her. Her garden devotion was Ha Loved tha Hardin Trait In Her. .. ...Ul. I.lm IT., lni.n1 tfin U ii'iiui i jvih: nun tutu, nv iwivu lilt? I Hardin trait In her, the persistence which will not he daunted. An occupa-: tion with a Hurdln was a dedication. Ho would not acknowledge the Innes blood In her. Like that fancy mother of hers? Innes was a Hardin through . and through I j "It's In the blood," ran his thought; "She can't help It All the Hardlus work that way. The Unrdlns always make fools of themselves I" ; Innes, lifting her eyes from a crip pled rose, saw that the black devils were consuming him again. I "Will you look at this wreck.!" she cried. J The windstorm the previous wee had made a slckeuing devastation of her labors. The morning glories alone were scatheless. A pink oleander drooped many broken branches from ; which miracles of perfect flowers were unfolding. The prettiest blossom to JJarilln was the gardener herself. She ill was vivid from eager foil. Hardin looked at her approbatively. He liked her khaki suit simple as a uniform, with Its flowing black tie and leather belt She looked more like herself to day. She had bleached out, In Tucson. She had been letting herself get too tanned, running around without hats. Sunburn paled the value of those splendid eyes of hers. He could always tease her by likening them to topazes. His eyes ran over the pink and pur ple lines of cord-trained vine which made floral screens for her teat Free of the strings overhead, thef rioted over the ramada, the second roof, of living boughs. He acknowledged their beauty. They gave grace to bare ne cessity; they denied the panting, thirsty desert Just beyond. He remembered his own ramada. Getty had hated It had complained of It so bitterly when she came home from New York that he had had It pulled down and replaced by a T roof of pine boards, glaring and ugly. Gerty was satisfied, for it was clean ; she no longer felt that she lived In a squaw house. Let the Indians have ramadas ; there was no earthly reason she should. He had urged that the desert dwellers had valuable hints to give them. But what was a remada to him, or anything else? Hardin turned to leave. , She did not want him to go so soon. She pointed out a new vine to him. She had brought it from Tucson; "Kudzu," they called it ; a Japanese vine. And there was another broken rose, quite beyond the help of stripped handkerchiefs and mesqult splints. He followed her around the tent her prattle falling from his grim mood. He was not thinking of her flowers except as a mocking parallel. The desert storm had made a havoc of his garden a sorry botch of his life. He and Innes had been trying to make a gar den out of a desert ; the desert had flouted them. It was not his fault. Something had happened; something quite beyond his power. Luck was turning against him. Innes, why, she was playing as with a toy. It was the natural instinct of a woman to moke, things pretty around her. But he had sacrificed his youth, his chances. His domestic life, too he should never have carried a dainty little woman like Gerty into the des ert. He had never reproached her for leaving him, even last time when he thought it was for good. The word burned his wound. Whose good? His or Gerty's? Somehow, though they wrangled, he always knew it would turn out all right ; life would run smoothly when they left the desert. But things ' were getting worse; his mouth puckered over some recollec tions. Yet he loved Gerty ; he couldn't picture life without her. He decided that it was because there had njver been anyone else. Most fellows had had sweethearts before they married; he had not, nor a mistress when she left him, though God knows, It would have been easy enough. His mouth fell Into sardonic lines. Those half- breed women! No one, even when a divorce had hune over him. Oh. he knew what their friends made of each of Gerty's lengthened flights ; he knew I But that had been spared him, that vulgar grisly spectacle of modern life when two people who have been lovers drag the carcass of their love over the grimy floor of a curious gaping court. He shuddered. Gerty loved him. Else, why had she' come back to him? Why had she nob kept her threat when he refused to abandon his desert project and turn his abilities Into a more profitable dedication? He could see her face as she stared flushing up Into his that nipping cold day when he had run Into her on Broadway. He remem bered her coquetry when she suggest ed that there was plenty of room in her apartment ! His wife I She spoke of seeing his pictures In the papers. "He had grown to be a great man !" That piquant meeting, the week fol lowing had been the brightest of hla life. He was sure then that Gerty loved him; The wrangles were only their different ways of looking at things. Of course, they loved each other. But Gerty couldn't stand pio neer life. She had loved him, or she would not so easily have been per suaded to try It over again. She yearned to make him comfortable, she said. So she had gone back, and pulled down his ramada, and put his clothas In the lowest bureau drawer I "It wasn't either of our faults," he ruminated. "It was the fault of the In stitution. Marriage Itself Is a failure. Look at the papers, the divorce courts. A man's Interests are no longer his wife's. Curious that It should be so. But It's a fact. It is the modern dis content. Women want different careers from their husbands'." Yet, how could he help throwing his life Into his work? He had committed himself; It was an obligation. If it were not for that Indefinable some thing, his allegiance to the cause which mocked at reasons and definitions; oh, he knew! he had tilted with Gerty and been worsted! he would have re signed from his company, his company which had dishonored him. Why should he stay to get more stabs, more wounds? And the last blow, this pet of Marshall's! Hanlin gave a scant ling in his path a vicious kick. The girl's prattle had died. She walked with him silently. At the door of her tent she stopped, looking at him wistfully. She wished he could hide his hurt If he had only some of Innes pride I "now are things?" She used ttietr fond little formula. "Oh, rotten!" growled Hardin, fling ing away. The gate slammed behind him. CHAPTER VIII. I Under the Veneer. An hour later Inncs, blinking from FEB RUARY 22, 1919. thH'sonr'SteppTa Tutemie. Tenrr'wlncTl had been partitioned with rough red wood boards into a bed chamber on the right, a combination dining room and "parlor" on the left. Her glance immediately segregated the three stalks of pink geraniums in the center of the Mexican drawn-work cloth that covered the table. Gerty, herself. In a fresh pink gingham frock, was dancing around the table to the tune of forks and spoons. It was Just like Gerty to dress np to her setting, even though It were only a pitiful water-starved bou quet She had often tried to analyze her sister-in-law's hold on her brother; .certainly they were not happy. Was It because she made him comfortable? Was It the little air of formality, or mystery, which she drew around her? Her rooms when Innes was allowed to enter them were always flawless; Gerty took deep pride In her house keeping. Why was It Innes wondered, that she could never shake off her sus picion of an underlying untidiness? There was always a closed door oa Gerty's processes. "May I help?" The sun was aUU yellowing the room to her. "Hello!" Hardin looked tip front the couch where he was lying. Innes suspected It of being a frequent re treat She had found it tumbled once when she ran over early. It was then that Gerty made it understood that she liked more formality. Innes was rare ly in that tent except for meals now, or during her alternating week of house chores. ' "I was afraid I was late," said tha girl. "Lunch will be ready In a few min utes," announced Gerty Hardin. "Won't you sit down? There's the new Jour nal. Sam came to clean this morning, and I couldn't get to the lunch until an hour ago." Innes, settling herself by the reading table, caught herself observing that It would not have taken her an hour to get a cold lunch. Still, It would never look so Inviting! If Gerty's domestic machinery was complicated and pri vate, the results always were admir able. The early tomatoes were peeled as well as sliced, and were lying on a bed of cracked Ice. The ripe black olives were resting In a lake of Cali fornia olive oil. A bowl of crisp let tuce had been Iced and carefully dried. The bread was cut in precise triangles ; the butter had been shaved Into foreign-looking roses. A pitcher of the valley's, favorite beverage, iced tea, stood by Hardin's plate. There was a platter of cold meats. It came home to Innes for the hun dredth time, the surprise of such a meal In that desert. A few years ago, and what had a meal been? She threw the credit of the little lunch to sulky Tom Hurdln lying on the portiere-covered couch, his ugly lower Hp out thrust against an unsmiling vision. It wns Tom, Tom and his brave men, the sturdy engineers, the dauntless sur veyors, the Indians who had dug the canals, those were the ones who had spread that pretty table, not the buxom little woman, darting about In pink gingham. "Is it because I don't like her?" she mused, her eyes on the pictures In the style book which had just come In that morning. Certainly Gerty did have the patience of a saint with Tom's hu mors. If she would only lose that set look of martyrdom I It was not for an outsider to Judge between a husband and wife, even If the man were her own brother. She could not put her finger on the germ of their painful Nothing Had Been Forgotten. scenes; she shrank from the recollec tion of Tom's temper; his coarse streak, the Glngg fiber, her own mother called It Tom was rough, but she loved him. Why was It she wns sure that Gerty did not love her husband? Yet there wns the distrust as fixed and as unjust perhaps as the suspicion of Gerty's little mysteries. She said aloud: "This Is your last day. My week begins tomorrow." Mrs. Hardin adjusted a precise nap kin before she spoke. "1 think I will keep the reins for a month this time," Her words were re-1 fiecttve, as though the thought were new. "I get my hand in just as I stop. I will be running out for my visit in a few weeks. It will be only fair for me to do it as long as I can." Again the girl had a sense of subtle ty. Whenever Gerty put on that air of childish confidential deliberation, she hunted for the plot. This was not far to seek. Her sister-in-law was passing out the hot season to her. "It's all ready." Gerty's glance was Winging, birdlike, overthe table. Notb.- , 013 'Su'S "5etn TorgblTenT She "gave a little sigh of elastic satisfaction. Har din misinterpreted It "I ought to be able to keep a serv ant for her." It was like him to have forgotten the Lawrence days ; he was uever.free of the sense of obligation to the dainty little woman who was born, he felt, for the purple. There was nothing too good for Gerty. He felt her' unspoken disappointments; her fleprlvatlons. "Of course, she can have no respect for me. I'm a failure." "Doesn't this give ton an appetite V demanded Innes heartily. "And Tm to be a lady for three more weeks." The remark was thoughtless. A bright flush spread over Gerty's face. She caught an allusion to her-origin. Innes saw the blush and remem bered the boarding house. She could think of nothing to say. The three relatives sat down to that most uncom fortable travesty, a social meal where sociability is lacking. Innes said It had been a pleasant morning. Gerty thought It had been hot And then there was silence again. Innes began to tell them of her Tuc son visit when Gerty laid down her fork. "I've meant to ask you a hun dred times. Did you attend to my commission In Los Angeles?" "I forgot to tell you; I raked the town, really I did, Gerty." For there was a cloud on G.rty's pretty brow. "I could have got you the other kind, but you said you did not want It" "I should think not." The childish chin was lifted. "Those complicated things are always getting out of order. Besides, if I had an adjustable form, everybody'd be borrowing It." "What are you talking about?" de manded Tom, waking up. "Who'd bor row your what, Gert?" "Please don't call me Gert, Tom," besought his wife plaintively. "A fig ure. I wanted Innes to try to get one for me In Los Angeles." "I did try," began Innes. "Yours is good enough for anyone. Why- should you get another?" He was openly admiring the ample bust swelling under the pink gingham. "Don't, Tom." Innes tried to explain the sincerity of her search. She had visited every store "which might be suspected of having a figure." She could not bring a smile to her sister's face. "There was none your size. They offered to order one from Chicago. They have to be made to order,, If they are special sizes. - You are not stock size, did you know that?" "I should think not," cried Gerty, bridling. "My waist Is absurdly small for the size of my hips and shoulders." Innes wondered if It would be safe to agree with her. . "When will it be here?" "You'll be disappointed." Innes found herself stammering. "But not for six weeks. I did not know whether to order It or not." ; "And I In Los Angeles with my sum mer sewing all done 1 What good will It do me then?" The pretty eyes looked ready for childish tears. "I know. That Is, I didn't know what to do," apologized Innes Hardin. "I decided to order It as I'd found the place, and was right there, but I made sure that I could countermand the or der by telegram. So I can this very afternoon. I knew you would be dis appointed. I was sorry." "I'll need It next winter," admitted Gerty, helping herself to some of the chilled tomatoes. "I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. I hope It did not put you to much trouble." The words raised the wall of for mality again.. Innes bent over her plate. "What made you change your plans?" suddenly demanded his wife of Hardin. "When Sam came In with your bag, he surprised me so." "My boss kept me." Hardin's face looked coarse, roughened by his ugly passion. "Rickard, your old friend. He served a subpoena on me at the station." "Oh," cried Gerty. "Surely, lie did not do thnt Tom !" "Sure he did." Hardin's face was black with his evil mood. "I'm only an underling, a disgraced underling. He's my boss. He's going to make me re member it" "You mustn't say such things," pout ed his wife, "If it does not hurt you, If you do not care, think how I must feel" "Oh, rot!" exclaimed Hardin. The veneer was rubbed down to the rough wood. Innes saw the coarseness her mother had complained of, the Glngg fiber. "I suppose you think I like to tnke orders, to jump at the snap of the whip?" He was deliberately beating up his anger Into a froth. "Oh, sure, I do. That's a Hardin, through and through." Again the angry blood flooded his wife's cheeks. He, too, was throwing the boarding house at her. "You did it yourself." Gerty with difficulty was .withholding the angry tears. "I told you how It would be. You would do it" "Oh, hell I" cried Tom, pushing back his plate. His sister looked drearily out the wire-screened door. Her view was a dusty street Hardin got up, scraping his chair over the board floor. "And to keep it from me," persisted the wife. "To let me ask him to din ner " "Docs that dismal farce have to go on?" demanded Hardin, turning back to the table. "You'll have to have It without me, then. I'll not stay and make n fool of myself. Ask him to dinner. Me ! I'll see myself." Innes wished she was in the neigh boring tent Tom was lashing himself into a coarse fury. To her dismay, Gerty burst Into tears. It was killing her, the disgrace, she cried. She couldn't endure It She coiililuT stand"ir rhere; she Bail noT the eonrnire to CO to Los Angeles. where her friends would pity her. It was crushing her. She was not a nur rtin? shp was sensitive: she could not justify everything n Hardin did as risht, no matter what the consequences. The pretty eyes obscured, she rushed, s streaming Niobe, from the room. The brother and sister avoided each other's eyes. Innes rose and cleared the table of the dishes. She made a loud noise with the running water la the shed, racketing the pans to drown the Insistence of Gerty's sobbing. She kept listening for Tom's step. She wanted to go with him when he left; he must not reach the office In the blackness of that mood. Sbe wished he would not betray his feel ings ; yet she knew It was not he who was to blame. When she heard the screen door slam, she flashed out the back way. "Going?" she called after him. "Walt for me." She dashed Into her tent for her hat. She had to run to catch npr with him. CHAPTER IX. ' The Rivals. From the window of the adobe office building of the company, Hardin saw Rickard Junfp from the rear platform of the train as It slowed Into the sta tion. He noticed that the new mana ger carried no bag. "Wonder what he's decided to do about the headgate. He didn't waste much time out there." Hardin was. fidgeting in his seat, his eyes on the approaching figure. Rlckard passed through the room, nodding to his office force. The door of - the inner office shut behind him. Hardin stared at the blank surface. He moved restlessly In his swivel chair. Did the fellow think a big thing like that could hang on while he unpacked his trunks and settled his bureau draw ers? He picked up a pencil, jabbing at the paper of his report. He covered the sheet with figures three hundred six hundred. Six hundred feet Whose fault that the Intake had widened, doubling Its width, trebling Its problem? Whose but Marshall's, who had sent down one of his office clerks to see what Hardin was doing? Wouldn't any man In his senses know that the way Maltland would distin guish himself would be by discrediting Hardin, by throwing bouquets to Mar shall; praising his plan? They all go nt it the same sickening way ! Office clerks, bah! Sure, Maltland had ad vised against the completion of the gate. Said It would cost more In time and money than Hardin's estimates. "Thanks to Maltland it did," growled Hardin, scrawling figures over the page. "By the time Maltland finished monkeying with that toy dam of his the river had widened tho break from three hundred to six hundred feet. For that, they throw muu at me. Oh, it makes me sick." Hardin flung his broken pencil out of the window. Rlckard re-entered the room. The question leaped from Hardin. "The headgate are you going on with It?" Rlckard looked curiously at the flushed antagonistic face of tho man "Are You Going On With It?" . he had supplanted. The ' thought crossed his mind that perhaps Hardlr had taken to drinking. 'It made ms answer curt - 1 "I don't know." ; "You don't know!" "I have no report to make, Mr. Har din, until I see the gate." "And you went to the Crossing with out going down to the headgate?" Har din did not try to conceal his disgust. "I did not go to the Crossing." "Didn't go !" Hardin's mouth was agape. Then he rudely swiveled' his chair. The door slammed behind Rick ard. Hadn't been to the Crossing? Then where in Hades did he go? He halted MacLean who wns passing him. "Are you going to the Crossing to morrow?" Hardin knew he should be too proud to betray his eagerness,, but the words ran away with him. "Not tomorrow.' Mr. Rickard Just told me he might not be able to get oft until next week." Hardin's anger sputtered. "Next week. Why does he rush so? Why doesn't he go next year? The Colo rado's so gentle, it'd wait for him, Tni sure. Next week ! It's a put-up Job, that's what It is. Oh, I can see through a fence with a knothole ns big as your head. He doesn't wont to finish the headgate. He wants to put off going until It's too late to go on with it; I know him. He'd risk the whole thing, and all the money the O. P. has chucked Into it, Just to start with a clean slate; to get the glory of stop ping the river himself. It turns my stomach; It's a plot." The lower lip (Continued next Saturday)