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  CHAPTER XVI

  After a long night, during which he slept little and thought much,Conniston rose early, breakfasted at the little lunch-counter, andwithout waking Tommy Garton rode swiftly toward Truxton's camp. Hehastened, for although it was still early morning it was time for workto begin upon the ditch.

  From the top of a knoll half a mile out of camp he could look downinto the little hollow where the men and teams should be already attheir daily grind. A little frown gathered his brows as he saw insteadthat the horses were standing at their stakes in a long row, that themen were gathered together in clumps, obviously idle. And even then hehad no way to guess what new trouble had come to the Great Work.

  Shooting his spurs into his horse's panting sides, he swept down thegentle slope of the sand-hill and galloped straight toward the cook'stent. He saw that not only were the men idle, but that they gave noevidence of an intention to go to work. He saw, too, that they lookedat him as he rode among them, that they watched him curiously, thatmany of them were laughing.

  Fifty paces from the tent he came upon his two foremen--Ben theEnglishman and the Lark--talking in low tones with the two foremen whohad worked under Truxton's eye.

  "What's the matter?" he called, sharply, angrily, although he did notknow it. "Where's Truxton?"

  "Inside the tent," the Lark answered him, shortly.

  And, asking no further questions, waiting for no explanation,Conniston swung down from his horse, hurried to the tent, flung backthe flap, and entered. Only then did the truth dawn on him, and hestaggered back as though a man had struck him a stunning blow full inthe face.

  The air in the tent was reeking and foul with the fumes of cheapwhisky. At the little table Bat Truxton sat slouched forward, his facehidden in the arm he had flung out as he slipped forward. An emptyquart bottle lay on its side at his elbow. A second bottle, with aninch of the amber fluid in it, stood just beyond his clenched fist.

  Truxton made no sign, did not so much as stir, as Conniston droppedthe flap of canvas and stood over him. His breath came heavily,saturated with whisky. Conniston laid a rude hand upon the slackshoulder, shaking it roughly. Still Truxton did not lift his head, didnot even mutter as a drunken man is apt to do in his stupor. With thefull purport of this thing upon him, Conniston was driven to a fury ofrage. He jerked Truxton's head back and slapped him across the faceuntil his fingers tingled. Now Truxton's eyes opened, red-rimmed,bloodshot, fixed in a vacant, idiotic stare. And before Connistoncould speak the eyes were closed again, the head had sunk forward uponthe table.

  "My God!" cried Conniston, feeling now only a great despair upon him,seeing only the death to all hopes of success for the reclamationproject with Truxton lost to it. He started to leave the tent, andsuddenly swung about again, grasping Truxton's two shoulders in hishands.

  "It ain't no go, pardner. He's very--hic--drunk!"

  He had not seen the other man, had seen little enough but thesprawling, inert figure. It was the camp cook. And as Conniston turnedupon him he saw that this man's face was flushed, that he was littlebetter than Truxton. And if he needed further indication of the reasonfor the cook's plight it was not far to seek. The man held in his lefthand, thrust clumsily behind him, a third bottle, half empty.

  "You, too!" shouted Conniston. "Drop that bottle, and drop it quick!"

  The cook, with a drunken assumption of dignity, tried to straightenup, grasping his bottle the more firmly.

  "Who're you?" he leered. "G'wan; chase yourself. I ain't throwin'away--"

  He did not finish. Conniston stepped forward quickly and jerked thebottle out of the cook's hand, hurling it against the stove, where itbroke into a score of pieces. The bottle upon the table he treated insimilar fashion.

  "Now," he said, sternly, "you get to work and get something cooked forthe men. Haven't even a fire, have you?" He stepped close to the cookagain, thrusting his face close up to the other's. He did not know hisown voice, which had gone suddenly hoarse and low, as he went on: "Youhave a fire going in two minutes. Where are your helpers? And you havebreakfast on the tables in half an hour, or I give you my word I'llcome back here and beat you half to death!"

  He turned and went out with no single look behind him, glad to be outin the open, thankful for the fresh air, which he drew deep down intohis stifling lungs. And, realizing only that nothing could be donewith Truxton for the present and that he himself was next in command,he hastened to where the four foremen were standing, grinning at him.

  "Get your men busy," he snapped at them. "Ben, send some men up to thetent to help get something to eat. Let them put on anything. If thecook doesn't get coffee ready in fifteen minutes let me know. All ofyou have your men hook up their teams. They can do that whilebreakfast is getting ready. And hurry!"

  The men looked at him curiously, then at one another. Ben was thefirst to move.

  "Aye, aye, sir," he said, with a grin, lifting his hand from his hipto his forelock, and dropping it to his hip again as he walked away.The others followed.

  "Hold on!" cried Conniston, suddenly, before they had gone ten paces."Do all of the men know about this?"

  The men laughed. "They ain't blind," explained one of them.

  "And do they know--does any one of you know--where he got the whisky?"

  They shrugged their shoulders. Only the Lark answered.

  "I know, pal," he said, slowly. "I seen it."

  "All right. You wait a minute. I want to talk with you. You otherfellows get busy."

  The little San-Franciscan dropped back and waited. Conniston came upwith him and demanded shortly:

  "Tell me about it."

  "It was last night, 'bo, about 'leven o'clock, I guess. It was suresome dark, too, take it from me. I woke up thirsty as a water-frontbum, an' beat it for the water-barrel. Comin' back, I come past thetent. Bat was in there figgerin' when I went to the wagon. When I comeback he was talkin' to another guy. I stops an' listens, just for fun,you know. The other guy I hadn't never saw. An' he said as how Mr.Crawford had sent him out to ask how everything was runnin'. Purtysoon he puts a bottle on the table an' says, 'Have one?' Bat says'No,' but you could see with one eye shut an' in the dark o' the moonas he wanted it worse 'n I'd wanted the water I walked clean over tothe barrel to git. The stranger has one, an' fills a glass an' shovesit under Bat's nose. An' if any longshoreman I ever seen had saw theway ol' Bat put that red-eye under his vest he'd 'a' died withjealousy. I knowed as how there wouldn't be nothin' in it for me, so Iwent an' got another drink of water an' hit the rag-pile. That whatyou wanted to know, 'bo?"

  "Who was the man?" Conniston insisted. "What did he look like?"

  "That's dead easy. I'm sure the gumshoe when it comes to pipin' a manoff so's I got his photograph in my eye. He was a little cuss an'dressed to kill, with gloves on, an' all that. He was skinny an' palean' weak-eyed-lookin'."

  "That will do!" cut in Conniston, brusquely. "And now get your mengoing. We've got a day's work ahead of us."

  A little more than fifteen minutes later Conniston himself pounded oneof the cook's pans as a summons to breakfast. The cook, surly,glowering as he moved, set forth the big pots of coffee.

  Less than half an hour after he had ridden into the idle campConniston saw the two hundred men resume their work of yesterday asthough nothing unusual had happened, saw the teams string out in thefour sections of the ditch where Truxton had left off, watched thelong lines of scrapers and plows cutting into the soft soil, scoopingit out and piling it upon the banks of the canal.

  He climbed to a little knoll from which he could glance over thembefore and behind the ditch-cutters. Yonder, toward Valley City,Truxton's two foremen were directing their men with the samequick-eyed, steady competence which they had manifested under the eyeof the older engineer. From them he turned to the men working underBen and the Lark. There, too, was machine-like regularity; there, too,each man, each straining animal was in its place, putting forth itsutmost of capability.

  There came to the
man who watched an irritating sense of his ownuselessness: the work was going forward with great, swinging, rhythmiceffectiveness. This thing had leaped out upon him unawares, and he washalf afraid of the responsibility which had fastened itself upon hisshoulders. For, after all, Greek Conniston had not yet entirely foundhimself, was not sure of himself.

  Brow drawn and anxious, watchful, deeply thoughtful, Conniston did notsee Mr. Crawford until the buckboard driven by Half-breed Joe hadstopped close behind him. He wheeled about, startled at Mr. Crawford'svoice.

  "Good morning, Conniston. How's the work going?"

  "All right, I hope." He came to the buckboard and, resting his handupon the wheel, looked up into the face of the man who was to learn ofanother savage blow dealt to the hopes of his project.

  "Where is Truxton?" Mr. Crawford was standing up in the wagon, lookingas Conniston had looked at the sweep of work being done.

  "He--" Conniston hesitated. "He's in the tent."

  Mr. Crawford turned suddenly upon him, his eyes narrowing.

  "What's the matter?" he demanded, hurriedly.

  Conniston shook his head slowly, turning his eyes away from the facewhich a glance had shown him was drawn with quick anxiety.

  "Drive to the tent, Joe!" commanded Mr. Crawford, his voice verystern.

  Conniston watched them as their horses leaped forward in the slacktraces, saw Mr. Crawford jump down, enter the tent, saw him come outagain and spring back into the buckboard.

  "Now, Joe," as he got down beside Conniston, "you can unhook yourhorses. I am going to be here this morning."

  Joe drove away to where the camp horses had been picketed. And Mr.Crawford turned to Conniston.

  "This is going to make it hard, Conniston," he said, slowly, his faceand voice alike very grave. "It is the one thing which I had hopedwould not happen. But we've got to make the most of it." He pausedsuddenly, and his keen eyes ran thoughtfully from one to another ofthe four gangs of men. "They're working all right," he ended, his eyescoming back to Conniston's.

  "Yes. They're good men. The four foremen are as capable as a man couldask for."

  "Were they working this way when you got here?"

  "No. They were waiting for orders."

  Mr. Crawford nodded, making no reply.

  "I don't know," Conniston offered after a moment, "that there is anyimmediate call for worry. I think that I can handle them until Truxtongets around--"

  "Truxton won't get around!"

  "You mean--"

  "That the moment he is sober enough to know anything he will know thathe is discharged!"

  "But we can't get along without him. He is the one man--"

  "We shall have to get along without him. I have told him that if hetouched whisky again on this job he could go."

  "But would it not be better to wait a few days--to give him a chanceto sober up?"

  "Conniston, I have never found it necessary to break my word. I amthrough with Truxton. And if my last hope of success goes with him hemust go just the same. I am sorry for the man--the poor fellow can'thelp these periodic drunks of his. But I am through with him."

  Conniston frowned into the eyes which were fixed intently upon him.

  "You know best. I am ready to do what I can to help out. I think I canpromise you to keep the work going until you can get a man to take hisplace."

  Mr. Crawford bent a long, searching regard upon him. And when he spokeit was slowly, sternly.

  "What am I paying you, Conniston?"

  "Forty-five dollars a month."

  "All right. I'll give you seventy-five dollars a week to take BatTruxton's place for me--not for a few days, but until the first dayof October. Will you do it?"

  A hot flush spread over Conniston's face, and surged away, leaving itwhite.

  "Do you think that I can do it?"

  "I am not the one to think. You are. You know what the work is, whatit means. Can you do it?"

  And Conniston stared long out across the wide sweep of the desert, hislips set hard in white, bloodless lines, before he answered, briefly:

  "Yes."

  "It's a big job, Conniston, and, frankly, I wouldn't put it into yourhands if I had a man I thought better qualified to carry it on. A bigjob! I wonder if you know how big? You will hold the whole fate ofthis country in the palm of your hand, to make or to mar. You willhold in the palm of your hand my whole life-work. For if you succeed Isucceed. And if you fail, all hope of reclamation here dies,still-born, and I am a ruined man. Understand what you are to do? Icannot even stay here to help you. I will leave to-night for Denver. Ican't send another man in my place. Would to God that I could! I mustgo myself; I must raise money--fifty thousand dollars at the verylowest figure. And when I come back I shall bring the money with me,and I shall bring at least five hundred more men. And you will have tooversee the work of seven hundred men then; you will have to drivethis ditch night and day; you will have to complete two big dams. Andyou will have to do that before the first day of October. It is a bigjob, Conniston. Can you do it?"

  Conniston wet his dry lips and hesitated.

  "Mr. Crawford, it is a big job. I do not even know that the thing ispossible. I believe that it is. I do not know, I cannot know, if Ican do it. I believe that I can. If you have a better man, if inDenver or anywhere else you can find a better man, put him inTruxton's place. If you can't, if you want me to go ahead with thework, I'll do it."

  "Then that is settled. Confer often with Tommy Garton. If you needadvice while I am away, go to him. But remember that in all things itwill be up to you to make the final decision. There can be no sharingof responsibility."

  "Then," said Conniston, with quiet decision, "I want an absolute andunrestricted authority here. I want the power to take on new men, tofire old men, to raise wages, to do what I think wise and best. I wantevery man working for you to know that he is under my orders, and thatthere is no recourse from my judgment. I want to be able to call uponthe Half Moon outfit, if I find it necessary, just as you would callupon them."

  "You are asking a great deal, Conniston."

  "I am asking everything."

  "And you can have what you ask!"

  "To begin with, I shall want a man here to take my place if I find itnecessary to be away at all. I want Brayley here, and right away."

  "Brayley is the best man on the Half Moon. You can have him."

  "Thank you. There is one further thing."

  "Name it."

  "I do not draw a cent of wages until the first day of October. Then ifI have water in the valley I get it in a block. If I do not havewater--I don't touch it!"

  A curious little smile flitted across Mr. Crawford's lips.

  "You are in a position to dictate, Conniston. Let it be as you say."

  "And now, if you have no immediate orders for me, I want to get towork. I am going to shift the gang under the Lark out yonder, in frontof the others. He's the best pace-maker I've got."

  "Go ahead. I'll be here until noon."

  Unconsciously squaring his shoulders as he went, Conniston strode awaytoward the ditch.