Under Handicap Page 27

  CHAPTER XXVII

  "Who was it?"

  It was Mr. Crawford's voice, calm, expressionless. Conniston and Argylswung about, the horror of the thing which they had seen stillwidening their eyes, and saw Mr. Crawford, Jimmie Kent, and a man whomConniston took to be Colton Gray.

  "Hapgood," he answered, his eyes going back to the tumult of watersweeping away the hopes of many men.

  Mr. Crawford stepped forward and put his hand on Conniston's arm.

  "We lose, my boy." His voice was as steady as it had been before, butConniston saw that his lips quivered despite the iron will set to keepthem steady. "And it could not be helped. And Conniston, my boy, myson," his tones ringing out so that all there could hear, "I am proudof you, and proud that I may call you my son!"

  "Greek! Poor Greek!" Argyl was clinging to him, everything lost to herbut a great pity for him. "Is it to be only defeat, after all?"

  "Defeat!"

  He whirled about, his clenched fist raised high above his head, hisbody rigid, his haggard face dead white. "Defeat!" He laughed, andArgyl shivered at the strange tone in his laughter. "Defeat!" he crieda third time. "We have five days!"

  He was upon a boulder, standing where all men might see him, mighthear him. And his voice as it rang out through the roar of the leapingwater was sharp, clear, decisive, confident.

  "Here you, Lark! Rush fifty men with crowbars to the Jaws! Make therest of your men hitch up to their plows and scrapers and rush them tothe Jaws as fast as their horses can run! Send me five good men.Pete," as Lonesome Pete's red head surged forward through the crowd ofworking-men, "come here!"

  Pete came, and came running.

  "Get on your horse. Kill him getting to Miss Argyl's Dam. Open thegates there and turn the water into the canal. And for God's sakehurry!"

  And Lonesome Pete, with one wild yell of understanding, fled. The Larkhad swung about, calling upon his men by name, and as he called fiftybig, quick-eyed men leaped forward to fall quickly into the sectionsbossed by the men whose names the Lark was shouting. The dirt andstones had not ceased rolling and rattling down the rocky walls of thecanon when fifty men with picks and crowbars were rushing along itsbanks to the Jaws. And as Greek Conniston hurled his orders at theLark and the Lark snatched them up, shouting to the men about him,horses were hitched to plows and scrapers and driven, galloping, tothe Jaws.

  The five men for whom Conniston had called and whom the Lark hadselected came to him quickly.

  "Get into Mr. Crawford's buckboard," he called, sharply, to two ofthem. "Drive to Dam Number Two and open the gates there, turning everybit of water you can into the canal! You three men get saddle-horses.You," to one of them, "rush to Crawfordsville and telephone to TommyGarton. Tell him what has happened. Tell him to send me two hundredmen on the run. _On the run_, do you hear? Tell him to tie BillWallace up and put two men to watch out for him. Now go! And you twofellows get your horses saddled and bring them here and wait fororders."

  He got down from the boulder, and as he did so Mr. Crawford came tohis side.

  "Do you mean, Greek," he said, anxiously, "that there is a chanceyet?"

  "A chance? Yes! There is more than a chance! We are going to make a goof it. Listen: Truxton put in his foundations here, and I went aheadwith the superstructure for the simple reason that here is a perfectdam-site, here are solid rock walls and creek-bed that would hold anyconcrete structure in the world. And up there at the Jaws you have tocontend with shale, full of seams, in places lined with clay. Andright there I am going to make a rock-filled dam, and make it fast!It's going to be a temporary job and a makeshift, but it's going tosling the water into a flume that will carry it back into the old cutand down into the Valley. And it will do until Mr. Colton Gray and hispeople are satisfied."

  The man who had accompanied Mr. Crawford and Jimmie Kent fromCrawfordsville came forward and put out his hand.

  "Mr. Conniston," he said, quickly, "I am Colton Gray. And I am alreadysatisfied. If my influence is worth anything the P. C. & W. is goingto stand by its old contract. And I believe that when I tell the P. C.& W. what I know they will complete what you have done and inform Mr.Oliver Swinnerton that they can have no further dealings whateverwith a criminal of his type."

  Conniston shook hands with him warmly.

  "Thank you. But you are going to have no points to strain. We aregoing to have water, plenty of water, in Rattlesnake Valley before thefirst day of October."

  Conniston left them and ran to join his men at the Jaws. Never had heheard of a dam to match the one he saw growing under his eyes. Therewas no time for scientific perfection of work; here and now was only acrying need for an obstruction, any kind of an obstruction which wouldwithstand the great and growing pressure of water, which would driveit up to the banks, which would turn it into the flume which was beingmade for it even as the dam grew. Trees were lopped down, great, tallpines, their branches shorn off with flashing ax-blades, the trunkscut into logs upon which many men laid hold.

  In the bed of the creek between the Jaws the logs were laid as onelays logs to build him a log house. Sand and gravel and rock wentrattling and hissing into the log-surrounded spaces, piled high andhigher, with the water backing angrily up against it. Boulders wererolled down from the mountain-side, hurled into the bottom of thecanon by blasts of giant powder and dynamite, gripped with rapidlyadjusted log-chains, and dragged to their places by straining horses.

  Steadily the dam rose, and steadily the muddy water crept up with it.Men toiled in the bed of the stream with the foaming, coffee-coloredwater washing about their hips, seething as it climbed up to theirgreat, hairy, panting chests. With no thought of finishing thebreakfast which they had barely begun, they worked upon the bankswith sweaty, hot bodies and calm, cool minds. Stripped to theirwaists, almost naked many of them, black with dirt and running sweat,they strained and strove against the rising stream. The morning died,noon came, and Conniston had a dozen men distribute sandwiches and hotcoffee. The afternoon wore on and brought with it the men whom TommyGarton had sent.

  Then Conniston called to every man of the hundred who had toiled forhim since sunrise to drop his tools. In their places he put a hundrednew men. And again the work went on in great strides, and the strangedam rose swiftly. The other men whom Garton had sent, Brayley withthem, he put to work to begin the restoration of the broken dam, thatthe thing which the hapless Hapgood had torn down might be readyagainst the time of need after the first of October. For he could findno place for more than a hundred men working between the Jaws and uponthe banks above them.

  * * * * *

  Night had come down upon the mountain-slopes. Argyl and Conniston werestanding by a sinking camp-fire talking quietly. Lonesome Pete,returned from his errand, had gone into the grove at the edge of whichtheir fire burned for fresh fuel. There came to them through thesilence the clatter of hoofs; the vague, shadowy form of horse andrider rose against the sky-line, and Jocelyn Truxton threw herself tothe ground. Moaning hysterically, she ran to Argyl!

  "Argyl, Argyl," she cried, stopping abruptly, her two hands pressed toher breast, "I am so wretched! I don't deserve to live! I have beenso mean, so little--" She broke off into passionate weeping.

  Argyl went swiftly to her, putting her arms about the girl's shakingshoulders.

  "Jocelyn, dear," she said, softly. "Don't!"

  "I have been wicked, wicked!" Jocelyn was sobbing. "They told me whathas happened--about the dam--about Roger Hapgood!" She broke off,shuddering.

  "But," Argyl was saying, trying to soothe her, "that is not yourfault, Jocelyn."

  "Oh!" cried Jocelyn, wildly. "You don't know. It was I, I whosuggested the horrible thing to Roger Hapgood. It is I who am to blamefor everything."

  "Hush, child! You have been a naughty little girl, that is all. Youdidn't know what it was that you were doing--and you are not a bit toblame!"

  "And--and--and I have been such a little fool! I have just been avain, con
ceited little fool. And I hated you--because I knew all thetime that you were prettier than I am. And--and I was ashamed of Pete,and I made fun of him--and now he has gone away and--and I love him. Idon't care if he has got red hair and can't read! I love him--sothere!"

  Lonesome Pete, coming back with his armful of firewood, dropped it,and for a moment stood staring from one to another, his mouth wideopen. And then, forgetful of Conniston, pushing Argyl away as he cameforward, he took Jocelyn's quivering form into his arms and drew herclose to him.

  "Miss Jocelyn," he cried, suddenly, "I ain't goin' away! Don't youthink it. An' you ain't to blame for nothin' whatever! You're jest alittle girl as has made a slip or two--who in hell ain't, huh?"--withbelligerent, flashing eyes--"an' I'll dye my hair any color you say asyou like better 'n red!"

  * * * * *

  "I am going East to-morrow, Mr. Conniston." Jimmie Kent was speaking,his eyes very keen. "Before I go I'd like to make you a proposition.First, do you know what firm it is I represent? Maybe you have heardof the W. I. R.? That means the Western Improvement and ReclamationCompany. The board of directors met the other day in Denver, andagainst his protest made Mr. Crawford its first vice-president. Thecompany plans on the reclamation of many thousands of square miles ofsand and sage-brush in Colorado and Nevada. The company wants acompetent engineer to act as general superintendent of all of itsoperations. Do you want the job? Who am I to offer it to you?" Helaughed softly. "Oh, I'm just its president."

  * * * * *

  Filled to bursting with hopeful toil, the days ran by. Again it wasnight, the night before the first day of October. With the desertabout them, with the stars low flung in the wide arch of heaven, Argyland Greek Conniston stood at the edge of a deep canal which ran withwater to its level banks. And as they spoke to each other, lookingdown into the future which belongs to them, contented, confident,eager for the coming of the Great Day, a boy rode up to them upon ashaggy pony and called:

  "Mr. Conniston?"

  "Yes," Greek answered. "What is it?"

  It was a telegram. He read it by the light of the match he had sweptacross his thigh. Argyl, bending forward, read it with him. It wasfrom New York.

  "Mr. WILLIAM CONNISTON, Jr.,

  "Superintendent Crawford Reclamation,

  "Rattlesnake Valley.

  "Good boy! Congratulations. They tell me you win.

  "WM. CONNISTON, Sr."

  Conniston, the bit of yellow paper crumpled between his fingers,turned to Argyl.

  "In the only thing which counts--to the uttermost--do I win, Argyldear?"

  And Argyl, lifting her eyes to him frankly, proudly, held out herhands.

  THE END