Part 23 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIII
Casey Dunne crossed from the Coldstream Supply Company's store--which was also the post office--to Bob s.h.i.+ller's hotel. His pockets bulged with mail, for it was his first visit to town since the destruction of the dam a week before, and there was an acc.u.mulation of letters, newspapers, and periodicals. Ever since then he had been irrigating, throwing upon his thirsty fields every drop of water he could get.
As he came upon the veranda, he saw s.h.i.+ller in conversation with a stranger.
”Oh, Casey,” said s.h.i.+ller, ”I want you to shake hands with Mr. Gla.s.s.
Mr. Gla.s.s--Mr. Dunne. Mr. Gla.s.s,” the genial Bob went on, ”has some notion of locating here if he can get a place to suit him. He likes the land, and he likes the climate; but the recent--the events--er--the way things shape at present has a _leetle_ undecided him. Anything Mr.
Dunne tells you, Mr. Gla.s.s, will be straight. He has land to burn, and one of our best ranches. Yes. I'll just leave you to talk it over together.” And so saying, he executed a masterly retreat.
Gla.s.s was a mild, colourless, middle-aged man, attired in worn hand-me-down garments. His blue eyes, clear and direct enough, seemed to hold a little of the pathetic apprehension and appeal of a lost puppy. He hesitated when he spoke, repeatedly qualifying his statements. His was the awkwardness of the man who, having spent his life in familiar surroundings in some small community, suddenly finds himself in new places among strangers. And, lacking adaptability, is constrained and ill at ease.
”You see, Mr. Dunne, it's this way with me,” he began. And, appearing to remember something suddenly, he asked: ”Hadn't we better have a drink?”
”Not unless you need it in your business,” said Casey. ”Sit down and smoke a cigar with me and tell me your trouble.”
”Well, I'd just as soon,” said Gla.s.s, plainly relieved. ”I don't drink much myself. My wife don't like it. It's a bad example for the children. But I thought that out here, maybe from what I'd heard----”
”Current Western fiction!” Casey laughed. ”No, we don't drink every time we shake hands. Couldn't stand it. Well, what can I do for you?”
And thereupon Mr. Gla.s.s unbosomed himself ramblingly, with much detail, which included a sketch of his life and family history. Casey saw that s.h.i.+ller had unloaded a bore on him.
Gla.s.s, it appeared, hailed from Maine, from the vicinity of one of the ”obscots” or ”coggins.” He had followed various callings--carpenter, market gardener, and grocer--with indifferent success; but he had succeeded in acc.u.mulating a few thousand dollars. His eldest girl was not well. Consumption ran in her mother's family. The doctor had ordered a dryer climate, a higher alt.i.tude. For some years Gla.s.s had been thinking of migrating westward; but he had stuck in the narrow groove, lacking the initiative to pull up stakes and see for himself the land in which others had prospered. This sickness had decided him--and here he was.
He liked the climate, which he was sure would be just the thing for his daughter; and he liked the land. But here was the point--and it was the point which was worrying Sleeman grayheaded. There was trouble between the ranchers and the land company. Not that it was for him to say who was right or wrong. But there _was_ trouble. Now, he was a man of small means, and he was forced to put all his eggs in one basket. Which was to say, that if he bought land, and subsequently was unable to get water for it, he would be ruined. Also he had heard that the ranchers were unfriendly to those who bought land from the company.
”And I'm a man that has kept out of trouble all my life, Mr. Dunne,” he concluded plaintively. ”I'm on good terms with everybody at home, and I wouldn't want, right at the start-off, as you might say, to have anybody think I was trying to take water away from him. And yet I like the country. I thought maybe you could advise me what to do. It seems like a lot of gall asking you, too; you having land for sale and me thinking of buying the company's. But, then, I saw their advertising.
It was only right I should go to them, wasn't it?”
”Of course,” said Casey. ”I haven't any land for sale now. I'm holding what I have. But as to advising you, it's a difficult thing. Here's the situation: The amount of the total water supply is limited. The railway claims the right to take it all, if it likes. We claim enough to irrigate our properties. Right there we lock horns. There is a lawsuit just starting; but the Lord only knows which way it will be settled, or when. And now you know as much about it as I do.”
”It don't look good,” said Gla.s.s, shaking his head. ”No, sir, it don't look good to me. And here's another thing. They tell me that there was trouble out here a ways the other night. I mean with the company's dam.
Of course, I don't know anything about it myself; it's just what I've heard. I hope you don't mind me speakin' of it.”
”Not in the least. Well, what about it, Mr. Gla.s.s?”
”It was a turrible risky thing to do--to blow up a dam,” said Gla.s.s.
”It'd be against the law, wouldn't it? Of course, I don't say it was.
It might not be. I don't claim to know, and likely whoever done it had reasons. All the same, I wouldn't choose to be mixed up in doin's like that.”
”Good thing to keep out of,” Casey agreed.
”I wouldn't want anything of mine to be blown up.”
”But who would blow up anything of yours?”
”I don't say anybody'd do it, of course,” Gla.s.s protested hastily.
”Only, you see, men that'd blow up a dam are--I mean, if I bought land off of the company and started in to use water and farm, they might blame me. I wouldn't want to get my neighbours down on me, Mr. Dunne.”