Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DAMMING HAIRPIN CANON, 3 ‘ing only for the propagation of thorny mesquite and cactus. Guided by her feminine instinct for setting things right, Molly evolved a daring conception. She had been through the Imperial Valley of Cali- fornia and at other places where irriga- tion was in use, and had seen the re- sults accomplished by it. Why not ap- ply such a system here, she asked her- self, and change Los Chicos County from an eyesore to an Eden? She had, moreover, an actual dem- onstration to go by on her own estate; for when Dave Todd built his castle, he had put in an artesian well and the land all about was in a high state of cultivation, Fired by enthusiasm, Molly called in her ranch manager, “ Big Bill” Davis, an ex-Texan ranger who worshiped the ground she walked on, and Jaid her project before him. ““H-m!” He scratched his grizzled head dubiously. ‘“ That spells trou- ble.” ‘“* How?” she asked. “Lots of ways. For one thing, it’s going to cause fightin’.” “ Fighting?” “Sure, The only place you can get any water—’cept’n you spend a mint of money borin’ wells—is at that there bend in Hairpin Cafion, where the creek loops over to this side of the line; and that’s going to get the Bridger County folks up on theirear.”’ “Why should it? They’re making no use of the water, or even planning to use it.” “Don’t make no difference,” he re- sponded. “ The minute they hear we’re fixing to put a dam across that cafion, we'll have ’em after us like a swarm of hornets. They'll claim their rights is being invaded; and, gee, what a ruckus they'll stir up over it! “'That’s human natur’, Miss Molly, ’speshully Western human natur’. I’ve seen the same thing many a time at waterhole fights over in the Panhandle, with more blood spilt on account of it ’n’ all the water ’t ’d ever come out of the springs they was scrapping about. “"Sides,” he went on warningly, “ Bridger County ain’t all you’ve got to stack up against. You'll have your worries on this side of the line, too. There’s the sweetest little bunch of double crossers down to Rio Rita ’t you ever got tangled up with.” “The county commissioners, you mean?” said Molly. “Them same three Jesse Jameses,” Big Bill nodded. “ Ain’t no bridge, nor culvert, nor public work of no kind, but what they get their cut out of it. And the schemes they can hatch up to make graft for ’emselves! My suffer- in’ cats! “No, you take my advice, ma’am,” he urged earnestly, “and let Los Chicos County wiggle on as she is. Be- lieve me, you won’t do nothing with this business but get into a nasty mess. And if you give them crooks down at the courthouse half a chance, they’re apt to break you. Only things I ever see a public benefactor get yet is a kick in the pants.” But Molly, aflame with the zeal of the crusader, was not to be dissuaded. She took her proposition before the local authorities, and after her inter- view with the board of county commis- sioners could not but believe that Big Bill had voiced an unfounded slander against three worthy citizens. They were Mr. Fenton, the Rio Rita undertaker; Mr. Creel, the garage pro- prietor; and Mr. Thornley, a small ranchman from the northern part of the county — slow-speaking, simple- minded men who seemed to take their duties seriously, and be incapable of guile. | They listened with interest to Molly’s exposition of her idea, and after some deliberation gave it unquali- fied indorsement, promising her their hearty support and codperation. And, in fact, nothing could have gone more smoothly than the preliminary stages of inquiry and discussion. Gomichbooks (EO AA