Читать книгу Bob Hazard, Dam Builder - Carl Joachim Brandt - Страница 4

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The long trip across the continent proved to be no hardship for Bob. It was the first time he had ever gone alone on so long a journey and he could not help but feel a certain sense of liberty. He made friends with everybody on the train and many tired travelers saw the scenery through his enthusiastic eyes, finding beauty in what ordinarily would have seemed to them commonplace.

One thing only served to disturb his perfect enjoyment: This was a conviction not to be denied, that his father was hurt by his action. As he thought over their talks he knew that underneath the approval his father had given, lay a deep disappointment. That Bob would not be a lawyer was a hard blow; the knowledge that his son’s choice of an occupation in life would mean almost constant separation, must hurt the elder Hazard, who thought the world of his only son.

Bob realized these things keenly and they were painful to him, yet he could not bring himself to give up his plan to be an engineer.

“Dad made his own way, tackled the job he wanted and made good. I’ve got to do the same. Probably his father wanted him to do something quite different. I’ll ask him about that some time. Besides, if I just took up Dad’s business, it wouldn’t seem right somehow.”

But thoughts such as these occurred to him less and less as the distance between him and the East grew greater. By the time he dropped off the train at Williams, Arizona, where he changed to the day coach that would take him to the Grand Canyon, his mind was so full of the future that there was no room for the things he had left behind him.

When the jolting train stopped at the last station, the boy stepped off almost at Whiskers’ side. Dropping his suit case, he caught the hand that was stretched out to him and was happy when he saw the man’s grin of welcome.

“Good work, Bob, my boy! It’s great to see you! Have a good trip? You’ve grown since I saw you—how’re the other fellows? How’s Big Chris?”

“Fine! Fine!” answered Bob. “And it’s good to see you too. I’m awfully glad you’ve got a place for me. Is the job here at the Canyon?”

Steve Whitney shook his head. “No—but I’ll tell you all about it as we go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”

“Right you are, Whisk—I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be Mister Whitney now since you are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us kids and we took liberties.”

“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be bad for discipline if you called me by that—‘vacation’ name, let’s call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t we?”

“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget ’em.” For a moment he said nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then—“But where is the job? You said it wasn’t here.”

“No, just now there isn’t any job at all—”

“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” the engineer assured him; “there will be plenty of work. I have just finished a project in Colorado and am waiting for further orders. I told you to meet me here because I wanted you to see the greatest natural wonder we have in the United States, the Grand Canyon, and I am going to work you so hard later on that you won’t have another chance to get here before you go back to college. And I want your first sight of it to be at sunset. Then it is most wonderful.”

By this time they had reached the hotel.

“Go and wash up and come down quickly,” urged Bob’s new boss. “It’s almost sunset, and I don’t want you to miss it! I’ll wait for you here on the porch.”

Bob wasted no time and a few minutes later joined Mr. Whitney. The veranda of the hotel is built almost on the edge of the great rift in the surface of the earth. Bob started to pull up a chair to the railing where his friend was sitting but stopped as the other rose.

“I’ve got a better place than this to see it from,” said Mr. Whitney. “A lot of folks will be coming out here presently and too many people spoil the thing. Come along.”

Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a comfortable seat.

“Some class, eh, Bob?” laughed Whiskers as they settled themselves. “I found it and try to get here every night. But let’s stop talking; it’s about to begin.”

There was no need to talk; in fact, the glorious beauty of the panorama spread before him would have made it almost impossible to talk even if Bob had wanted to.

As far as the eye could reach, the great chasm extended. In it rose pinnacles, spires and mountain ranges, alternating with deep valleys and gulches. At the very bottom wound a tiny thread of silver, the Colorado River, for whose passage nature had undertaken such a gigantic task and, in its accomplishment, had created such beauty.

Bob’s first feeling was of his own littleness, his unimportance in the face of such magnitude. But this went away as the sun, dropping steadily to the opposite horizon, began to paint the scenes with magic colors.

It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different.

When at last the sun dropped below the edge of the distant hills, leaving the Canyon in deep purple shadow, Bob turned to Mr. Whitney.

“That is all I can stand now,” he said. “It is too wonderful.”

He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon.

“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!”

The man laughed. “Even the Grand Canyon can’t keep a good, healthy appetite down for long, can it? I guess supper is pretty nearly ready now. But wait a minute—here is someone I want you to know.”

Bob looked up to see a young fellow of about his own age coming towards them. He was rather tall and dark and dressed in khaki, and wore canvas leggins. It was the costume of a regular civil engineer, thought the boy from the East.

“This is Jerry King, Bob,” said Whitney. “Another member of my corps. Shake hands with Bob Hazard, Jerry. We will all be together this summer.”

The newcomer put out his hand and Bob grasped it warmly. He was prepared to like anybody and anything in this new life he had begun. After a few words they moved off in the direction of the dining room.

“What have you been up to this afternoon, Jerry?” asked the Chief, when they had found their table.

“Nothing much,” was the answer. “Fooling ’round the Canyon a little.”

“You go down into it, then?” asked Bob.

“Yes, there’s a trail but there’s nothing much down there anyway.” This from Jerry in an unenthusiastic tone.

The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between. And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every advance he made.

When supper was over the party went out on the porch of the hotel. The Chief lit his pipe and settled into a big rocking chair. “Well, Bob,” he said, “now that you are here, are you glad that you came?”

“You bet I am,” was the enthusiastic answer.

“But he hasn’t seen any work yet,” put in Jerry shortly.

“I’m not worried about that,” Bob said confidently. “I think I’ll like that too.”

“It’s not all a cinch,” said Whiskers. “The Reclamation Service is a hard taskmaster. Jerry knows. He has been with me almost a year—ever since I came back from Virginia.”

There was silence for a moment and then Bob asked quietly.

“Please, Mr. Whitney, won’t you tell me something about the Reclamation Service? Although I have read what I could, I know very little about the real spirit of it, only just figures showing what it’s done or is going to do.”

“All right, Bob, I will, but you’ll have to stop me if I begin to bore you. The Service is an enthusiasm of mine, you know.”

“I guess you know very well I won’t be bored. Go ahead.”

Steve Whitney filled his pipe and then began a description of what is perhaps the most important thing the Government has ever done for the West.

“About twelve years ago,” he said when his pipe was well lighted, “after a great deal of agitation over it, Congress passed a bill which created the thing we call the Reclamation Service. Its object was to increase the number of farms and to increase the total area of productive land. As you no doubt know, almost all the desert land in the United States would be extremely productive provided it could get a sufficient supply of one thing.”

“Water?” put in Bob.

“Yes, just that. In other parts of the country this water is provided by rainfall. But deserts are deserts only because the rainfall is slight, if there is any at all. Therefore it is necessary to build dams in the country where there is rainfall, collect the water, and send it down to the desert lands where it is needed.”

“Is that what the Service does?”

“Yes, that is our biggest job. We call it irrigation. But it isn’t always necessary to build these dams where the rainfall is heavy. If we can dam a river above the point where it begins to dry up, we can usually collect enough water during the flood season to supply a great area of dry land below it during all the months of the year.”

“And has the plan been a success?” interrupted Bob again.

“Decidedly. During 1913 the value of the crops produced on the lands we have already irrigated was nearly sixteen million dollars. If all the land had been worked which we are now able to irrigate, we would have had nearly a million and a half acres of productive land which before was only plains of alkali dust. The projects already planned and not yet completed, or in some cases not even started, will more than double the results I have just told you about. It is a great work.”

“But does the Government pay for all this?” asked Bob.

“At first it does, but the plan is that farmers who use irrigated lands must pay a water tax which will eventually repay the Government the amount of money it has invested. On some projects the farmers have entirely repaid the Government. On others it will be years before the money is finally returned.”

Bob drew a long breath. “This is work really worth while doing,” he said, his eyes shining. “It must be great to know that each new dam you complete will make thousands of acres of land green and productive. I will be glad to help.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Whiskers. “As I said before, it is good work. The reward is not all in the pay you get. It is in the achievement and the service that you render. That is all that you can look forward to in the way of payment. But I have talked too long. You must be tired after your long trip. You’d better chase off to bed.”

But Bob would not go. He kept asking Mr. Whitney questions about the details of the work and the man had to answer. He saw in the boy’s enthusiasm something of the enthusiasm he himself had felt when he had joined the Service, and which he had never lost, in spite of the disappointments and hard knocks that had come his way. Finally, however, he insisted on breaking up the conversation. But before Bob left he said to him quite earnestly and seriously, “I have told you about the Service, Bob, and I want you to think pretty carefully about it. If you once start, you will have a hard time breaking away. There are a lot of other things you can do which will bring you more money and more fame. This working for the Government, the extending of the territory of the country and increasing its value, gets into your blood and once it does you will never be fit for anything else. It is not too late to stop now if you want to. Good night, and let me know in the morning what you decide to do.”