Part 4 (2/2)
”It has a good appropriation from the Pinas River here.”
”Ah, but it can't be used,” Menocal exclaimed, with a bland smile.
”I propose to use it.”
”What!”
Bryant kept his eyes fixed on the amazed banker's...o...b...
”Didn't I speak clearly?” he inquired. ”I own one hundred and twenty-five second feet of water in this river and it's my intention to apply it. I'm going to make a real ranch down there.”
A shadow seemed to settle on Menocal's face, leaving it altered, less placid, more purposeful.
”Considerable capital will be required to build a ca.n.a.l there,” he remarked. ”You're certainly not going into this thing on your own account, are you? Who is putting up the money? Eastern people?”
Bryant smiled, but made no answer. His smile and his silence provoked an angry gleam from the banker's eyes.
”Well, it doesn't matter,” Menocal continued. ”But you're going to discover that you haven't this water right, after all.”
”What makes you think so?”
”Because it was never used, because no real ca.n.a.l was ever built, only a little ditch that doesn't exist now. The right will be cancelled, and the water will be reappropriated for lands along the river.”
”For farms on which you're now using it, you mean?”
”I'm not saying where.”
Bryant leaned forward and tapped the banker's desk with a finger-tip.
”Mr. Menocal, don't try to start any trouble with me,” he said, with jaw a little outthrust.
”_Dios!_ You dare talk that way to me?”
”I repeat it, don't attempt to keep something that doesn't belong to you. You may want to--but don't try it. I know all about the water appropriation for the ranch I've bought; all about your sworn affidavit filed thirty years ago, with an accompanying map, certifying that a ca.n.a.l was built and water delivered to the land. It's a matter of record. Now you seek to reappropriate this water, or to have the right cancelled, and see where you wind up. Thirty years ago men winked at false affidavits, but it's different to-day.”
The Mexican's white moustache drew up tight under his thick nose, disclosing his teeth in a snarl.
”You threaten me--me!”
”I'm not threatening, only warning you. Or if you wish a still milder word, let me say advising,” Bryant rejoined.
The banker's eyes, however, continued to flash at the engineer, as if alive in their sockets and hunting a mark to strike.
”You accuse me of dishonour!” he exclaimed. ”I don't know why I should pay attention to your charge, which is false. A ditch was built to the ranch--”
”Mighty small one, then. No trace of it remains.”
”One was built, one was built!”
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