Part 7 (2/2)
The sheriff turned for a full view of Bryant's face. In respect to features the two men were not unlike: both had the same thin curving nose and level eyes and cut of jaw.
”Well, let me say as between man and man,” the elder spoke, ”that Menocal won't let you take away that much water from him if he can help it. And I'll drop you some more news, in addition: several Mexicans are going to file on homesteads or desert claims along the base of the hills south of here, scattered along like and running part way up the mountain sides. I don't know where your ca.n.a.l to Perro Creek will go, but if its line follows the foot of the range, as may be likely, it might happen to find those claims in the way.”
”Any idea in your mind where those fellows may locate their filings?”
”No; I can't say definitely. Shouldn't be surprised if they began stringing them along a couple of miles south of here till they reached Perro Creek.”
Bryant gazed at the flank of the mountain. The gentle ridge where his ditch line left the hillside was but half a mile away. Beyond that the Mexicans could file to their hearts' content, for they would be left on one side by the ca.n.a.l. But in all this he perceived Menocal's cunning hand.
”Much obliged to you, sheriff,” said he. ”I'll see if I can't find some way to satisfy those chaps when the time comes.”
His visitor rose and put foot in stirrup.
”If any of these Mexicans grow ugly, let me know,” he remarked. ”I'll tell them where to head in. Drop in at my office at the courthouse when you're in town; Wins.h.i.+p's my name. I brought these notices over myself in order to look at you, for they were saying you are a trouble-maker, but that's what these natives frequently state when they want to fix an alibi for themselves before they start something.
I'll see if I can learn anything of the fellow who was up yonder shooting. These _hombres_ are altogether too free with firearms, anyway. Better feed that lad there with you a few more meals a day; looks as if he could use them.”
Bryant laughed.
”Dave's a little lean, but he's all there. Looks don't count, do they, partner?”
”I do the best I can,” Dave responded, solemnly.
”Not at meal-time, I reckon,” the sheriff said. ”Feed up and get fat.
A kid like you has no business having so many joints and bones sticking out.”
”I been through a hard winter last winter, and this spring, too, till Mr. Bryant picked me up.”
”How's that?” the horseman inquired.
”My mother died at Kennard. I didn't get on very well after that; not much there for a boy to work at. And I hadn't any folks.”
”Hump. What's your last name?”
”Morris.”
”Any relation to Jack Morris?”
”He was my father.”
The sheriff nodded. ”Knew him well; he died four years ago. And your mother died last winter? Little woman, I recall.”
”Little, but a lot better than plenty of bigger ones I know of,” Dave a.s.serted, stoutly. ”She died of pneumonia.”
”Boy, I've held you on my knee when you were about as high as my hand.
But I guess you don't remember that, and I'm mighty sorry to learn your mother's gone. Dave--is that your name? Well, now, Dave, fight your grub harder from now on.”
The speaker gathered his reins, nodded, and rode away along the barb wire fence.
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