Cheyenne record., September 04, 1919, Image 6

About Cheyenne record. (Cheyenne Wells, Cheyenne County, Colo.) 1913-19??

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When the Colorado
Burst Its Banks and
Flooded the Imperial
Valley of California
CHAPTER XVlll—Continued.
— 9 —
Fils eyes glued to the lurching sta
'tlon-house, Babcock took a brown
paper-rolled cigarette from the prof
fered box.
“Look,” he cried. “There, she'll go.
See that —”
There was a splash of splintering
timber; a Niagara of spray as the
building fell into the flood. A minute
luter, u wreckage of painted boards
was floating downstream.
At table Babcock resumed his cam
paign. “The trouble with you all,
you have cold feet. You’re ull scared
off too soon.”
Wooster, up from his nap, looked
across the table. “Cold feet? So
you’d have 1f you had been up for
nights, wetting your feet on the levee,
as some of us have, as Hardin hns.
Mine are cold all right.” He lifted an
amazed foot. “Cold! Look here,
boys, they’re wet!” The men looked
to find the water creeping In —Bab-
cock climbed on his chair.
“This means the station,” cried
Wooster. Every man Jumped. If the
waters had got to them, It wouldn’t
be long before they were reaching the
O. I*, depot! The tracks would go—
They were piling out of the door
when the telephone caught them. It
was a message from Rickard. A car
was to be rigged up, papers, tickets
and express matter taken from the
station. The river was cutting close
to the track. The car would be the
terminal, a half-mile from town.
The situation looked black. Coul
ter, Eggers, began to pack their stock.
The levee, it was said, would not hold
—half of Mexicali was gone. Calexico
would go next. Rickard’s Indians
were kept stolidly piling brush aral
stuffed sacks on the levee. This, the
word ran, would be the fierce night—
no one expected to sleep.
They were prepit ring for the big
buttle, the tinal struggle, when the
grade recession passed the town.
Spectacular an v/ata its coining, there
was an anticlimax in its retreat. The
water reached the platform of the
depot, and halted. The town held its
breath. There was some sleep that
night.
The next day, the nerves of the val
ley relaxed. The river was not cut
ting back. The men ut the levee
dropped their shovels, and went back
to the discussion of their lawsuits.
Their crops were ruined; too much
water, or too little. Whatever way
♦hey had been hurt, the company
would have to pay for It!
A small shift guarded the river.
Rickard, in bis room at the Desert
hotel, and Hardin up the river, slept a
dsv and a night without waking. Tho
'•hair-filters picked up their argument
where they had left it; was the rail
road reaping a harvest of damage
suits when they should be thnnked
Instead? Faraday, the newspapers
reported, was trying to shift his re
sponsibility; he had appealed to the
The Ranches Were Ruined.
president. Their correspondence was
published. The government was In no
hurry to take the burden. A tele
graphic sermon, preaching duty, dls»
trihuting blame, was sent from Wash
ington. Perhaps not Faraday himself
was more disturbed than the debaters
of the Desert hotel.
“The railroad's no Infant In arms!
It wasn’t asleep when It took over
the affairs of the D. It." Here spoke
the majority "A benefaction! It
was self-interest! When the river Is
harnessed, who’ll profit the most from
the valley prosperity? It can afford
to pay the obligations; that Is, It
would. It will find away.” the ravens
trPoaked, “of shaking the Desert Re
clamation company’s debts; of evad
ing the damage suits. Look how
Ifardln was treated!”
The feeling ran higher. For many
of the ranchers were ruined; there
was no money to put In the next
the promises of the
The RIVER
I few landowners, and others who had
| not completed their contracts, dis
trusting the good faith of the com
pany, or its ability to pay, had "quit’*
in disgust, to begin again some
where else. Parrish, and Dowker,
and others of the “Sixth” scoured dis
trict had secured the promise of em
ployment at the Heading. Work, It
was expected, would be begun at once
now that the danger to Calexico had
passed.
CHAPTER XIX.
More Oratory.
Four men sat at a small table In a
corner of the crowded hotel dining
room, In El Centro. Their names
made their corner the psychological
center of the room. Marshall was al
ways a target of speculation. Mac-
Lean, straight and soldierly in his
mustard-colored clothes, was, as usual,
the man of distinction. Black start
ed the whisper going that the dark
stranger was General de la Vega, the
Mexican commissioner.
What was he doing In that group?
Babcock completed a combination
which encouraged speculations and
head-shakings. The room was Jammed
with valley men. The meeting of the
ranchers and the several water com
panies had been called for that after
noon, the summons signed by Fara
day himself. Nothing else had been
talked of for a fortnight.
It wns known throughout the valley
that the work at the Intake was not
yet begun; that Rickard was waiting
there for orders; that Faraday and
the president of the United States
were Involved in correspondence as to
’ the responsibility for the future con
trol of the river. Faraday’s eagerness
to shift his burden was looked upon
ns suspicious. It was in the air that
the officers of the Overland Pacific
would demand a recall of the damage
suits before they would complete the
protective works at the Heading. The
men of long vision, members of the
water companies, and Brandon,
through the valley Star, were pointing
out that the valley’s salvation depend
ed on the immediate control of the
river; that the railroad, only, had
power to effect it. These conservatives
were counseling caution. Only that
morning, the Star had issued an extra,
a special edition pleading for co-opera
tion. “If the river breaks out again,”
warned Brandon’s editorial, “without
immediate force to restrain it, recla
mation for that valley is a dream that
is done. And the only force equal to
that emergency is the railroad. Why
deliberately antagonize the railroad f
The Desert Reclamation company, U
is well known, is bankrupt. For the
Instant, tte railroad has assumed the
responsibilities of the smaller organi
zation. Apply the same situation to
individuals. Suppose a private citizen
is in straits, and another comes for
ward to help him. Must every cred
itor assume that the Samaritan should
pay the crushed citizen’s bills? In the
present issue, self-interest should urg§
consideration. Better a small los*
today that tomorrow may amply rc>-
fund, than total ruin in the future.”
Hardin, from his morose unshared
! table, could see the unxious curiosity
setting toward the railroad group
Over glasses, heads were close
gether. Near him, the talk ran hig£.
Scraps of inflammable speeches blew
his way from Barton’s party.
Hardin’s mouth wore a set sneer.
! “Water company talk 1” Black was
haranguing his comrades. “Stand out
against them. Don’t let them bluff
you. Marshall will try to bluff you.
Stand together 1” Barton’s resonant
organ broke through the clatter.
“Marshall is not going to blLff ivs.”
Grace and Black began to talk at once.
Hardin’s lip grew rougher. had
they all been if it had not been for
him? Why, bed pulled them fro»n
their little farms back East. wlu.r«
they were toiling—where they’d hm
toiling yet. They’d had the vision of
sudden wealth —they hadn't the grit
to work for It, to wait for it! How
many years had he been struggling?
He wns a young man when he’d gone
into this thing, and he was old now.
CofTee and cigars had been
reached of the midday dinner. Bab
cock wns nervously consulting his
watch. “Shouldn’t we arrange the
meeting?” he asked for the third time.
The soclnl and casual air of the meet
ing had tensed him. What had the po
litical situation in Mexico to do with
the Important session confronting
them? His fussy soul had no polite
salons; oflice rooms every one of
them. MncLenn looked to Tod Mar
shall to answer.
“I think it will arrange itself.” ilia
voice was silken. “It is to be a dis
cussion, a conference. Ton can’t slate
that.”
“We could program,” begnn Bab
cock, looking at his watch again.
“I don’t think we*ll have to.” Mar
shall smiled across the table. “You’ll
find this meeting will run itself. There
is not a man here who la »ot burning
to speak. Look nt *hem now! Drop
a paper in that crowd, and see the
blaze you’d get! You can open the
meeting. Mr. Babcock, and J would
THE CHEYENNE RECORD.
suggest that you call on Mr. De la
Vega first.”
The eyes of the dining room fol
lowed the party as they filed past the
buzzing tables. Faraday was not In
town; Marshall represented that pow
er. As he walked out, bowing right
and left, his right hand occasionally
extended In his well-known oratorical,
courteous gesture. His black tie was
stringing down his shirt front; his
black clothes were the worse for his
lunch. But no one, save the Eastern
girls, saw spots or tie. The future of
that valley lay in that man’s hand, no
matter how Black or Grace might
harangue. In five minutes, the dining
room was emptied.
As snow gently falling, had gath
ered the first damage suits of the
ranchers. The last flood had precipi
tated a temperamental storm. Men
were suing for the possible values of
their farms, Impossible values of
crops. Not alone the companies had
been blnnketed with the accusing pa
pers, but against Mexico the white
drifts had piled up. Mexico! No one
knew better than Hardin how absurd
It was to accuse the sister country of
responsibility. A pretty pickle they
were In! Where was it all going to
end?
In the lobby, Hardin ran up against
Brandon, who was following a news
scent. Through the valley it was being
rumored that subscriptions were to be
asked for the completion of the work.
If this were the Intention, there would
be a hot meeting.
“You are going on the platform?”
assumed the newspaper man. “No?
Then will you sit with me?”
“If you will sit upstairs,” scowled
Hardin, “I don’t want to be dragged
onto the platform.”
Down In the orchestra. Black from
the Wistaria was haranguing a group
of gesticulating ranchers. Phrases
climbed to the men on the balcony
seats. “Keep their pledges. Promise
makers. Let them look at our crops 1”
“If Marshull expects to coerce
those men, I lose my guess. Then he’s
no Judge of men,” cried Hardin.
“Look at those faces.” The floor was
a sea of Impassioned features.
“Something’s going to drop,” echoed
Brandon.
From the wings, Babcock’s Inquisi
tive glasses were seen to sweep the
house. Hardin could catch the sum
mons of nn excited forefinger to the
group unseen. There was a minute
of delay. Then Babcock’s nervous
toddle carried him onto the stage.
De la Vega followed Babcock.
There was a hush of curiosity. The
bouse did not know w’ho he was. Be
hind him, soldierly, stiff, stalked Mac-
Lean. Marshall’s entrance released
the tongues. There was an Interval
of confusion on the stage. Babcock,
like a restless terrier, was snapping
at the heels of the party. At last,
they were all fussily seated. De la
Vega was given the place of honor.
Marshall, Babcock put on his left,
Mac Lean on the right.
Babcock raised his staccato gavel.
A hush fell on the house. His words
were clipped and sharp.
“You have left your plowing to coine
here. You are anxious to hear what
we have to say to you. You cannot
afford to be Indifferent to It. You ac
knowledge, by your presence, a de
i pendence, a correlation which you
would like to deny. Irrigation means
co-operation, suffering together, strug
gling together, succeeding together.
You prefer the old Individual way,
leach man for himself. I tell you it
won’t do. You belong in other coun
tries, the countries of old-fashioned
rain. You want to hear what we have
to say to you, the company who saved
the valley, the company you are suing.
But you have also suits against Mex
ico. There is a gentleman here who
has a message from Mexico shout
those suits. I have the honor, gentle
men, to introduce, Senor de la Vega.”
“Ladies,” bowed the Mexican. “Gen
tlemen, Mr. Chairman. It is with an
appreciation of the honor that I ac
cepted for today the invitation of Mr.
Marshall to speak before you, to speak
to you; I must tell you first my
thought as I sat there and looked at
you, the youth, the flower of the Amer
ican people. A few years ago, we
were calling this the great Colorado
desert; now, the world calls it the
hothouse of America. This theater
Is built over the bones of gold-seekers,
who dared death in this dreaded
desert to find what was buried in
those mountains beyond. The man,
I say, who crossed this desert, took
the hazard of death. It was a coun
tryman of mine who piloted, fifteen
years ago, a little band of men, across
the desert. Perhaps he camped on
this very spot. It is not Impossible!
It is here, perhaps-, that he got his
inspiration. He saw a wonderful ter
ritory ; he dreamed to quicken It with
the useless waters of the Colorado.
You will all agree that it was Guil
lermo Estrada who dreamed the dream
that has come true; that it was
through him that some of your coun
trymen secured their privilege to re
claim this land. Later, when one of your J
countrymen found he could not fulfill'
his promise to you, the promise to de
liver water to you* ranches, be came]
to my nation and got permission to cut
into the river on our territory. Most
gladly did Porflrio Diaz grant that
privilege. For that, today, you are
suing him. This, I am told, is your
complaint."
His abrupt pause betrayed a con
fused murmur of voices. De la Vega’s
polite ear tried to differentiate the
phrases. There was a jumble of sound.
De la Vega looked inquiringly at Bab
cock, who waved him on.
“It has nothing to do with the his
tory, but I would like to say in passing
that so assured were your people of
our frendly feeling toward you that
they did not wait to receive permis
sion from Mexico to make the cut.
Your people were in a hurry. Your
crops were in danger. First the lack
of water, then too much water dam
aged your valley. A few acres—"
A voice from the crowd cried out,
“A few acres? Thousands of acres."
Instantly others were on their feet.
“Thousands of acres. Ruin.” One man
was shouting himself apoplectic.
Babcock’s gavel sounded a sharp
staccato on the table.
“Thousands of acres.” De la Vega
was unruffled. “And more than that.
The valley, it must be remembered,
does not stop at the line. Mexican
lands, too, have been scoured by the
action, the result of the action of your
irrigation company. It was a mutual,”
he paused, and a quuint word came to
his need. “A mutual bereavement. It
did not occur to us to accuse you of
our troubles. Your damage suits pained
and astonished us. But they gave ns
also a suggestion.”
The rustling and the murmurs sud
denly ceased. A prescient hush wait
ed on De la Vega. “You have been ad
vised to sue us. To sue us for giving
you that concession. Therefore, the
only answer is for us to withdraw that
concession I You accuse us, for giv
ing It to you. That concession is val
uable. What else can we do? Before
your damage suits were filed, we were
approached by others for the same
privilege. If you do not withdraw
your suits, my nation sends word to
you that you may not take water from
the Colorado river through Mexican
soil. You will not be without water
probably long; I have said that con
cession is valuable 1 Other arrange
ments will probably be made so that
the valley will be given water. I would
like to take your answer to my govern
ment.”
It was several seconds before the
house got Its breath. The import of
the diplomat’s words was astounding.
I'arton got to his feet, yelling with his
great bass voice, “Betrayed I” His
shrunken finger indicated a youth with
“R. S.” in black letters on his collar.
“The valley has been betrayed.”
In the balcony, the uproar was deaf
ening. Around Hardin and Brandon
words were thudding like bullets.
“Reclamation Service.” “That’s their
gnme.” “The concession!” “They
won’t get it.” “Betrayed. We are be
trayed.”
Downstairs. Babcock’s gavel rapped
unheard. Behind the excited figure
wielding the stick, sat Marshall, his
unreadable, sweet smile on his face.
His eyes were on Babcock, who was
vainly clamoring for order. “Program
that meeting.”
Hollister was trying to make him
self heard to Barton over two rows of
seats, but his voice was like a child’s
on an ocean beach. Barton was sur
rounded by eager anxious men. The
audience had split into circles of
haranguing centers. It was impossible
to get attention. Hardin could see Mar
shall pull Babcock by the tails of his
coat. Unwillingly, he could see Bab
cock allow the crow’d five minutes by
his consulted watch. Then again, the
gavel danced on the table. Marshall
was still smiling. Babcock’s shrill
voice split the din. “Order.” The
ocean of voices swallowed him aguin.
“We won’t let them in,” Grace was
oellowlng, “the valley won’t stand for
it.”
“Take your medicine,” thundered
the big organ of Barton. “I warned
you. Imperial valley.”
“Betrayal.” groaned the crowd.
Down in the orchestra. Barton was
holding a hurry-up meeting of the wa
ter companies. De la Vega had
stepped back and was consulting with
Tod Marshall.
Babcock pulled out his watch, his
gavel calling for attention. This time
he was heard.
De la Vega approached the foot
lights, a questioning look on his face.
“We ask for a little time,” began
Barton. Instantly the house was on
its feet. “Withdraw the suits. Give
him your answer. Give him our an
swer. We don’t want the Service. The
valley don’t want the Service. With
draw the suits.”
Barton’s moon face looked troubled.
“We can’t answer for all the ranchers."
“Yes. you can,” screamed Grace,
jumping up and down like a baboon.
“If you don’t. I’ll answer for them.
Don’t you see. It’s a trick? It’s a
trick. I see the hand of the O. P. in
this." Friendly hands pulled him down
into his seat.
The hudlence was chanting. “With
draw the suits. Take your medicine.
—Don't lose the concession.—l<ord,
By
Ednah Aiken
the Service I—Give1 —Give them the answer
now.”
Barton held up a withered hand.
The undeveloped body was dignified
by the splendid head. “Don’t with
draw your concession. think I can
say that Mexico will not be sued.”
Again, the shout went up. “Answer
like a man. Think! Good Lord 1 Say
we withdraw the suits!”
“We withdraw the claims against
Mexico.” Barton sat down to a sud
den hush. The first blood had been
let.
Once more Babcock’s glasses swept
the house. He rapped the table.
“That’s not all. We’ve got more to
say to you. Gentlemen, Mr. Marshall.”
Marshall stepped forward to a si
lence which was a variety of tribute.
He bowed. “I will be brief. Mr.
Faraday has asked me to take his
place here this afternoon. It’s only
Marshall's Voice Rang Out.
fair. If It were not for my Interfer
ence, he would not be Involved In this
situation. I think you will grant that
It Is Mr. Faraday’s company which
can save the valley?”
“To save Its own tracks!” yelled a
voice from the balcony.
Marshall sent a soft smile heaven
ward. “Incidentally. And Its traffic.
Why don’t you say It? We don't deny
that. The Overland Pacific’s no altru
ist.”
There was a jeer which rose Into a
chorus. “Altruist! Octopus. That’s
what It Is.”
Marshall’s hand went up. “If you
want to hear me?” He waved away
Babcock’s descending gavel. “I was
told It would cost two hundred thou
sand dollars to close that break of
yours. Do you want the actual fig
ures? It has eaten already a million,
and the work is not yet done. You
know the history of the undertaking.
The Desert Reclamation company was
In straits. Faraday promised his help
on the condition that the affairs of
the Desert Reclamation company
would be controlled by his company.
He took the control. He inherited —
what? Not good will. Threats, dam
age suits. Do you think that snow
slide of complaints is going to encour
age him to go on? This Is what I came
here to talk to you about. You ranch
ers don’t want to cut your own throats.
Now, there’s a good deal going on
about which you are in the dark.
Faraday’s got a right to feel he’s
shouldered an old man of the sea.
He’s been trying to dislodge it. He’s
appealed to the president. Ever since
we came into this, the cry from Wash
ington has been. ‘Do this the way we
like, or we’ll not take it off your
hands.’ ” A murmur of angry voices
started somewhere, swelling toward
the balcony.
“We don’t want the government—”
began the rising voices. Marshall’s
voice rang out:
“But the government wants—you!
Unless you will help save your own
homes, the government will have to, in
time. It’s got to. Up there at Laguna,
have you seen it? There’s nothing go
ing on. They’re watching us. That’s a
useless toy if our works are washed
out. Faraday says this to you—” Not
a sound In the stilled house. “Unless
you withdraw your damage suits, he
won’t advance another damned cent.”
Sharply he sat down before the au
dience realized that his message was
finished. The house had not found its
voice, when Babcock’s gavel was
pounding again for attention. The
question, he felt, had not been put to
them completely. Perhaps, they did
pot gather the full Import of Mr. Mar
shall’s message. Mr. Mac Lean would
follow Mr. Marshall.
Mac Lean's superb figure rose from
a tree-paneled background.
“He should sing *Brown October
Ale,*” suggested Brandon to Hardin
humorously.
Hardin’s eyes were on Mac Lean.
What did he know about it? What
could he tell those men that they did
not know? Mac Lean was a figurehead
fn the reorganised Irrigation company.
Why hadn’t they called on him, Har-
Copyright, Bobba-Merrlll Company
din? He knew more about the involved
history of the two companies than the
whole bunch on the stage down yon
der. He could have told them, he
could have called on their justice,
their memory—
Mac Lean was speaking.
“Mr. Marshall has likened the river
project to the old man of the sea. He
has it on his back, while it is busily
kicking him in the shins I
“Mr. Marshall has given you Mr.
Faraday’s message. He has asked
you to dismiss your damage suits. I
ask you to do more than that. Put
your hands In your pockets! Come
out and help us. You don’t want the
government. I am told that is the
sentiment of the valley. When you
called to them, they wouldn’t help
you; they wouldn’t give you an ade
quate price. Congress will soon be
adjourning. What Is Mr. Faraday to
say to Washington? Is he going to
close that break? That depends on
you. Withdraw your suits. Do more.
Stop fighting against us. Fight with
us—”
The audience stirred ominously*
angrily. Before Mac Lean was done, a
voice screamed from the balcony.
“You can’t quit. That’s a threat.
You’re in too deep. You can’t fool us.
You’ve got to save yourself. You’ve
got to go on. Tell Faraday to tell that
to Washington.”
The uproar was released. Black,
from the Wistaria, jumped on his
chair. “I am speaking for the valley.
We can’t help. You know It We’re
stripped. We’re ruined. You think to
threaten us with the government—if
we wait for the government to decide
the valley is gone—and the railroad’s
money with It I tell you, your bluff
won’t go. We want justice. We are
going to have justice.”
“Justice 1” came from the surging
ranchers.
“Fair play,” yelled Black. “You can’t
trick us. We were not born yesterday.
We have rights. The company brought
us here. What did we give our money
for? Desert land? What good is this
land without water? We bought wa
ter. Give us back the money we’ve
put in—that’s what we’re asking for.
We won’t be scared out of our rights.”
There was a growling accompani
ment from the back rows, herding to
gether.
“Order,” cried Babcock, thumping
his gavel. “Let Mr. Black have the
floor.”
Black had not stopped. Wildly his
hands cut the air. His speech, though
high-pitched, had a prepared sound;
It worked toward a climax. He gave
individual instances of ruin. “Grace,
Willard Grace, his crop gone, his place
cut In two. Hollister and Wilson of
the Palo Verde, the ranch a scream
ing horror. Scores of others.” He
would not mention his own case; and
then he Itemized his misfortunes. Par
rish, his place scoured beyond all fu
ture usefulness. What had they come
into the valley for? Who had urged
them? There were pledges of the D.
R., water pledges. That was all those
ruined men were pleading, the redemp
tion of those pledges. Individual ruin,
what did it mean? A curtailing of lux
uries, of personal indulgence. “I tell
you, it means food, bread, potatoes;
milk for the babies; or starvation.”
Black had touched the deep note.
This was the answer. This was what
they wanted to say.
“You ask us to help you, us, we who
are taxed already to our breaking
point. You say your company won’t
go any further. What does that help
mean to you? Poverty? A few thou
sands, a million to the O. P., a cor
poration. what does a loss mean to
them? Poverty? I tell you, no. A
smaller dividend, maybe, to whom?
Yes, to whom? To the men who live
In Fifth avenue, whose wives are
dragged about In limousines. With
draw their suits? Help Faraday, and
ruin men like Parrish? Men of the
valley, what is your answer to Fara
day?”
The crowd was on Its feet, swaying
and pushing. The air was fetid with
breaths. Wilson’s crowd had forgotten
its lorgnettes. “No,” yelled the ranch
ers. “We say, no.”
A boy made his way from the wings,
a yellow envelope In his hand.
Babcock waved him on to Marshall.
The audience was crying Itself hoarse.
Babcock lost control of the meeting
id that minute of turning. Hollister,
of the Palo Verde, was striving to be
heard; Babcock’s hammer sounded in
vain. But Marshall’s eye had caught
a spark from the yellow sheet. He
sprang forward, throwing the dispatch
toward Mac Lean. His excitement
caught the eye of the crowd. “The
river!” There was a sudden hush.
“The river’s out again!" A groan
swept through the house, there was a
break toward the doors.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
You Oughta Know That, Uncle.
....WWW ■ >m v, WIIVIO.
“Fine dog yon bare there, my little
man," remarked the kind old gentle
man. “What do yoa call him?" “®on’t
hafta to call him,” answered my little
man. “He goes every place I dot"
Optimistic Thought.
He who knows nothing knows
II he knows when to he «£l»*