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Bob made his way back toward the dam slowly, his mind too busy with the situation in which he found himself to pay much attention to the beauties of the landscape. Before he had gone many miles he was surprised to hear the sounds of galloping hoofs coming behind him. His first thought was that Jerry had changed his mind and was going to accompany him back to camp. But the noise was more than[191] one horse could make, so he was prepared to see strangers ride past him. He turned in his saddle as the first horse came around the bend in the trail.,

The way Mr. Whitney answered was encouraging, so Bob came back, “Yes, sir, I’d like to know a lot more about it than I do. Anything you tell me is going to help. I’ve picked up a little here and there and know some of the details but I don’t really know anything about the general plan. Wasn’t there any irrigation on the Rio Grande before the Reclamation Service took hold?”,

“I’m sorry,” began the boy.,

“I wonder who did then. But I want to go to the troops. Which way did they go?” But before Bob could answer, Mr. Whitney saw for the first time that Jerry was being held prisoner by the Indian.

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As Julia mused through the walks, and surveyed this vast monument of barbarous superstition, it brought to her recollection an ode which she often repeated with melancholy pleasure, as the composition of Hippolitus.,

In order not to lose any time they packed the dunnage they expected to take into two loads and carried it with them when they went down the next morning to inspect the boat. It was a long way from the little town to the river and their spirits sagged as the loads grew heavier. However, they found the boat covered over by brushwood and some old sail-cloth, and when its owner pulled it out into the open they were much encouraged. The boat was about sixteen feet long, high at both ends with water-tight compartments.,

“You’re with us—the Service, I mean—aren’t you?” finished Bob seriously. “Even if it means going against what your father thinks is best?”,

“Traitor!” repeated Bob and then pulled his horse’s head around and struck hard with his quirt. In a flash his little horse was flying in the direction of home. It was a desperate chance he was taking, for he had read in the faces of the two men as he turned that they were determined that he should not get back to the dam with his suspicions confirmed. He knew that in running he braved possible death, for he had noticed that both men were armed. The sound of his horse’s hoofs and the rushing wind drowned the noise that would have told him whether he was being pursued or not. He was bending low in the saddle and it was hard to turn and see what had become of Jerry and his companions. But he managed it.