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“Uncouple!” he yelled to the engineer. As he and Bob swung into the cab, the little locomotive[121] was already moving slowly. “To the east bank, quick!” he ordered and caught the whistle cord. The prolonged screech told the switchmen and other trains that something serious was afoot, and that the line must be cleared.,

From sire to son descended,,

“Here are the apples, Aunt Grenertsen. Aren’t they beauties?”,

“No.” The answer was final and assured. “But I wouldn’t put it beyond a lot of the stock and cattlemen around here. They’ve been sore about the dam, with as little reason as they have on every job the Service has tackled. They always end by being a lot better off with the project finished than they ever would have been if the range had been left alone. At first they can’t help but suffer some annoyance from the building of the dam. A good part of the land which we will irrigate, while not sufficiently productive to be good farming land, raises enough natural grass to feed stock. Above the dam the stored water will form a lake that will cover thousands of acres of such pasturage, I’ll admit. But the cattlemen are so blind that this point is all that they can see. They will have the same chance to profit by the irrigated lands below. It has always worked out well in the end.”

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One of these days he must carve out a big ship about half a yard long and make it an exact copy of a real ship.,

Finally something was said which was more than the redman could stand. He got up and in a dignified manner moved to the spot where his tormentors were sitting. He spoke to them in Spanish.,

“If you find that the work is not as much fun as you expected, will you come back and tell me so? You won’t stick it out just as a matter of pride?”,

Jerry went on with his story. “She told me I ought to be ashamed of myself, big, husky boy that I was, roaming around doing no useful work. Wanted to know why I didn’t stay there and help with the harvest and work for my living. This wasn’t the first time that I had been handed out the same sort of chatter. But I fell for it this time—she was sort of homely and nice. The only thing I was afraid of was the Denver Kid. I knew if I didn’t go back with something to eat he would come and find me and lick the stuffing out of me. I told Mrs. Olson—that was her name—that I would have to go but that I’d come back that night. For a moment I don’t think she believed me, but at last she let me go, giving me quite a lot of grub.