The Iron Furrow Part 4

The man went. Bryant lighted a cigarette and fell to surveying the store's merchandise. Several minutes pa.s.sed before a murmur of voices apprised him of the coming of the men. Menocal entered the side door first, approaching heavily and sleepily the spot where the engineer waited. He had not put on coat or collar; his short figure appeared more than ever obese; his sweeping white moustache divided his plump, shiny brown face; and his air was that of one who must put up with vexatious interruptions because of the important position he filled.

"You wish to speak with me?" he asked, shortly.

"That's why I'm here," Bryant returned.

Menocal gazed at him owlishly for a time.

"You're the man who threw my son's money back at the ford day before yesterday, aren't you?" he questioned.

"The same."

"Why did you throw it back?"

"Why did he throw it at me in the first place? You should train him to use better judgment. You yourself wouldn't have done it."

"No," Menocal said. Then, as if the subject were dismissed, he asked, "What do you wish to see me about?"

"About the mortgage on the Stevenson place: I've bought the ranch.

Stevenson moves off in a few days."

Menocal's brows lifted and remained so, as if fixed in their new elevation. He slowly rubbed the end of his nose with his forefinger.

The sleepiness had wholly vanished from his countenance.

"Come into the bank," he said, finally; and moved toward the front door.

The engineer accompanied him. In a s.p.a.ce railed off from the cashier's grille in the little building next door they sat down. The teller was visible in the cage, where now he appeared very busy though he had undoubtedly been drowsing when they entered.

"So you've bought the Stevenson ranch," Menocal said.

"Yes. I've just had the deed recorded."

"The mortgage is due in a few days; I told him it wouldn't be renewed by me."

"Perhaps now that I have the place----"

"No; I've carried that loan long enough. If it isn't paid when due, I'll start foreclosure proceedings immediately."

Bryant nodded.

"Well, I merely asked out of curiosity," said he. "It's your right to demand payment--and I'm on hand with the money. Make out a release so that I can clear the record. Here's a Denver draft for six thousand dollars--I figure princ.i.p.al and interest at five thousand four hundred and you can have the balance placed to my credit in the bank. I shouldn't continue the loan at its present rate of interest in any case; eight per cent. is too much for money. Besides, I want the ranch clear of inc.u.mbrance."

With an expressionless face Menocal gazed at the draft, turned it over, examined the back, then at last laid it down on his desk.

"Isidro," he called to the teller, "make out a mortgage release for the Stevenson place. Copy the description from the mortgage in my file in the vault. Afterward credit six hundred dollars to--What is your name?"

"Lee Bryant."

"Six hundred dollars to Lee Bryant, Isidro. Mr. Bryant will give you his signature." Again facing his visitor, he said, "Do you know that that ranch has no water to speak of? I'm afraid you may not find the property what you expect."

"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!"