Bob Hazard Dam Builder

By Carl Brandt

Illustrated by Herbert Morton Stoops

The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago

Copyright, 1916 By The Reilly & Britton Co. Bob Hazard, Dam Builder

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Bob Hazard, Dam Builder

CHAPTER I FATHER AND SON

“So you would rather be an engineer than a lawyer, Bob? Is that what you want to tell me?”

“Yes, sir,—an engineer rather than anything else!”

The speakers were sitting on a bench in the park which surrounds the old Virginia State House in Richmond. Father and son they were certainly—the likeness was unmistakable.

The man hesitated a moment before going on with the conversation. When he spoke it was seemingly from a new angle.

“How old are you now, Bob? Seventeen, isn’t it? Yes, yes, of course. And in a week or two you will have finished with Crossways for good?”

[10]“Mr. Moseley says I am ready for my college exams, Dad. Tells me that he can’t take me along any further.”

“And instead of taking the examinations for Harvard and then going fishing with me, you want to go out West and work on an engineering corps all summer. After that, what?”

“If you’ll let me, I want to go to Rensselaer and study civil engineering. I’ll have had some practice then and the theory will come easier.”

“I see. But, my son, do you realize that if you follow your desire to be an engineer there will never be the firm of Robert Hazard and Son? That the practice I have built up will not pass on to you as I have so often planned? We would have made a great team, my boy, and it’s rather hard to give up the idea so suddenly. But I see that you must do as you wish.”

This way of taking it was rather disconcerting to Bob Hazard. He had hoped his father would be a little angry, perhaps, at the news of his decision. And if he had, Bob could have stuck to his determination with more heart, for he would have felt he had been treated[11] a little unjustly. But his father’s acceptance of the situation left him without any defense. Besides, the note of disappointment which was so evident, convinced him that from his father’s standpoint he was ungrateful for the love and care he had received.

“No, no, Dad!” Bob cried. “We won’t give up the idea! I—didn’t know you felt that way about it. The engineering can go. I’ll write Whiskers and tell him I’m not coming. Of course we’ll have the firm of Hazard and Son and we’ll make rival lawyers sit up and take notice!”

The older Hazard looked at his son with gleaming eyes. What stuff the lad was made of! An immense pride filled him that this boy could be so unselfish and destroy his own carefully laid plans for the future with such a brave attempt at sincerity.

“Thank you, Bob,” he said slowly. “But I can’t let you give up your ambition for mine. You would not be happy, nor after a time would I, for I realize that your desire to be an engineer is not just a whim. You could not be a good lawyer unless your heart were in it, and[12] I don’t want a son of mine to be anything but a good lawyer, if he’s one at all. I’d far rather have you a good engineer than an almost good lawyer. You will have to try out your plan. If it works, well and good; if it doesn’t, you can still try something else. You are old enough to decide for yourself, my son.”

“You are a good Dad!” cried Bob, putting an arm around the older man’s shoulders and hugging him unashamedly. “Whiskers—that is, Steve Whitney—wrote and told me to report to him as soon as I could. Then I have your permission to go West just as soon as school closes?”

“Yes,” was the quick answer, although the speaker had hoped that the boy would suggest spending a week or two with him before he left for the West. But Bob’s next words cheered him a lot.

“Of course, Dad, I don’t mean to go until we’ve had a chance to see each other. If you could only come out to Crossways for the next week or two it would be great! That way, we could visit and still I could get out on the job[13] just as soon as possible. I don’t want Whiskers to fill my place just because I don’t show up. But I’ll come up to New York—”

“You won’t have to do that,” said Mr. Hazard with a smile.

“You mean you can come to Crossways?”

“I do. It just so happens that I can spare a few days right now. Besides, I’d like to meet the fellows you are always writing about—Tom and Ned—and see the place where you grew that big crop of corn last summer.”

Mr. Hazard was as good as his word. The same night found him installed in the colonial house from which the great plantation of Crossways had formerly been managed. Now the plantation was a thing of memory only. Only the house and comparatively few cultivated acres remained of the once proud estate. Edward Moseley, the last of a long line, kept a school, which, primarily started for the benefit of his tenants’ children, had become so famous that boys from all parts of the country were now enrolled.

The summer before, when Mr. Hazard found that it was necessary for him to make a trip[14] abroad, he had left Bob at Crossways; and to make things pleasanter he had sent down a canoe, giving it to Tom Wickham and Ned Moseley, Bob’s chums. Therefore, when he appeared in person, Tom and Ned were prepared to like him. They were not disappointed.

When he demanded it the boys showed him the island in the low grounds on which they had grown the test crop of corn.

“It seems to me that you fellows hit on a really excellent plan to occupy your time during the summer. Who thought of it?” he asked after examining the plot.

“Tom,” said Ned quickly. “He planned it and we did the work.”

“I reckon I did my share of the work too,” exploded Tom. When the laugh died down, Mr. Hazard went on with his questions.

“Are you going to plant it again this year?”

“Not this piece, sir,” answered Tom. “I’ve got all I can do helping my father. When we raised more than double the average yield of his fields on our little patch here, he decided that there was something in modern farming methods after all, so this year we’re putting all[15] our corn in as it should be! And we’re going to have some crop, too!”

“Didn’t you meet Mr. Whitney somewheres around here, Bob?” Mr. Hazard asked, turning to his son.

Before Bob could answer, Tom Wickham had broken in.

“Mr. Whitney? Oh, you mean ‘Whiskers,’ who put the engineering bug into Bob’s head, last year. We found him up the river at the cave. Would you like to go up there?”

Mr. Hazard assented, so they planned the expedition for another day, as this afternoon was growing old. When they went, however, he was told of the adventures that had centered around the cave and Whiskers. How they had come on him by chance and, thinking him an escaped criminal, had undertaken his capture. This had led to Ned’s being caught instead and when Bob and Tom had effected the rescue, had resulted in the discovery of the secret chamber behind the cave. Mr. Hazard was particularly interested when he heard of the part Whiskers had taken in the defense of the island and its precious crop from the[16] onslaught of the summer freshet. They told him that it was not until the crop was safe that Whiskers had revealed who he was, an engineer in the United States Reclamation Service. He had hidden himself away until certain unfounded charges against him were cleared away. These had been brought by grafters he had found on the job he had in charge.

“Well, Bob,” remarked Mr. Hazard when the tale was done, “you certainly had a better time here than you would have had if you had gone to Russia with me!”

Finally Bob’s father had to go back to New York. Several telegrams had come and the last one could not be disregarded. The night before he left Mr. Hazard led Bob out into the grounds. When they came to the fence, they leaned on it and started talking. The moon was up and shed its light on the flat fields. In the hum of the country stillness, only the summer whistle of the quail and the sharp plaintive cry of the whippoorwill were distinct.

“You are determined, Bob?” the older man asked. Bob knew to what his father referred.

“Yes, sir! Absolutely!”

[17]“You have counted the cost well? There is no great reward in what you plan to do. There will be no limousines—no luxury in the life you will lead. A lawyer can have both.”

“I know it, sir!”

The man knew his was a losing fight yet he wanted to struggle on. Through the years he had watched over his motherless boy, he had dreamed dreams. He had seen the time when Bob would enter his office, when he would become a partner and at last when he would take onto his young shoulders the whole burden of the work. It had been a good dream and he was loath to give it up. He made one more effort.

“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?”

“I can safely promise that, Daddy. You know, don’t you, that I really would like to be a lawyer if I only could? But I know I’ve just got to try this engineering. If it turns out wrong for me I’ll come back gladly.”

Both were silent for a few minutes. Then[18] Bob spoke again, his manner saying more than his words:

“You’ve been bully to me, Dad.”

“You are all I’ve got, son,” was the quiet reply. “I must let you do the best you can for yourself.”

They went into the house and the next day Mr. Hazard was whirling northward, gazing out of the car window and hoping that some good chance would bring his boy back to him. As it was he felt lost and quite alone.

CHAPTER II U. S. R. S.

The long trip across the continent proved to be no hardship for Bob. It was the first time he had ever gone alone on so long a journey and he could not help but feel a certain sense of liberty. He made friends with everybody on the train and many tired travelers saw the scenery through his enthusiastic eyes, finding beauty in what ordinarily would have seemed to them commonplace.

One thing only served to disturb his perfect enjoyment: This was a conviction not to be denied, that his father was hurt by his action. As he thought over their talks he knew that underneath the approval his father had given, lay a deep disappointment. That Bob would not be a lawyer was a hard blow; the knowledge that his son’s choice of an occupation in life would mean almost constant separation,[20] must hurt the elder Hazard, who thought the world of his only son.

Bob realized these things keenly and they were painful to him, yet he could not bring himself to give up his plan to be an engineer.

“Dad made his own way, tackled the job he wanted and made good. I’ve got to do the same. Probably his father wanted him to do something quite different. I’ll ask him about that some time. Besides, if I just took up Dad’s business, it wouldn’t seem right somehow.”

But thoughts such as these occurred to him less and less as the distance between him and the East grew greater. By the time he dropped off the train at Williams, Arizona, where he changed to the day coach that would take him to the Grand Canyon, his mind was so full of the future that there was no room for the things he had left behind him.

When the jolting train stopped at the last station, the boy stepped off almost at Whiskers’ side. Dropping his suit case, he caught the hand that was stretched out to him and was happy when he saw the man’s grin of welcome.

[21]“Good work, Bob, my boy! It’s great to see you! Have a good trip? You’ve grown since I saw you—how’re the other fellows? How’s Big Chris?”

“Fine! Fine!” answered Bob. “And it’s good to see you too. I’m awfully glad you’ve got a place for me. Is the job here at the Canyon?”

Steve Whitney shook his head. “No—but I’ll tell you all about it as we go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”

“Right you are, Whisk—I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be Mister Whitney now since you are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us kids and we took liberties.”

“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be bad for discipline if you called me by that—‘vacation’ name, let’s call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t we?”

“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget[22] ’em.” For a moment he said nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then—“But where is the job? You said it wasn’t here.”

“No, just now there isn’t any job at all—”

“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” the engineer assured him; “there will be plenty of work. I have just finished a project in Colorado and am waiting for further orders. I told you to meet me here because I wanted you to see the greatest natural wonder we have in the United States, the Grand Canyon, and I am going to work you so hard later on that you won’t have another chance to get here before you go back to college. And I want your first sight of it to be at sunset. Then it is most wonderful.”

By this time they had reached the hotel.

“Go and wash up and come down quickly,” urged Bob’s new boss. “It’s almost sunset, and I don’t want you to miss it! I’ll wait for you here on the porch.”

Bob wasted no time and a few minutes later joined Mr. Whitney. The veranda of the hotel is built almost on the edge of the great rift in the surface of the earth. Bob started to pull[23] up a chair to the railing where his friend was sitting but stopped as the other rose.

“I’ve got a better place than this to see it from,” said Mr. Whitney. “A lot of folks will be coming out here presently and too many people spoil the thing. Come along.”

Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a comfortable seat.

“Some class, eh, Bob?” laughed Whiskers as they settled themselves. “I found it and try to get here every night. But let’s stop talking; it’s about to begin.”

There was no need to talk; in fact, the glorious beauty of the panorama spread before him would have made it almost impossible to talk even if Bob had wanted to.

As far as the eye could reach, the great chasm extended. In it rose pinnacles, spires and mountain ranges, alternating with deep valleys and gulches. At the very bottom wound a tiny thread of silver, the Colorado River, for whose[24] passage nature had undertaken such a gigantic task and, in its accomplishment, had created such beauty.

Bob’s first feeling was of his own littleness, his unimportance in the face of such magnitude. But this went away as the sun, dropping steadily to the opposite horizon, began to paint the scenes with magic colors.

It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different.

When at last the sun dropped below the edge of the distant hills, leaving the Canyon in deep purple shadow, Bob turned to Mr. Whitney.

“That is all I can stand now,” he said. “It is too wonderful.”

He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon.

[25]“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!”

The man laughed. “Even the Grand Canyon can’t keep a good, healthy appetite down for long, can it? I guess supper is pretty nearly ready now. But wait a minute—here is someone I want you to know.”

Bob looked up to see a young fellow of about his own age coming towards them. He was rather tall and dark and dressed in khaki, and wore canvas leggins. It was the costume of a regular civil engineer, thought the boy from the East.

“This is Jerry King, Bob,” said Whitney. “Another member of my corps. Shake hands with Bob Hazard, Jerry. We will all be together this summer.”

The newcomer put out his hand and Bob grasped it warmly. He was prepared to like anybody and anything in this new life he had begun. After a few words they moved off in the direction of the dining room.

“What have you been up to this afternoon, Jerry?” asked the Chief, when they had found their table.

[26]“Nothing much,” was the answer. “Fooling ’round the Canyon a little.”

“You go down into it, then?” asked Bob.

“Yes, there’s a trail but there’s nothing much down there anyway.” This from Jerry in an unenthusiastic tone.

The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between. And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every advance he made.

When supper was over the party went out on the porch of the hotel. The Chief lit his pipe and settled into a big rocking chair. “Well, Bob,” he said, “now that you are here, are you glad that you came?”

“You bet I am,” was the enthusiastic answer.

[27]“But he hasn’t seen any work yet,” put in Jerry shortly.

“I’m not worried about that,” Bob said confidently. “I think I’ll like that too.”

“It’s not all a cinch,” said Whiskers. “The Reclamation Service is a hard taskmaster. Jerry knows. He has been with me almost a year—ever since I came back from Virginia.”

There was silence for a moment and then Bob asked quietly.

“Please, Mr. Whitney, won’t you tell me something about the Reclamation Service? Although I have read what I could, I know very little about the real spirit of it, only just figures showing what it’s done or is going to do.”

“All right, Bob, I will, but you’ll have to stop me if I begin to bore you. The Service is an enthusiasm of mine, you know.”

“I guess you know very well I won’t be bored. Go ahead.”

Steve Whitney filled his pipe and then began a description of what is perhaps the most important thing the Government has ever done for the West.

[28]“About twelve years ago,” he said when his pipe was well lighted, “after a great deal of agitation over it, Congress passed a bill which created the thing we call the Reclamation Service. Its object was to increase the number of farms and to increase the total area of productive land. As you no doubt know, almost all the desert land in the United States would be extremely productive provided it could get a sufficient supply of one thing.”

“Water?” put in Bob.

“Yes, just that. In other parts of the country this water is provided by rainfall. But deserts are deserts only because the rainfall is slight, if there is any at all. Therefore it is necessary to build dams in the country where there is rainfall, collect the water, and send it down to the desert lands where it is needed.”

“Is that what the Service does?”

“Yes, that is our biggest job. We call it irrigation. But it isn’t always necessary to build these dams where the rainfall is heavy. If we can dam a river above the point where it begins to dry up, we can usually collect enough water during the flood season to supply[29] a great area of dry land below it during all the months of the year.”