"I ain't gone yet, nor you ain't," old James replied, his eyes gleaming balefully through slitted lids. "I give it out now that I don't set quiet and see my ditches go dry. Long's the law won't help us—and the law never gave no action in the West nohow—I'm goin' to help myself. I ain't raisin' the long yell for partners, neither!"
"You can't bring back the old days," McCrae repeated. "I stand to lose as much as any man here, but shooting one or two men who are doing what they are paid to do won't help us. You all know that."
"That's so," Casey admitted. "That's the last thing we can afford to do."
"Well, maybe you boys are right," said the old man reluctantly. "Maybe I ain't up to date. But what you goin' to do? You got to do somethin'."
"Yes," said Wyndham. "They are getting ahead with their work. It won't be long till that dam is finished. Then they'll take the water from us, that's certain."
But here Big Oscar received an inspiration. He had been listening carefully, casting mildly inquiring blue eyes on the speakers. He was a good listener, was Oscar, and he seldom spoke. His mental engine, so far as could be judged by its verbal expression, turned over stiffly. Apparently it had never been run enough to be smoothed down—at least in English. But his contribution to the debate at this juncture was noteworthy. Said he:
"Say, Ay tenk Ay blow dat dam, easy!"
They stared at him for a moment, while the suggestion took root. It was obvious that if the dam were destroyed the water would remain theirs until it was rebuilt. True, its destruction would be a lawless act, amounting to a declaration of war; but war on them had already been declared. They would be merely striking the first blow, and here was the logical spot to strike.
"Good boy, Oscar," said Carter. "I believe that's the answer."
"What do you think, McCrae?" asked Wyndham.