"What's in these yarns, anyhow?" Farwell asked, when they had got down to business.
"Ask me something easier," Sleeman replied. "I gave headquarters all I heard. If I were you I'd keep my eyes open."
"I'll do that," said Farwell. "These fellows always do a lot of talking, and let it go at that."
"Not here," said Sleeman. "The men who will be affected aren't doing any talking at all. That looks bad to me. They are just standing pat and saying nothing. But you can bet they are doing some thinking. Mighty bad lot to run up against if they start anything—old-timers, ex-punchers, prospectors, freighters, and fur men, with a sprinkling of straight farmers. The worst of it is that these rumours are hurting us already, and they'll hurt us worse."
"How?"
"Landlookers hear them, and shy off. No man wants to buy into a feud with his neighbours—to buy land with water that somebody else thinks he ought to have. Before I can make a showing in actual sales this thing has got to be settled."
"Huh!" said Farwell. "Well, I'll finish the job, and turn the water down the ditches, and that's all I have to do. I met one of these fellows at the station—Dunne, his name is."
"Oh, you met Casey Dunne. And what do you think of him?"
"Don't like him; he's too smooth. Looked me square in the eye, and told me to be careful with sidehill ditches, and so on, just as if it didn't affect him at all. Too innocent for me. I had a notion to tell him he wasn't fooling me a little bit."
"H'm!" said Sleeman. "Well, I give Casey credit for being a good man. He has a big stake here—owns a lot of land besides his ranch. It's make or break with him."