Bob Hazard, dam builder

by Carl Brandt

As soon as the Indian was gone Bob started to carry out a plan of his own. He knew the Indian would not have allowed him to take the chance, so he had been forced to use a stratagem to get Feather-in-the-Wind out of the way.

Kicking off his shoes, he wormed his way on his stomach towards the upper side of the coffer dam. Miguel was working on the lower side and Bob knew that the dam was sufficiently high to keep his actions hidden from the Mexican.

When he reached the edge of the river Bob slipped into the water with as little noise as possible. Keeping close to the dam he found that he could make fair headway by half swimming and half walking along the slanting boards which held the Rio Grande in check. His plan was desperate, yet it was the only one that seemed feasible. Miguel would probably set a rather long fuse, one long enough to allow him to get safely away. “If I can only get there before the fuse has burned to the first stick of dynamite!” gasped Bob to himself.

Panting, struggling, gasping, he fought on. His mind was filled with the horror of what would happen should he be too late. There was no way of telling how far Miguel had gone. The dam that kept him hidden from the Mexican, also hid the Mexican from him. He must—he must go on until he was well past the center of the dam—Miguel would do the job thoroughly if at all. Once there he must go through a fresh ordeal. He must climb out of the water and look over the edge of the dam in order to get his bearings and to find out where the Mexican had lit the fuse. Should he look over at the wrong spot and Miguel see him, it was the end—the end probably of his life and surely the finish of the coffer dam.

At last he passed the sluice gates which marked the center of the dam. A few rods further on he knew he must climb up and look over.

There was no time in which to gather his nerves together. He must act and act at once. So, pulling himself up with as little noise as possible, he peered over. No Miguel was in sight. But a hundred feet down the dam was a tiny thread of white smoke shining gray in the moonlight. With a despairing sob he leaped towards it as fast as his soaked clothes would let him.

Under his feet he saw the snake-like line of fuse.
With a leap he pulled the whole thing over the bank.

Zing! A sharp report and a whistle through the air by his ear told him that Miguel had caught sight of him and hoped to stop him by means of a bullet. But Bob had to go on. Again came a shot, but this time farther from him. “Rotten shooting!” panted Bob for the wind to hear. Now he was almost at his goal. He saw that there was still a length of fuse to be burned before it got to the explosive but the smoke was moving rapidly towards him. Another bullet came. He would not have time to get to the end of the fuse before it exploded. Despairing, he was almost ready to give up.

Then under his feet he saw the snake-like line of fuse. Reaching down, he grabbed it. It was necessary to take the chance that this sudden disturbance of the dynamite might set it off. With a leap, he pulled the whole thing over the bank with him and dropped with it into the water of the Rio Grande. He did not hear the sizzling sound that told that the fuse was dead. As he sank into the water, Bob was only conscious that he had done his best.