MacLean was speaking.
“Mr. Marshall has likened the river project to the old man of the sea. He has it on his back, while it is busily kicking him in the shins!
“Mr. Marshall has given you Mr. Faraday’s message. He has asked you to dismiss your damage suits. I ask you to do more than that. Put your hands in your pockets! Come out and help us. You don’t want the government. I am told that is the sentiment of the valley. When you called to them, they wouldn’t help you; they wouldn’t give you an adequate price. Congress will soon be adjourning. What is Mr. Faraday to say to Washington? Is he going to close that break? That depends on you. Withdraw your suits. Do more. Stop fighting against us. Fight with us—”
The audience stirred ominously, angrily. Before MacLean was done, a voice screamed from the balcony. “You can’t quit. That’s a threat. You’re in too deep. You can’t fool us. You’ve got to save yourself. You’ve got to go on. Tell Faraday to tell that to Washington.”
The uproar was released. Black, from the Wistaria, jumped on his chair. “I am speaking for the valley. We can’t help. You know it. We’re stripped. We’re ruined. You think to threaten us with the government—if we wait for the government to decide, the valley is gone—and the railroad’s money with it. I tell you, your bluff won’t go. We want justice. We are going to have justice.”
“Justice!” came from the surging ranchers.
“Fair play,” yelled Black. “You can’t trick us. We were not born yesterday. We have rights. The company brought us here. What did we give our money for? Desert land? What good is this land without water? We bought water—we were pledged water. Give us back the money we’ve put in—that’s what we’re asking for. We won’t be scared out of our rights.”
There was a growling accompaniment from the back rows, herding together.
“Order,” cried Babcock, thumping his gavel. “Let Mr. Black have the floor.”
Black had not stopped. Wildly his hands cut the air. His speech, though high-pitched, had a prepared sound; it worked toward a climax. He gave individual instances of ruin. “Grace, Willard Grace, his crop gone, his place cut in two. Hollister and Wilson, of the Palo Verde, the ranch a screaming horror. Scores of others.” He would not mention his own case; and then he itemized his misfortunes. Parrish, his place scoured beyond all future usefulness. What had they come into the valley for? Who had urged them? There were pledges of the D. R., water pledges. That was all those ruined men were pleading, the redemption of those pledges. Individual ruin, what did it mean? A curtailing of luxuries, of personal indulgence. “I tell you, it means food, bread, potatoes; milk for the babies; or starvation.”