“I shall not see any one,” the chief announced. “I don’t want to be interrupted. Take these to Smythe.”
His eyes followed the shutting of the door, then turned square upon Rickard. “I need you. It’s a hell of a mess!”
The engineer wanted to know what kind of a “mess” it was.
“That river. It’s running away from them. It’s always going to run away from them. I’m going to send you down to stop it.”
“The Colorado!” exclaimed Rickard. It was no hose to be turned, simply, off from a garden bed!
“Of course you’ve been following it? It’s one of the biggest things that’s happened in this part of the world. Too big for the men who have been trying to swing it. You’ve followed it?”
“Yes.” Queer coincidence, reading that report just now! “I’ve not been there. But the engineering papers used to get to me in Mexico. I’ve read all the reports.”
His superior’s question was uncharacteristically superfluous. Who had not read with thrilled nerves of that wild river which men had been trying to put under work-harness? Who, even among the stay-at-homes, had not followed the newspaper stories of the failure to make a meek servant and water-carrier of the Colorado, that wild steed of mountain and desert? What engineer, no matter how remote, would not “follow” that spectacular struggle between men and Titans?
“Going to send me to Salton?” he inquired. The railroad had been kept jumping to keep its feet dry. His job to be by that inland sea which last year had been desert!
“No. Brainerd is there. He can manage the tracks. I am going to send you down to the break.”