“Recourse, yes; plenty of it after the fact. If the dam should give way and cause damage, the irrigation company would be liable.”
“Humph!” snorted the big-bodied one, half-contemptuously. “Law is one of the few things that I have never dabbled in. What you say amounts to this: if I find a man training a cannon on my house, I have no right to stop him; I can only try to collect damages after the gun has gone off and ripped a hole through my property. I could make a better law than that myself!”
Stillings was staring thoughtfully through the opposite window at the lights in the railroad building across the plaza.
“There are times, Mr. Sprague, when we all feel that way; crises which seem to call for something in the way of extra-judicial proceedings,” he admitted. And then: “Have you told Maxwell about this?”
“Not specifically. Dick has troubles of his own just now; he has had enough of them this summer to turn his hair gray, as you know. I have been hoping that this latest move of the enemy could be blocked without dragging him into it.”
Stillings turned quickly. “That is the frankest thing you’ve said this evening. Is it another move of the enemy—the New Yorkers?”
Sprague spread his hands and his big shoulders went up in a shrug.
“You have just as much incriminating evidence as I have. How does it strike you?”
The attorney shook his head in doubtful incredulity, again unconsciously following Editor Kendall’s lead.
“It doesn’t seem possible!” he protested. “Think of the tremendous consequences involved—outside of the crippling of the railroad. The Short Line wouldn’t be the only sufferer in case of a dam-break in the Mesquite. The entire valley would be flood-swept, and our High Line dam—” he stopped abruptly and half-rose to his feet. “Good Lord, Sprague! the breaking of the High Line dam would mean death and destruction without end!”