Reedy Jenkins had merely intended to be the latter. He had not planned to produce anything, nor yet to help other men produce, but to farm other men's needs—get hold of something so necessary for their success that it would force tribute from them. He planned to hold a hammer over the weakest link in others' financial deals and threaten to break it unless they paid him double for the hammer.
Reedy indorsed Jim Crill's check, and stuck it in his vest pocket. He liked to go into a bank and carelessly pull $25,000 checks out of his vest pocket. Then he took from a drawer twenty letters already typed, signed them, and put them into envelopes addressed to the ranchers who bought water of the Dillenbeck Water Co.
"Now"—Reedy moistened his lips and nodded his head—"we are all set."
CHAPTER XXIII
Bob tore the letter open with one rip, and read it with his back to the desk:
DEAR SIR:
We regret to say that dredging and other immediate repairs on our canal make a rather heavy assessment imperative. The work must be done at once, and the company's funds are entirely exhausted. Your assessment is $10 an acre; and this must be paid before we can serve you with any more water.
Very truly,
DILLENBECK WATER Co.,
Per R. Jenkins, Pres. & Mgr.
Ten dollars an acre! Fifty thousand dollars! Bob walked slowly out of the hotel. There was no use to go up to his room. No sleep to-night.
Jenkins' plot was clear now. He had merely been waiting for the most critical time. The next two waterings were the most vital of the whole season. The little squares that form the boll were taking shape. If the cotton did not get water at this time the bolls would fall off instead of setting.
Bob walked down the street, on through to the Mexican section of town, thinking. He must do something, but what?