No, Jenkins' call for money was purely for himself and not the water system. The whole thing was robbery. But how could it be prevented? Injunctions by American courts did not extend over here, and Reedy undoubtedly had an understanding with the Mexican authorities.
There was nothing for it, thought Bob, but to choose one of two evils: Be robbed of $50,000, or lose five thousand acres of cotton. He set his teeth and started the little car plugging back across the sand toward the American line.
CHAPTER XXIV
A little after daylight Bob was in El Centro. Jim Crill, always an early riser, was on the porch reading the morning paper.
"Come and have breakfast with me," Bob called from the machine. "Got some things to talk over."
He handed Crill the letter from the water company. Not a muscle in the old gentleman's face changed as he read, but two spots of red showed at the points of his sharp cheekbones.
"If it was your own money in that crop, what would you do?" asked Jim Crill, shortly.
"I'd fight him to hell and back." Bob's eyes smoldered.
"Then fight him to hell and back," said the old man, shortly. "And if you don't get back, I'll put up a tombstone for you.