“You mean you weren’t sure the canal had to run to the upper mouth of the cañon.”
The chief of construction looked at his assistant quickly. This young fellow had more than once surprised Merrick by the clearness of his deductions.
“Exactly that. So I proceeded to find out for myself.”
“And you learned that you could carry it over the hills and down the draw where Prowers stampeded the cattle.”
“How do you know that?” demanded Merrick.
“More irrefutable logic.” Hollister tilted back his chair and smiled. “There’s only one break in the walls of the cañon in the whole five miles. That’s at the draw near the lower mouth. Since the ditch must get into the foothills from the gorge and can’t reach them any other way, and since it can’t enter the cañon at the upper end on account of the law of gravity, I’m driven to the alternative—and that’s the draw.”
“You use your brains,” admitted the older man dryly. “Of course, you’re right. We’re going down the draw.”
“Then the survey you had me make of the upper part of the cañon was camouflage.”
“Yes.” A smile of grim amusement broke the lines of his firm mouth. “Black’s homestead claim doesn’t reach as far down as the draw. Prowers thought it would be enough to close the upper mouth of the gorge to us. So we don’t touch his land at all—don’t come within miles of it in point of fact. To make sure Prowers won’t jump in later, I’ve had a dummy file on the draw.”
Hollister looked at his chief with admiration. The man had all the qualities that make for success—technical skill, audacity, confidence in himself, steadiness, force, restrained imagination, and a certain capacity for indomitable perseverance. He would go a long way, in spite of the fact that he was not quite the ideal leader, or perhaps because of the lack of the fire that inspires subordinates. For he was not one to let a generous enthusiasm sweep him from the moorings of common sense.