“Yes, that would be better,” she agreed.
Having finished breakfast, Merrick went out to run down his man. He found presently a ragged young fellow sitting on the tongue of an old wagon puffing nervously at a cigarette.
The engineer nodded a good-morning at him and stopped. “Not so hot as yesterday,” he said by way of introduction.
“No,” assented the ragged one gloomily.
“I’ve learned that Sheriff Daniels wants you to stay around a few days. I’m in charge of the Sweetwater Dam irrigation project. We need men. Want a job?”
“If it’s one that suits me,” answered the tramp, eyeing Merrick ungraciously. He recognized the man’s strength and force. Every line of him, every glance, every inflection of the voice helped to bear out the impression of success he radiated. Clearly he was masterful and dominant, but the younger man did not like him less for that.
“What can you do? What’s your line?”
“I’m an engineer.”
“What kind?”
“I’ve done more bridge-building than anything else.”