“Is that grass down there?”
“Most of it. Some is black grama, some is curly mesquite grass. It has always grown in this country but I am careful not to overgraze it. The basin opens at the other end into a canyon and then into Long Valley, the old Navajo sheep range. I made a deal with the Navajo to graze some of it. I run about fifteen head to the section but actually most of this will support twice as many.”
Her father should see this, she thought. He would never believe it if she told him.
“But what about water? Where do you get water?”
“This country never has enough, and most of the rain comes in late summer. When I came back I already knew the problem I faced. I did some blasting, built three dams the first summer, damming three draws that open into the basin. Wherever I found a low spot I made some kind of a reservoir. Now I have a couple of small lakes behind the dams and there are pools scattered all over the basin and down into Long Valley. Toward the end of summer most of them do dry up, but by that time the rains are not far off.
“In this country water runs off the hills like off a tin roof so you have to save what you can. Of course, I’ve drilled a couple of wells, too.”
Amazed, she listened with only half her attention. Suddenly, she was frightened. If Joe Stangle saw this place his hatred and envy would be doubled.
She thought of something she had wondered about. “Barry? However did you make that tunnel?”
He chuckled. “Candy, over two-thirds of it was a big, natural cave. I paced it off, then went on top and measured the rock and found I only had a little way to go and much was an upthrust from below that I could take off with a pick.
“As far as the grass goes, I never graze much stock on it at any one time, and I shift them around to give the grass a chance to grow back.”
“Don’t you have trouble with old Two Moons?”
“Not at all. I explained what I had in mind, and he understood right away. The Navajo have always understood grazing pretty well, and I offered them a fair price.”
As they walked back her eyes strayed toward the house. She would have liked to see the inside, but he did not suggest it.
He stripped the harness from the team and turned them into the corral, then saddled a horse. “It’s getting late,” he said, “I’ll ride home with you.”
The ride to the TD was silent, for neither felt like talking. Barry was happy and miserable at the same time. He was in love with Candy, but her father had been one of those who tried to drive him off the place, and her father had lent his tacit consent to building The Fence, if no more than that.
The feeling against him had grown stranger rather than otherwise. The incident in the store would make them turn even further away, and as none of them liked him, most would be only too quick to accept his walking away from Stangle as cowardice.
When they drew up at the gate he said, “I wish you’d come again. And bring your father.”
“He wouldn’t come, Barry.” She was puzzled about her feelings toward him. He had talked more than ever before, and for the first time she had seen something of the kind of man he was, yet she could not quite understand him. He was, she suspected, a much more complex human being than any she had known.
“You’re beautiful, Candy.” The words came so suddenly that she looked up, surprised by them. “You’re so beautiful it hurts. I wish — ”
A dark figure loomed near the gate. “Candy? Is that you? Who’s that with you?”
“Price? I was just saying good night to Barry Merrano.”
“Who?” Astonishment mingled with anger. “Has that dirty Mex been botherin’ you? If he has,
I’ll — !”
“I simply rode home with Miss Drake,” Barry said. “There’s no reason to get excited.”
Price Taylor shoved open the gate and came out. “Listen, greaser! You turn that horse and cut loose for home! Don’t you be tellin’ me not to get excited! I’ll take you off that horse and beat your skull in!”
“Price!” Candy exclaimed. “This is outrageous!”
Taylor was beside Barry’s horse. He was a large, somewhat top-heavy young man. As foreman of the TD he had become almost one of the family and he had long looked upon Candy Drake as someone very special and reserved for him, although he had had no encouragement from her and certainly none from Tom Drake, who would have been appalled at the thought. Seeing her in the moonlight with Merrano turned him ugly.
“This is no business for womenfolk: ! You get along to the house now. I’ll take care of this!”
He reached a big hand for Barry and Barry went, much faster than Taylor expected. As Taylor laid hold of him Barry swung his other leg over the saddle and drove his heel into the bigger man’s chest, sending him staggering. Then he dropped to the ground.
Coolly, he waited until Taylor recovered his balance. “I’d rather you’d go along to the house,” Barry said, “but if you want a licking you can have it”
“A lickin’? Me?” Taylor’s size had won several brawls for him, and he fancied himself a tough man.
He started for Merrano and a stiff left stopped him, smashing his lips. Taylor dropped into a half-crouch, arms wide to grapple, and moved in. Barry caught the larger man’s sleeve and jerked him forward, off-balance, then kicked his foot from under him. Taylor sprawled forward, falling on his hands and knees.
Merrano stood waiting, and Taylor came half erect, then launched himself in a long dive. Merrano sidestepped and waited.
Slowly, carefully, Taylor got up from the ground. Putting his fists in front of him in an awkward simulation of a boxer, he moved in. Merrano moved to the side and Taylor caught him on the cheekbone with a clumsy swing, but Merrano stood his ground and struck three hard, fast blows to the body, then an uppercut thrown in close that tipped Taylor’s chin back.
Taylor bored in, swinging wildly. Another punch caught Barry but again he failed to step back and, moving in, sank a wicked right into Taylor’s belly and hooked a left to his face.
Taylor turned, Barry feinted a left and Taylor pawed at the air to knock the punch down, but the feint was followed by a stiff left, then another and another. Taylor was big, but lacked any semblance of fighting skill. He came in, legs spread wide, swinging. Barry hit him with a left, then knocked him down with a right. Taylor got up slowly and Barry knocked him down again.
Taylor got to his knees but was unable to get to his feet. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but you asked for it You’re a game man, but you’re no fighter.”
Taylor made it to his feet, weaving. Barry thrust out a hand. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no hard feelings. Will you shake?”
Price Taylor ignored the out-thrust hand.
Barry swung to the saddle. “I’m sorry, Candy. I didn’t want this to happen.”
“You’d better go,” she replied coldly.
He swung his horse and rode away, cutting across the plains, gray and empty under a wide White moon.
Taylor wiped his face. “You must think I’m an awful bust, gettin’ whipped that way.”
Candy shook her head soberly. “No, Price, I don’t, but I think we’ve all made an awful mistake!”
Taylor grunted. “Looks like I made one, anyway.”
When she opened the door into the wide living room of the ranch house Candy was surprised to find five or six men talking with her father. Jim Hill was there, and Joe Stangle. Also there were Cab Casady, Rock Dulin, Vinnie Lake, Hardy Benson and a big, powerful man whom she did not know.
“We’ve got to figure out something or we’re finished,” Benson was saying. “My cattle are dying like flies!”
“Mine, too,” Stangle said, “water holes are dry, and there’s no grass.”
“If you ask me,” Dulin commented, “it ain’t only the drouth. There’s been some rustlin’.”
“There’s been no rustling in this country since we got rid of Bert Scovey and his outfit.”
“That greaser always has money,” Stangle said. “Where’s he get it?”
“If you could see that Basin Ranch of his,” Candy interrupted, “you wouldn’t wonder. You should all have listened to him a long time ago.”
Her father looked up sharply. “Candy? What makes you say that? When did you see it?”
“Today,” she replied calmly. “He invited me to see it and I did.”