Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

808 belongs to me by rights. You know that, Acklin.” “Why don’t you go after it, then?” “‘T’m going after it. Don’t let that worry you. And if you are half as wise as I think you are, Acklin, I'll get it. All I want’ is a little Double A backing to put this deal through.” Acklin’s eyes contracted. His surmise had been correct. ‘You make me smile, Bodine,” he said. “The Double A isn’t pulling coals out of the fire for others. You'll run bang into the law if you touch that water.” “Law! Say, I’ve got all the Jaw I need. The county records say I am entitled to fourteen inches. But why talk of law? If you'll back me up the law will be the last thing to worry about.” “TI don’t know how you figure to cut me in, Bodine; but you don’t think I’d be a party to a deal to do these people out of their water, do you?” Bodine almost fell off his horse as Acklin uttered his sanctimonious words. “* Oh, hell!” he cried impatiently. ‘ Say, Acklin, do you think I am a fool? Listen to me; I’m no Basque! Maybe you can get away with that drivel on them. You flew off your handle a little while back- when I tried to twit you about that Basque kid. As if I didn’t know you were only playing! Tell me when the Double A ever held out a helping hand to a bosco? Why, if you could grab up these ranches down here for a song you’d do it quicker than scat. I know how things have gone along this creek. These Basques have caught you, time after time, taking more than your share of water. You need it! You ought to have twice as much as you’ve got. You’d like to get every drop of it; but even with your pull in the courts you're afraid to tackle this. It isn’t old Arrascada and his crowd who’ve held you back. No, sir! those ranchers along the Little Washoe. This creek is their big aloe. Without it that river would be bone dry by July. That’s why the sign is up, ‘ Hands off!’”” Bodine paused for breath. ‘‘ Well,” he went on, “ now that we understand each other can we go on with this conversation without any more of that Sunday school stuff?” It’s - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Acklin smiled; but his eyes were pray, instead of their accustomed blue. The smile meant nothing. “Seeing you're fully grown,” he said, ‘Tl waive the ‘ Sunday school stuff.’ What have you got up your sleeve?” Just this, Acklin. You and I can get every inch of water there is in this creek. And we'll make the law help us. I'll get the water I need, and you'll get enough to irrigate the entire upper end of the valley. Soon as these Basques find their water is gone they’ll throw up the sponge. Of course they’ll fight for a while; but in the end you'll buy up their places for a package of gum. Now, if you’re willing to talk turkey, you come to my place in the morning. Think it over. No need telling you what I’ve got on my mind if you’re not interested. I’m going to leave you here. Adios.” Acklin rode on. When he reached the Rull’s Head he retired to the little room that served him as an office, and smoked many pipefuls as he pondered over the as- tuteness of Mr. Bodine. What the fellow had told him did not cause Acklin a moment’s worry. He had said nothing but what the merest tyro in Paradise knew of his needs and dreams. But while he dismissed Bodine’s talk lightly, he took the man seriously enough. ““He’s a blow-hard,” he muttered to him- self. ‘‘ He’s theatrical; he’ll be a bad loser, too. Yes, sir, Bodine, your ego is entirely too large. I think you'll cheat, but w#l/ you shoot—and inquire afterward; or do it in the back, and make the inquiring unneces- sary? Well, we'll see. I shouldn’t wonder but you’re the bird I have been waiting for.” The Webster Creek rancher had touched fire to plans long dormant in Acklin’s mind. He smiled at Bodine’s patronizing of him. If what Bodine had to tell him was as he expected he knew the final outcome would be such that a little lording now by that individual was a cheap enough price to pay. In the clean blue and white morning Acklin rode to Webster Creek. Far off down the valley the whitewashed buildings of the Rancho Buena Vista and its distant neighbors glistened in the sun. Lowering skies with their sinister clouds of black comicloool C©