Free Fight for Powder Valley! by Brett Halliday Page A

expected to dribble in soon. In vain Ross Culver had protested against this policy to President Biloff and his board of directors. It was far too early to start bringing in settlers, the engineer had pointed out. The short growing season of summer was more than half over, and work had scarcely begun on the dam and irrigation ditches. Even if there happened to be sufficient rainfall to raise crops without irrigation this first year, the frost was bound to come before anything could be harvested.
    In Culver’s mind, it was courting disaster to bring farmers in before the land was ready to receive them. He argued that it would inevitably bring the whole project into disrepute if the first few families were unable to make a go of it and were forced to give up and move out before the contemplated irrigation system was ready for operation.
    But his protests to headquarters had been unavailing. He had been reminded that he was the engineer, not the policymaker for the company; that it was his job to go ahead with the actual development work and not worry about the eventual success or failure of the project.
    This attitude of the higher-ups in Denver had served to implant a tiny seed of doubt in Ross Culver’s mind; a seed which stubbornly took root despite his efforts to rid himself of it. Perhaps the ranchers were right, and Jud Biloff didn’t actually care whether the project was a success or not—just so he and his associates were able to sell the land for a huge profit to themselves.
    Culver didn’t want to think that about his employers. He refused to let his thoughts dwell on that ugly possibility. For he was a conscientious man, and he could never bring himself to lend his name and his efforts to such a barefaced piece of trickery. It would be downright dishonest to lure settlers into the valley merely to get their money for land which might prove to be utterly worthless to them. He had to make himself believe in the project in order to continue as engineer in charge. And the job was important to him in that it was his first real opportunity to distinguish himself in his profession; his first responsible position in complete charge of a project of this importance.
    Thus, he found himself working a sort of self-hypnotism on his faculties which had the effect of blinding his mind to the hard realities in order to retain a measure of self-respect.
    The inward battle that he had been fighting this past month was reflected in a certain haggardness of his features. An habitual frown of irritation had replaced his customary smile of good humor and his speech had taken on a new curtness and force.
    He leaned out of the buckboard and held up one hand as the prairie schooner came abreast of him, keenly studying the faces of Joe and Molly Hartsell with Baby-Doll between them on the front seat.
    Culver felt instant pity, and then a strong tide of resentment against Biloff and his associates. The Hartsells were exactly the type he had hoped would not come this first summer. The determined look of cheerfulness on their faces as they returned his greeting did not fool him at all. He knew, instinctively, that they were buoyed up by false hopes, promises of a Paradise that awaited them instead of this grim land that would take a lot of subduing before it gave forth the crops they needed.
    But they were here now, and there was nothing for it except to make the best of the situation. He hated himself for the false note of cheerfulness he put in his voice as he said:
    â€œI’m the engineer in charge of the Colorado Western Land and Development Company’s property here. I have an idea you folks are looking for me.”
    â€œWell now, I reckon maybe we are at that.” Joe Hartsell leaned forward to peer at the man in the buckboard. “Like for somebody to show us where’s the piece of land we bought. My name’s Hartsell,” he added. “Joe Hartsell from Kansas.”
    Culver leaped down and