Free Fight for Powder Valley! by Brett Halliday Page B

approached the wagon, holding out his hand. “My name is Culver. Glad to meet you, Mr. Hartsell. And”—he lifted his stiff felt hat—“Mrs. Hartsell.”
    Joe Hartsell gripped the engineer’s hand, and Molly nodded to him. Baby-Doll sucked on her thumb and regarded him with wide inquisitive eyes. Joe said, “If you could show us which is section three; the southeast quarter …”
    â€œIt’s all surveyed and marked out for you. I believe your property is a hundred acres, lying right along the creek …”
    Joe Hartsell nodded. There was a hungry look in his eyes. “I’m looking for it to be good land. The man sold it, promised me …”
    â€œIt’s fine land,” Culver assured him heartily. “The pick of the entire project. As soon as we get our irrigation canals in …”
    â€œYou mean it ain’t irrigated yet?”
    â€œWell … not yet,” Culver replied, uncomfortably conscious of the direct gaze from Molly’s eyes that was almost accusatory. “We can’t do everything at once,” he stumbled on. “You must understand how it is with a new development. Dams and irrigation ditches take time.”
    â€œAnd what are folks like us going to do while you’re getting around to building them?” demanded Molly.
    â€œOh, there’ll be plenty to do. You’ll want to build a house … get your land cleared and ready for cultivation. It’s all virgin territory, you know. Never had a plow put to it.”
    Joe Hartsell cleared his throat. “Folks hereabout don’t seem to cotton to the idea,” he muttered. “Back yonder in town … they acted like settlers wasn’t wanted.”
    Ross Culver laughed, but there was a savage intonation of anger that belied his attempted lightness of tone. “You know how these Western ranchers are. Dead set in their ways. They don’t understand the meaning of progress. They’ll come around … once they see what it means to the country to have a development like this in their midst.”
    The Hartsells looked dubious, and Joe explained, “They didn’t want to sell us groceries at the store. Said my money wasn’t any good for buying things.”
    Ross Culver’s eyes flashed angrily. He exclaimed, “So, that’s what they’ve had up their sleeves? I’ve wondered why they were sitting back and taking things so tamely. Well, it won’t work.” He struck his fist resoundingly into an open palm. “I’ll open up a company store here on our own land … freight stuff in from Pueblo if need be. If you’ll give me a list of things you need at once, I’ll see that you get them as soon as you’re located on your land.”
    Joe shook his head. “We’re fixed all right for a little time. There was a lady in the store that bought the things Molly needed with her own money, and let Molly pay her for them. I wonder could we go on to our own place before it gets dark, Mister?”
    â€œOf course. It’s less than a mile ahead. Follow me and I’ll show you.” Culver went back to his buckboard, wheeled his team into the road ahead of the prairie schooner and held them down to a slow pace to accommodate the Kansan’s tired horses.
    The sun was dipping down toward the jagged peaks westward and the soft haze of early evening lay upon the wide fertile valley. The grass was rich and green on each side of the road, rising knee-high more than a mile westward where the line of willows marked the twisting course of Powder Creek. A covey of quail ran excitedly down the road in front of the buckboard as Culver turned off from the main road toward a gate in the new fence of tightly strung barbed wire that marked the western boundary of the company’s land. They rose into low flight with a whir of wings when their short legs failed to outdistance the buckboard, and the loud