A second later Bob was climbing through space, faster than a rocket.

Bob Hazard
Dam Builder

By
Carl Brandt

Illustrated by Herbert Morton Stoops

The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago

Copyright, 1916
By
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Bob Hazard, Dam Builder

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Bob Hazard, Dam Builder

CHAPTER I
FATHER AND SON

“So you would rather be an engineer than a lawyer, Bob? Is that what you want to tell me?”

“Yes, sir,—an engineer rather than anything else!”

The speakers were sitting on a bench in the park which surrounds the old Virginia State House in Richmond. Father and son they were certainly—the likeness was unmistakable.

The man hesitated a moment before going on with the conversation. When he spoke it was seemingly from a new angle.

“How old are you now, Bob? Seventeen, isn’t it? Yes, yes, of course. And in a week or two you will have finished with Crossways for good?”

“Mr. Moseley says I am ready for my college exams, Dad. Tells me that he can’t take me along any further.”

“And instead of taking the examinations for Harvard and then going fishing with me, you want to go out West and work on an engineering corps all summer. After that, what?”

“If you’ll let me, I want to go to Rensselaer and study civil engineering. I’ll have had some practice then and the theory will come easier.”

“I see. But, my son, do you realize that if you follow your desire to be an engineer there will never be the firm of Robert Hazard and Son? That the practice I have built up will not pass on to you as I have so often planned? We would have made a great team, my boy, and it’s rather hard to give up the idea so suddenly. But I see that you must do as you wish.”

This way of taking it was rather disconcerting to Bob Hazard. He had hoped his father would be a little angry, perhaps, at the news of his decision. And if he had, Bob could have stuck to his determination with more heart, for he would have felt he had been treated a little unjustly. But his father’s acceptance of the situation left him without any defense. Besides, the note of disappointment which was so evident, convinced him that from his father’s standpoint he was ungrateful for the love and care he had received.

“No, no, Dad!” Bob cried. “We won’t give up the idea! I—didn’t know you felt that way about it. The engineering can go. I’ll write Whiskers and tell him I’m not coming. Of course we’ll have the firm of Hazard and Son and we’ll make rival lawyers sit up and take notice!”

The older Hazard looked at his son with gleaming eyes. What stuff the lad was made of! An immense pride filled him that this boy could be so unselfish and destroy his own carefully laid plans for the future with such a brave attempt at sincerity.

“Thank you, Bob,” he said slowly. “But I can’t let you give up your ambition for mine. You would not be happy, nor after a time would I, for I realize that your desire to be an engineer is not just a whim. You could not be a good lawyer unless your heart were in it, and I don’t want a son of mine to be anything but a good lawyer, if he’s one at all. I’d far rather have you a good engineer than an almost good lawyer. You will have to try out your plan. If it works, well and good; if it doesn’t, you can still try something else. You are old enough to decide for yourself, my son.”

“You are a good Dad!” cried Bob, putting an arm around the older man’s shoulders and hugging him unashamedly. “Whiskers—that is, Steve Whitney—wrote and told me to report to him as soon as I could. Then I have your permission to go West just as soon as school closes?”

“Yes,” was the quick answer, although the speaker had hoped that the boy would suggest spending a week or two with him before he left for the West. But Bob’s next words cheered him a lot.

“Of course, Dad, I don’t mean to go until we’ve had a chance to see each other. If you could only come out to Crossways for the next week or two it would be great! That way, we could visit and still I could get out on the job just as soon as possible. I don’t want Whiskers to fill my place just because I don’t show up. But I’ll come up to New York—”

“You won’t have to do that,” said Mr. Hazard with a smile.

“You mean you can come to Crossways?”

“I do. It just so happens that I can spare a few days right now. Besides, I’d like to meet the fellows you are always writing about—Tom and Ned—and see the place where you grew that big crop of corn last summer.”

Mr. Hazard was as good as his word. The same night found him installed in the colonial house from which the great plantation of Crossways had formerly been managed. Now the plantation was a thing of memory only. Only the house and comparatively few cultivated acres remained of the once proud estate. Edward Moseley, the last of a long line, kept a school, which, primarily started for the benefit of his tenants’ children, had become so famous that boys from all parts of the country were now enrolled.

The summer before, when Mr. Hazard found that it was necessary for him to make a trip abroad, he had left Bob at Crossways; and to make things pleasanter he had sent down a canoe, giving it to Tom Wickham and Ned Moseley, Bob’s chums. Therefore, when he appeared in person, Tom and Ned were prepared to like him. They were not disappointed.

When he demanded it the boys showed him the island in the low grounds on which they had grown the test crop of corn.

“It seems to me that you fellows hit on a really excellent plan to occupy your time during the summer. Who thought of it?” he asked after examining the plot.

“Tom,” said Ned quickly. “He planned it and we did the work.”

“I reckon I did my share of the work too,” exploded Tom. When the laugh died down, Mr. Hazard went on with his questions.

“Are you going to plant it again this year?”

“Not this piece, sir,” answered Tom. “I’ve got all I can do helping my father. When we raised more than double the average yield of his fields on our little patch here, he decided that there was something in modern farming methods after all, so this year we’re putting all our corn in as it should be! And we’re going to have some crop, too!”

“Didn’t you meet Mr. Whitney somewheres around here, Bob?” Mr. Hazard asked, turning to his son.

Before Bob could answer, Tom Wickham had broken in.

“Mr. Whitney? Oh, you mean ‘Whiskers,’ who put the engineering bug into Bob’s head, last year. We found him up the river at the cave. Would you like to go up there?”

Mr. Hazard assented, so they planned the expedition for another day, as this afternoon was growing old. When they went, however, he was told of the adventures that had centered around the cave and Whiskers. How they had come on him by chance and, thinking him an escaped criminal, had undertaken his capture. This had led to Ned’s being caught instead and when Bob and Tom had effected the rescue, had resulted in the discovery of the secret chamber behind the cave. Mr. Hazard was particularly interested when he heard of the part Whiskers had taken in the defense of the island and its precious crop from the onslaught of the summer freshet. They told him that it was not until the crop was safe that Whiskers had revealed who he was, an engineer in the United States Reclamation Service. He had hidden himself away until certain unfounded charges against him were cleared away. These had been brought by grafters he had found on the job he had in charge.

“Well, Bob,” remarked Mr. Hazard when the tale was done, “you certainly had a better time here than you would have had if you had gone to Russia with me!”

Finally Bob’s father had to go back to New York. Several telegrams had come and the last one could not be disregarded. The night before he left Mr. Hazard led Bob out into the grounds. When they came to the fence, they leaned on it and started talking. The moon was up and shed its light on the flat fields. In the hum of the country stillness, only the summer whistle of the quail and the sharp plaintive cry of the whippoorwill were distinct.

“You are determined, Bob?” the older man asked. Bob knew to what his father referred.

“Yes, sir! Absolutely!”

“You have counted the cost well? There is no great reward in what you plan to do. There will be no limousines—no luxury in the life you will lead. A lawyer can have both.”

“I know it, sir!”

The man knew his was a losing fight yet he wanted to struggle on. Through the years he had watched over his motherless boy, he had dreamed dreams. He had seen the time when Bob would enter his office, when he would become a partner and at last when he would take onto his young shoulders the whole burden of the work. It had been a good dream and he was loath to give it up. He made one more effort.

“If you find that the work is not as much fun as you expected, will you come back and tell me so? You won’t stick it out just as a matter of pride?”

“I can safely promise that, Daddy. You know, don’t you, that I really would like to be a lawyer if I only could? But I know I’ve just got to try this engineering. If it turns out wrong for me I’ll come back gladly.”

Both were silent for a few minutes. Then Bob spoke again, his manner saying more than his words:

“You’ve been bully to me, Dad.”

“You are all I’ve got, son,” was the quiet reply. “I must let you do the best you can for yourself.”

They went into the house and the next day Mr. Hazard was whirling northward, gazing out of the car window and hoping that some good chance would bring his boy back to him. As it was he felt lost and quite alone.

CHAPTER II
U. S. R. S.

The long trip across the continent proved to be no hardship for Bob. It was the first time he had ever gone alone on so long a journey and he could not help but feel a certain sense of liberty. He made friends with everybody on the train and many tired travelers saw the scenery through his enthusiastic eyes, finding beauty in what ordinarily would have seemed to them commonplace.

One thing only served to disturb his perfect enjoyment: This was a conviction not to be denied, that his father was hurt by his action. As he thought over their talks he knew that underneath the approval his father had given, lay a deep disappointment. That Bob would not be a lawyer was a hard blow; the knowledge that his son’s choice of an occupation in life would mean almost constant separation, must hurt the elder Hazard, who thought the world of his only son.

Bob realized these things keenly and they were painful to him, yet he could not bring himself to give up his plan to be an engineer.

“Dad made his own way, tackled the job he wanted and made good. I’ve got to do the same. Probably his father wanted him to do something quite different. I’ll ask him about that some time. Besides, if I just took up Dad’s business, it wouldn’t seem right somehow.”

But thoughts such as these occurred to him less and less as the distance between him and the East grew greater. By the time he dropped off the train at Williams, Arizona, where he changed to the day coach that would take him to the Grand Canyon, his mind was so full of the future that there was no room for the things he had left behind him.

When the jolting train stopped at the last station, the boy stepped off almost at Whiskers’ side. Dropping his suit case, he caught the hand that was stretched out to him and was happy when he saw the man’s grin of welcome.

“Good work, Bob, my boy! It’s great to see you! Have a good trip? You’ve grown since I saw you—how’re the other fellows? How’s Big Chris?”

“Fine! Fine!” answered Bob. “And it’s good to see you too. I’m awfully glad you’ve got a place for me. Is the job here at the Canyon?”

Steve Whitney shook his head. “No—but I’ll tell you all about it as we go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”

“Right you are, Whisk—I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be Mister Whitney now since you are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us kids and we took liberties.”

“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be bad for discipline if you called me by that—‘vacation’ name, let’s call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t we?”

“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget ’em.” For a moment he said nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then—“But where is the job? You said it wasn’t here.”

“No, just now there isn’t any job at all—”

“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” the engineer assured him; “there will be plenty of work. I have just finished a project in Colorado and am waiting for further orders. I told you to meet me here because I wanted you to see the greatest natural wonder we have in the United States, the Grand Canyon, and I am going to work you so hard later on that you won’t have another chance to get here before you go back to college. And I want your first sight of it to be at sunset. Then it is most wonderful.”

By this time they had reached the hotel.

“Go and wash up and come down quickly,” urged Bob’s new boss. “It’s almost sunset, and I don’t want you to miss it! I’ll wait for you here on the porch.”

Bob wasted no time and a few minutes later joined Mr. Whitney. The veranda of the hotel is built almost on the edge of the great rift in the surface of the earth. Bob started to pull up a chair to the railing where his friend was sitting but stopped as the other rose.

“I’ve got a better place than this to see it from,” said Mr. Whitney. “A lot of folks will be coming out here presently and too many people spoil the thing. Come along.”

Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a comfortable seat.

“Some class, eh, Bob?” laughed Whiskers as they settled themselves. “I found it and try to get here every night. But let’s stop talking; it’s about to begin.”

There was no need to talk; in fact, the glorious beauty of the panorama spread before him would have made it almost impossible to talk even if Bob had wanted to.

As far as the eye could reach, the great chasm extended. In it rose pinnacles, spires and mountain ranges, alternating with deep valleys and gulches. At the very bottom wound a tiny thread of silver, the Colorado River, for whose passage nature had undertaken such a gigantic task and, in its accomplishment, had created such beauty.

Bob’s first feeling was of his own littleness, his unimportance in the face of such magnitude. But this went away as the sun, dropping steadily to the opposite horizon, began to paint the scenes with magic colors.

It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different.

When at last the sun dropped below the edge of the distant hills, leaving the Canyon in deep purple shadow, Bob turned to Mr. Whitney.

“That is all I can stand now,” he said. “It is too wonderful.”

He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon.

“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!”

The man laughed. “Even the Grand Canyon can’t keep a good, healthy appetite down for long, can it? I guess supper is pretty nearly ready now. But wait a minute—here is someone I want you to know.”

Bob looked up to see a young fellow of about his own age coming towards them. He was rather tall and dark and dressed in khaki, and wore canvas leggins. It was the costume of a regular civil engineer, thought the boy from the East.

“This is Jerry King, Bob,” said Whitney. “Another member of my corps. Shake hands with Bob Hazard, Jerry. We will all be together this summer.”

The newcomer put out his hand and Bob grasped it warmly. He was prepared to like anybody and anything in this new life he had begun. After a few words they moved off in the direction of the dining room.

“What have you been up to this afternoon, Jerry?” asked the Chief, when they had found their table.

“Nothing much,” was the answer. “Fooling ’round the Canyon a little.”

“You go down into it, then?” asked Bob.

“Yes, there’s a trail but there’s nothing much down there anyway.” This from Jerry in an unenthusiastic tone.

The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between. And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every advance he made.

When supper was over the party went out on the porch of the hotel. The Chief lit his pipe and settled into a big rocking chair. “Well, Bob,” he said, “now that you are here, are you glad that you came?”

“You bet I am,” was the enthusiastic answer.

“But he hasn’t seen any work yet,” put in Jerry shortly.

“I’m not worried about that,” Bob said confidently. “I think I’ll like that too.”

“It’s not all a cinch,” said Whiskers. “The Reclamation Service is a hard taskmaster. Jerry knows. He has been with me almost a year—ever since I came back from Virginia.”

There was silence for a moment and then Bob asked quietly.

“Please, Mr. Whitney, won’t you tell me something about the Reclamation Service? Although I have read what I could, I know very little about the real spirit of it, only just figures showing what it’s done or is going to do.”

“All right, Bob, I will, but you’ll have to stop me if I begin to bore you. The Service is an enthusiasm of mine, you know.”

“I guess you know very well I won’t be bored. Go ahead.”

Steve Whitney filled his pipe and then began a description of what is perhaps the most important thing the Government has ever done for the West.

“About twelve years ago,” he said when his pipe was well lighted, “after a great deal of agitation over it, Congress passed a bill which created the thing we call the Reclamation Service. Its object was to increase the number of farms and to increase the total area of productive land. As you no doubt know, almost all the desert land in the United States would be extremely productive provided it could get a sufficient supply of one thing.”

“Water?” put in Bob.

“Yes, just that. In other parts of the country this water is provided by rainfall. But deserts are deserts only because the rainfall is slight, if there is any at all. Therefore it is necessary to build dams in the country where there is rainfall, collect the water, and send it down to the desert lands where it is needed.”

“Is that what the Service does?”

“Yes, that is our biggest job. We call it irrigation. But it isn’t always necessary to build these dams where the rainfall is heavy. If we can dam a river above the point where it begins to dry up, we can usually collect enough water during the flood season to supply a great area of dry land below it during all the months of the year.”

“And has the plan been a success?” interrupted Bob again.

“Decidedly. During 1913 the value of the crops produced on the lands we have already irrigated was nearly sixteen million dollars. If all the land had been worked which we are now able to irrigate, we would have had nearly a million and a half acres of productive land which before was only plains of alkali dust. The projects already planned and not yet completed, or in some cases not even started, will more than double the results I have just told you about. It is a great work.”

“But does the Government pay for all this?” asked Bob.

“At first it does, but the plan is that farmers who use irrigated lands must pay a water tax which will eventually repay the Government the amount of money it has invested. On some projects the farmers have entirely repaid the Government. On others it will be years before the money is finally returned.”

Bob drew a long breath. “This is work really worth while doing,” he said, his eyes shining. “It must be great to know that each new dam you complete will make thousands of acres of land green and productive. I will be glad to help.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Whiskers. “As I said before, it is good work. The reward is not all in the pay you get. It is in the achievement and the service that you render. That is all that you can look forward to in the way of payment. But I have talked too long. You must be tired after your long trip. You’d better chase off to bed.”

But Bob would not go. He kept asking Mr. Whitney questions about the details of the work and the man had to answer. He saw in the boy’s enthusiasm something of the enthusiasm he himself had felt when he had joined the Service, and which he had never lost, in spite of the disappointments and hard knocks that had come his way. Finally, however, he insisted on breaking up the conversation. But before Bob left he said to him quite earnestly and seriously, “I have told you about the Service, Bob, and I want you to think pretty carefully about it. If you once start, you will have a hard time breaking away. There are a lot of other things you can do which will bring you more money and more fame. This working for the Government, the extending of the territory of the country and increasing its value, gets into your blood and once it does you will never be fit for anything else. It is not too late to stop now if you want to. Good night, and let me know in the morning what you decide to do.”

CHAPTER III
WHEN THE CHIEF WAS AWAY

Bob was asleep almost as soon as he touched the pillow. The long trip on the train had tired him more than he had thought and he did not wake until a heavy pounding on the door broke into his slumbers. Jerry King came in when he at last answered.

“The Chief sent me up to wake you. Breakfast is almost over.”

Bob shook the sleep out of his eyes and hustled into his clothes. When he came downstairs with Jerry he found that Mr. Whitney had already finished his breakfast and had gone out. So he and Jerry had theirs. During the meal Bob tried again to draw his new comrade out, but the same unwillingness to talk possessed Jerry. Bob rather wondered what was the matter. He had not been used to meeting with such reserve. He remembered also that during the conversation on the porch the night before Jerry had spoken hardly a word but sat in his chair motionless. At last, giving it up as a bad job, he finished his meal in silence. Steve Whitney met them in the lobby.

“Well, fellows,” he greeted them, “my orders have come, or at least I think they will be my marching orders. A telegram has just been given me. I’ve got to go to El Paso and meet the Division Superintendent. It probably means my little vacation is over.”

“I’ll be glad to get to work,” said Jerry shortly.

“I don’t think you will have to wait much longer,” said Whitney laughing. Then he turned to Bob. “Made up your mind yet? You can go along with me if you’re going back East—”

“Not so’s you could notice it!” exclaimed Bob indignantly. “I’ve made up my mind but it’s to stay right here!”

“Oh, if that’s the way you feel about it,” laughed Mr. Whitney, “all right. Bob, I’m afraid the Service has got you. Now as to the future. I probably won’t come back up here so I’ll telegraph you where to meet me as soon as I know where we’ve been assigned. It’ll only be a few days now, I reckon. My train’s going in a few minutes, so I’ll have to hustle and pack. I’ll see you at the train.”

Bob got up early in order to see the Canyon at sunrise the morning after Steve Whitney went away, but found that in comparison to the sunset it was tame. Yet so inspiring was it that he was glad he had taken the trouble. The panorama spread before his eyes was one of which no other country could boast. Bob had seen pictures of it, had read about it, and had been taught about it from his geography, but nothing that he had read or heard or learned had given him even a faint idea of the glory of the thing as it actually was, no matter what time of the day it was seen.

After drinking his fill of the wonder he went back to the hotel to breakfast and found Jerry King already at the table. The other boy continued to puzzle him. Jerry made no effort to begin a conversation and Bob refused to lay himself open to a turn-down by making the first remark. However, as he rose from the table he asked if Jerry had been down the Bright Angel Trail to the very bottom of the Canyon.

Jerry answered shortly, “Yes.”

“Go with me this morning?” asked Bob as shortly.

This time the answer was no—once was enough. So Bob, determined to get as much fun as possible out of his enforced stay at the Canyon, started out alone and joined the group of tourists in front of the hotel. They were already preparing to make the descent. He decided to walk rather than trust to one of the funny fat little mules which were provided for the visitors who were too stout or too lazy to use the means of locomotion given them by nature.

At last the start was made and after a walk of about a quarter of a mile along the rim the party came to the head of the Bright Angel Trail which led to the bottom. At first the going was fairly easy, but soon the trail grew steeper and steeper and Bob was amazed to see the calm way in which the little donkeys kept their footing, particularly when they were carrying large and heavy human beings. Owing to the immense zigzags that the trail had to take in order to provide a safe path, a lot of ground had to be covered. Therefore it was not until almost noon that the party reached the first plateau. This “plateau” is in reality far from flat. It is merely a slight leveling out of the general declivity about two-thirds of the way down.

Along with the most determined of the tourists, Bob made the final descent to the bank of the river. It had been hot enough up at the hotel. On the plateau it was fairly sizzling, but once at the bottom the heat was intense. This probably accounted for the fact that the whole party was quite ready to begin the return trip as soon as the tourists got back their breath.

At the very depth of the Canyon Bob suddenly realized what the Reclamation Service had to contend with. It was places like this which needed feats of engineering skill to let people even get near to them, that the Service had to contend with. Nature was the Service’s foe. Its task was to subjugate her to its own ends. Of course this Canyon was too big; the desert land was too far away for any irrigation project to be thought of.

But it was in similar canyons, smaller, perhaps, that the Service built its dams. Down the sides of cliffs like these, which even the mountain goats had difficulty in mastering, the Service had to build its roads. It was to such desolate beauty that the Service brought progress and the service of mankind. In his imagination Bob saw the smooth face of an enormous dam filling even this great canyon,—generating enough horse power to run all the factories of the West, and collecting enough water to irrigate all the homes that could be made on the great American desert. Right then nothing was too stupendous a task for final achievement. His whole being thrilled with the thought that he was to be a part of the Service, that he was to have a hand in the great work that it was doing and would do.

His mind busy with these thoughts, he found that the long climb to the top did not bother him. After a wash-up he had supper and went out on the hotel piazza. The sun had gone but its last banners of light were flung up against the sky behind the farthest horizon. The depths of the Canyon were black. Out of this rose myriad pinnacles, dim in outline, rich in deep colors. Just at the opposite rim a strip of color spun along, tipping the horizon with a golden glow.

“Wasn’t much after all your trouble to get down, was it?” said a voice behind him. Bob looked up to find that Jerry had appeared.

“It was worth the trouble anyway,” answered Bob as Jerry settled into a chair. He realized that Jerry’s remark was in reference to his trip down the Canyon. “I’m mighty glad I went. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go again for a pretty,” returned Jerry. “Once is a great plenty. Besides, there isn’t any chance of our ever doing anything with this place. Anything useful, that is. I don’t know what the Chief wanted to bring us up here for. Wish we were on the job. Hate this loafing.”

“I wish we were too,” agreed Bob, warming up to Jerry’s unexpected long speech. “Isn’t there anything exciting we can do while waiting for Mr. Whitney?”

“Not a thing if we’ve got to stay here,” said the other and relapsed into silence.

After a long period Jerry spoke again almost to himself. “If we were only up Green River way, now, there would be a chance. I was by there once. There’s a canyon there we might do something with—”

“Do you mean there’s a chance for a dam?” asked Bob.

“Yes,” said the other. “But it would mean tunneling through a mountain to get the water out after the dam was built. That is nothing for the Service if only we could get a road down into the canyon. Need it to get machinery and materials down to the dam site. Nobody’s ever gone through the canyon alive, so no one knows whether a road is practical or not. Lots have started. I’ve sort of a hankering to try it.”

“What is it called?”

“The Labyrinth. It is only about sixty miles long. But in those sixty miles there are more rapids, and bad ones, than there are in all of the Grand Canyon. Well, I reckon there isn’t much chance of my ever tackling it.”

“Why not?” asked Bob.

But evidently Jerry had used up all the words he had on tap. After some sort of unsatisfactory answer he got up and moved off in silence in the aloof way he had. Bob sat still and thought over what the other had just told him. The plan of exploring this canyon which no one else had ever been able to go through fired his imagination. He wanted to try it.

His reverie was broken into a few moments later by a bell boy coming out with a telegram. It was from Mr. Whitney, and sent from El Paso. Bob opened it and read: “Unexpected developments. Must go Washington. Back within three weeks. Will wire further instructions.”

For a moment or two after he had read the message all Bob could think of was that there was a long procession of boring days to be met. It would have been a lot easier if Jerry King had been more of a chum and less of a grouch. But orders were orders and it was up to him to obey. He stuck the telegram in his pocket and set off to find Jerry, if that was possible. Jerry had a way of disappearing, only to show up at meal times.

He had not gone but a few steps before a great idea come to him. Why couldn’t they try the Labyrinth Canyon stunt in the three weeks the Chief would be away? This idea lent him speed in his search for his companion. At last he found Jerry sitting in a tall chair watching some tourists play pool. He went over to the other boy and said, “Come on along outside for a minute, Jerry. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Once again on the piazza Jerry said, “What is it?”

Bob held forth the telegram. The other read it and said questioningly, “Well?”

“Don’t you see?” said Bob eagerly.

“Don’t I see what?”

“We can tackle the Labyrinth if it isn’t too far away.”

“You’re crazy. That would take money. Besides it’s too risky for a tenderfoot.”

But Bob was too much in earnest to take the last remark seriously. He laughed. “Oh, I’m a tenderfoot all right but I know something about paddling a canoe. Had a lot of it last summer and I can swim. And if it is not too expensive, I’ve got the money. Any other objections?”

He pulled out a draft his father had given him before he had left for the West. His father had said it was for emergencies and had drawn it for a respectable sum. Jerry looked at the figures and whistled. “Oh, I guess you’ve got the money all right. It’d be enough to put the thing through. But it’s too risky.”

This was too much for Bob. He flared up. “I don’t see that you’re taking me. If I want to go, I can go. You said you wanted to try it. Now you’re the one who’s backing out when the chance to try it comes along. I think it’s you who has the tender and cold feet.”

“Cut it out, kid,” said Jerry. Evidently Bob’s tone of determination had impressed him. Also the taunt about cold feet stung him. “I just wanted to make sure you wanted to go, that’s all. You’re taking a chance of never going back East again.”

“That part is all right,” said Bob, now on his mettle. The way Jerry had taken his suggestion had got his fighting blood up and he was now determined to go through with the adventure at all costs. “How far is it to the place we start?”

“About six hours on the train,” was the answer. “We ought to be able to find a boat when we get there. If we’re going to do it at all we’ve got to start in a hurry. Otherwise we won’t be back here when the Chief’s telegram is due. That is,” he added, “if we live to get the Chief’s telegram.”

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic,” said Bob. “I bet we’ll come through alive and kicking. Shall we start in the morning?”

“I’m game.” And with this Jerry turned on his heel and walked off. At the door he flung back, “If we’re going on that train you’d better hit the hay soon. You’ll need all the strength you’ve got.”

CHAPTER IV
THE LABYRINTH

Late in the afternoon of the next day the two boys dropped off the train at a little station in the desert. There was no hotel among the houses scattered along the track but they were lucky enough to find a room over the general store in which to sleep.

As they had so little time in which to accomplish their plan every minute was valuable, so, as soon as they had provided for the night, they started out to find some sort of a boat to carry them on their adventure.

The proprietor of the store, who was also their host, directed them to a man he thought might have one. The latter, a rancher in a small way, was rather dubious as to the boat’s being in a condition to navigate. “It’s down by the river,” he said. “Been down there pretty nigh a year, too, ef somebody hain’t swiped it. Take ye down to look at it in the mornin’. Ef you’re aimin’ to commit suicide tryin’ to get through the Labyrinth, it ought to be jest the thing for you. ’Twas built by a party what aimed to try the stunt but got cold feet before they tackled it. They give it to me, so ef you’re willin’ to pay about ten dollars, you’re welcome to it.”

This sounded good to the boys and they went back to the store feeling in luck. They had brought with them the air mattress which Jerry had advised buying at the Canyon, as it would give them a dry bed no matter where they might be forced to camp. They added to this before going to bed by buying provisions from the storekeeper, endeavoring to get as much food in as little bulk as possible. At last their preparations for the trip were complete, and they went to bed anxious for the morning, and hoping that the boat would prove what they wanted.

In order not to lose any time they packed the dunnage they expected to take into two loads and carried it with them when they went down the next morning to inspect the boat. It was a long way from the little town to the river and their spirits sagged as the loads grew heavier. However, they found the boat covered over by brushwood and some old sail-cloth, and when its owner pulled it out into the open they were much encouraged. The boat was about sixteen feet long, high at both ends with water-tight compartments.

“If it only doesn’t leak,” said Jerry, “it will be all right.”

They pulled it into the water and watched with bated breath. It leaked badly and Jerry was disgusted. Bob, however, knowing more about boats than his companion, realized that the long time the boat had been out of water had caused the strips to contract and in all probability a few hours’ soaking would make them tight. Bob had insisted on putting the boat into the water before paying for it and as the water came in more slowly after a few minutes, he was satisfied. They paid the man and he went off after wishing them a rather pessimistic farewell.

“I reckon I’ve seen as many as twenty danged fools try this stunt and I’ve never heard of any of them comin’ out the other end—that is, comin’ out breathin’. It’s a pity when the two of you air so young. I’ll be right glad to hear from you ef you do get through, seein’ as how it was my boat. Danged ef I figger I’ll hear, howsomever. Good-bye to you.”

With this he started back up the trail, shaking his head. Jerry suggested they make camp and wait until the boat was water-tight. This seemed a good suggestion, so they built a fire and made some coffee. In the afternoon Bob baled out the water that was in the boat and after watching carefully for half an hour found that no more water had come in.

“She’s all right,” he called to Jerry, who was building a lean-to for the night.

“All right,” answered the other, “pull her up on the bank and we’ll stow away everything that we don’t need for the night. We can leave just as soon as it is light to-morrow. We wouldn’t get far enough along to pay us for starting now.”

The boat easily carried all the things they had brought. Jerry took particular care in stowing away a box which he had hung onto jealously since they started. It was rather a mysterious looking case about which he had volunteered no information. Up to this time Bob had not questioned him, although he had wondered what was in it. However, as Jerry reserved the safest and dryest part of the boat for it Bob ventured to ask what it was.

“Light transit,” said Jerry. “We will need it to make sure that a road into the canyon is possible. What might seem quite possible to the eye, is often no use at all. I thought we’d better make sure.”

Bob was interested. He had read of and knew in a general way what use engineers made of transits and levels but up to this time he had not had an opportunity to see them in actual service.

“If we’ve got to use it, Jerry,” he suggested, “don’t you think you had better tell me something about it now while we’ve got a chance? Then I’ll be of more use when we get down to the canyon.”

“All right,” said Jerry rather ungraciously. “But you’ll soon catch on to it when we start work. You’ll have to.”

At the same time he took the case out of the boat and opened it. It was a beautiful little instrument, weighing hardly twenty-five pounds. It stood on telescopic legs of steel. Jerry showed Bob how to set it up and to manipulate the four screws by which it was made level. Then he showed him how to focus the telescope and all the other elementary things. After a little practice Bob felt competent to give Jerry what help he would need.

“Gee whiz, it’s interesting,” said Bob at last, when Jerry put the fascinating instrument away.

“After you’ve carried one for about five years you won’t think it so interesting,” returned Jerry, suddenly remembering that he was a grouch.

The night came down cold. The boys were glad to bundle up into their sleeping bags and get what rest they could. The novelty and excitement could keep Bob awake for only a little while, for the danger into which he was headed did not worry him for a moment, and he was very tired. He wanted adventure and he was going to have it. Only one thing deterred him at all, and that was the thought of his father. But before he had left the hotel at the Grand Canyon he had written a letter explaining to the older Hazard what he was planning to do. He had, of course, minimized the danger. But, even so, when Mr. Hazard got the letter he was very much upset and had an impulse to get on the next train and bring his boy back to civilization, if he still had a boy to bring back.

Jerry was first awake in the morning. He roused Bob but not until he had a fire going and the coffee-pot singing merrily. Bob got up and, slipping off his clothes, dived into the river. The water was cold but not unpleasantly so. Jerry looked at him for a minute and laughed as he came out dripping.

“You won’t need to take a bath after this. If you don’t have about five unexpected ones during the day I miss my guess.”

Bob laughed. “Well, water won’t hurt us. You’re sort of a grouch, aren’t you, Jerry?” he said pleasantly. It was a tactless thing to say, for the other boy shut up like a clam and except as it was absolutely necessary he gave no openings for further conversation.

“Jolly sort of trip I’m going to have,” thought Bob, “if Jerry is going to keep up this sort of thing. I ought never to have said he was a grouch, though.”

After breakfast they rolled up their mattress and stowed away in the boat the things they had used during the night. At last they were ready to start.

“We might as well be going,” said Jerry. “Hop in.” He was already at the oars, which he had tied securely to the oarlocks. The wisdom of this precaution was later to be proved to them. Once Bob was in, Jerry pulled off. He was a fair oarsman and going with the current the boat made good time. At this point the river was broad and, except for the towering hills which rose in the distance, it might have been a peaceful tributary stream of any civilized river. Its calm surface gave no warning of what was to come in the way of rapids and whirlpools. After a bit Bob took the oars and as he had had more experience with boats he made even better time than Jerry had. Turn by turn they went through the morning.

It was not long before the rolling hills on either side of the stream gave way to rocky cliffs and deep gulches through which little creeks trickled into the river. The current grew faster and here and there an ugly rock showed its head above the surface, the water rushing by angrily on either side.

“Getting a little interesting,” ventured Bob.

“This isn’t anything,” growled Jerry, and then they went on again in silence.

About noon they pulled in to a rocky ledge and had some lunch, and after a short rest went on again. Towards the middle of the afternoon, as they were turning a bend in the river, Bob, sitting in the stern, saw what seemed to him to be a mountain cut in half.

“That must be it,” he said. “Look, Jerry!”

Jerry turned. “You’re right, I guess. It’s the Labyrinth.”

“We ought to get there by night. It’s only around the next bend,” Bob ventured.

Jerry looked around again and laughed shortly. “We’ll be lucky if we’re there by to-morrow night. That cliff is twenty miles away at least.”

Bob was amazed. It looked to be only about a mile away. Jerry must be mistaken. But Jerry was right. Although they had covered a great deal of distance, when it came time to camp for the night the cleft in the mountain seemed as far away as when Bob had first sighted it. Two days later, however, they did reach it. And it was not until the river had swirled them through this giant gateway that they encountered any rapid water. They began to think that the passage of the Labyrinth had been overestimated.

In the late afternoon of the second day, after they had slipped silently by the towering walls of the canyon which here came down sharply into the river, and had swung around a bend, Jerry sighted the first rough going.

“Pull in to shore, Bob,” he said quickly. “We’d better take a look at what’s coming before we tackle it.”

Once ashore they made their way as near to the rapids as possible. The water boiled in fury as it rushed by the rocks that opposed its way.

“Gee whiz!” ejaculated Bob. “This is worse than anything I’ve tackled before—ever!”

Jerry laughed and said, “There’ll be a lot worse than this before we’re through, I’m afraid. This isn’t much. We’ll be able to shoot it all right.”

Back in the boat Jerry took the oars, and, helped by the current, drifted swiftly towards the first rapids of the shallow and dangerous passage. Once into the white water they found the going easier than they had expected. After a struggle and a narrow escape or two from shipwreck on jagged rocks they saw smoother water ahead. But this held a new danger. Here the river made a short bend, and the current, throwing itself against the opposite bank, threatened to dash them against it before they could control their boat.

It was a ticklish moment. They shot out of the white spray and were headed for the rocky wall. “Quick, Jerry!” yelled Bob. “Pull her ’round.”

Jerry used both his arms on the right hand oar and a moment later, breathless and a little exhausted, they came to quieter water.

“Like shooting the chutes, isn’t it?” said Bob, putting his feeling into words as soon as he could speak. “Great sport!”

Jerry, however, bent to his oars, betraying his emotion only by the gleam of his eyes. No more rapids of any consequence hindered their way the remainder of the afternoon. It was not until well along the next morning that they came again to anything which really could be called dangerous.

The first intimation the boys had of the approaching rapids was the increasing speed of the boat. As they looked ahead the water seemed clear and unbroken, but some current stronger than usual was hurrying them along.

“We’re in for it again,” yelled Jerry to Bob, who was rowing. “Back water—hard!”

Bob dug in the blades of his oars with all the force he could muster. The boat lost a little headway but the effort came too late. The current had them in its grasp. A quick rush in the blinding spray and the boys found themselves in the icy water. Bob, however, had kept hold of one of the oars of the overturned boat and he thanked his stars that Jerry had had the foresight to tie it to the oarlock.

As soon as he shook the water out of his eyes a glance showed him what had happened. Some freak of nature had left a ledge in the bottom of the river over which the water flowed, making a waterfall of perhaps six or eight feet. So even was the edge of the fall that it had not been visible to them as they came down stream through the first rough water.

“All right?” called Bob to Jerry, who had been carried past him by the foam-flecked water.

“Sure,” the other sputtered. “Just keep drifting and we’ll land on that point down there. I’ll stand by to help beach the boat when you get there.”

The boys pulled the boat up on the rocky ledge that Jerry had called a point, where they discovered to their great relief that no great damage had been done. The water-tight compartments had held and their provisions and clothing were quite dry. A few minutes later they were off again, but paddling a little more cautiously this time, for they had experienced the first trick the Labyrinth could play. They would be better prepared for the next.

A stretch of good going gave them time for a little reflection. Bob busied himself with thoughts of a possible dam site. It seemed queer to him that Jerry had appeared to take no interest in the canyon for this purpose.

“Why haven’t we looked for a place for the dam?” Bob ventured at last. “We’ve passed a lot of places where the canyon walls were narrow.”

“No hurry,” answered Jerry. “It’d be too far to tunnel a canal through the mountain right here. The valley we want to irrigate is miles farther down. There’s no use bothering our heads about it until we get nearer.”

Satisfied, Bob let the matter rest. So far the journey, with the exception of the one upset, had proved rather tame going and both boys were a little surprised that former explorers had found it impossible to make the passage. The boy from the East rather doubted that they would meet any worse obstacles than they had already. But Jerry was more skeptical. When Bob ventured that he thought the trip was a cinch, Jerry agreed, with a reservation.

“It’s been a cinch so far, but just wait. We’ve not started to get into trouble yet. We’ll get ours all right before we’re through.”

Hardly were the words out of his mouth when more trouble ensued. The canyon broadened and instead of the river being confined in a deep, fast-flowing current, it was spread out into a shallow, dawdling stream. Several times they grounded, there was so little water covering the sand. Here and there rocks stuck above the water, and in places it was necessary to jump out and push the boat into a deeper part.

“It seems to me we’re going to get that trouble right now,” said Bob. “As soon as this narrows a little bit, if it doesn’t get deeper I bet we’ll have rapids with a vengeance.”

This turned out to be the case, for the water went faster as they proceeded, and instead of the sandy bottom, rocks became more and more numerous, the water rushing by them with angry murmurs. Bob had difficulty in keeping the craft from mishap. After narrowly escaping shipwreck between two particularly vicious looking jagged stones he decided that there was no safety in going on the way they had. Suddenly he had an idea.

“The next time we get to a shallow spot, Jerry,” he ordered between strokes, “take hold of the painter and jump out. We must bring the bow up stream.”

Jerry saw that Bob must have some good reason for the maneuver and without a word took hold of the rope which was fastened to the bow of the light craft and slipped overboard at the first likely spot. Pressing himself against a rock, he held taut and let the action of the current, helped by Bob’s pulling strongly on one oar, turn the boat’s nose in the direction from which they had come. It was ticklish work in view of the position in which they were placed. But once around he saw what Bob had in mind when he had planned the stunt, for as soon as he was aboard again Bob began rowing against the current. This allowed the boat to go very slowly down stream. In this way he had much more control than merely backing water could give him. Besides he could see for himself what was coming, as in a rowing position he naturally faced the stern.

“A good idea,” commented Jerry as Bob, due to the new method of progress, missed hitting a wicked rock.

This word of commendation from his comrade pleased Bob immensely. It was the first word of approval he had had from his gloomy chum. “Easier, that’s all!” he answered. But both boys were glad when a new stretch of still water was reached.

Just before sundown next day they came to an obstacle which at first sight rather daunted them. As they rounded a bend, the most surprising bit of scenery they had so far encountered flashed before their eyes. The canyon seemed to stop, to have no outlet. It was as if they had come into an amphitheater from which there was no escape. Even the way they had come in was not visible. The point of rocks which had made the bend in the river merged into the sides of the canyon in such a way as to make it seem that there was no opening at all.

“Golly!” almost whispered Bob, awed by the strangeness of the scene. “I reckon this is why no one came through. There doesn’t seem to be any way to get out—”

“There’s got to be a way through,” growled Jerry. “Where does the water go? Must go somewhere; can’t stop here, that’s sure as rain.”

“P’r’aps—p’r’aps it goes through a cave,” suggested Bob. “I’ve read about underground rivers, haven’t you?”

“Oh, shucks,” said Jerry. “Probably the way out is hidden just like the way we’ve come. Look back. You can’t see how we got in here, can you?”

Bob had to admit this was so. “Maybe you’re right. Anyhow, it’s so dark we can’t tell for certain. I think we’d better get ashore somewheres and make camp. We’ll find out about it in the morning.”

When they awoke the next morning the rounded chamber of the canyon was flooded with light.

“Find your ridge,” invited Bob politely, “the one behind which our river flows on and on and—”

“Oh, shut up!” was Jerry’s ungrateful retort. Since he had opened his eyes he had endeavored to find just that thing—with no success. But he would not own up until he had had another long look. But after a while he had to give in.

“Looks like you were right,” he said tersely. “The river must go through a tunnel, because it sure comes out on t’other side. This river is part of what goes through the Grand Canyon.”

Bob had the good sense not to gloat openly over Jerry’s discomfiture.

“All right,” was all he said. “But let’s find the mouth of the tunnel. Hustle up with the grub.”

They gulped their coffee and soon cast off, letting the stream carry them gently towards the face of the great obstruction. A few minutes later they saw the solution of this mystery. Under the cliff the river flowed swiftly and silently into a dark hole.

“Back water,” said Bob. “We’d better explore a little before we start through.”

“You don’t mean to go through it, do you?” said Jerry, startled out of his usual calm manner by the way in which the other boy had spoken.

“Why not?” returned the other. “It looks like the only way we can go, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Jerry, “but—I didn’t figure on anything like this.”

“We can’t go back again, can we?” asked Bob. “There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do but to try the tunnel.”

His first surprise over, Jerry saw that Bob was right. If they didn’t go through the tunnel they would probably never go anywhere. It would be more than their strength could accomplish to force the boat back through the rapids they had encountered. And even if they could reach the top of the cliffs, Jerry knew that they would die of thirst before they could make their way to civilization.

“You’re right, I guess,” he assented. “We’ve got to do it. Come on, we might as well get it over.”

But Bob, who was at the oars, pulled towards the bank. “Just a jiffy, Jerry, I’ve got a hunch. Why couldn’t a dam be built here?”

In a flash Jerry saw what Bob meant, and for a second was ashamed that in the excitement he had forgotten the real object of their expedition. They were out to find a place where a dam might be built that would bring the water of life to the parched desert on the other side of the mountain—and he had forgotten all this when his personal safety was in danger. He looked up at the wall nature had built across the canyon. This time it was not as an obstruction that he saw it but as a possible location for a dam. When the boat touched the shore, he brought out the transit and set it up. Bob waited breathlessly for his decision. At last Jerry took his eye from the telescope.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “it looks possible to me. Better’n that, Bob, it looks mighty lucky. Nature has given us a big help if it turns out that it is possible.”

“You think my hunch may be right then?” put in Bob, his eyes shining. “P’r’aps this big wall might become part of the dam itself!”

“Yep! Here, take a squint through the telescope and see for yourself. The top of this wall is more’n halfway to the top of the canyon.”

Bob applied his eye to the glass and confirmed his comrade’s statement. “Can’t we take some measurements?” he wanted to know.

“Won’t be necessary. We couldn’t climb to the top anyway—”

“Then the transit’s no use?”

“Except as a telescope. But at that it’s told us a lot. But that was a wonderful hunch of yours, Bob. I guess you must be a born engineer. To put it through we’d have to stop up the mouth of the tunnel into which the river runs. Then extra masonry work on top of the cliff would bring it up to the necessary height.”

“I’ll bet a road could be made from the edge of the canyon to the top of the cliff,” asserted Bob confidently, “and what work had to be done here at the river bed could be managed by derricks and cranes from that spot. Don’t you think so?”

“It’d be a big saving all right if it could,” exclaimed Jerry at last. “And I believe it will work. There’s only one thing more to find out and that is how long the tunnel is.”

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” said Bob. “That’s to go through it. Are you ready?”

Jerry realized that they had wonderful news to bring back to the boss. To find a location was good work, but to find a dam almost ready-made would mean such a saving for the Reclamation Service that the stunt would be almost unique. It fired his enthusiasm and stilled any fears he might have of the danger to be overcome.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go to it. If we get through we’ll know what we want to know. If we—we don’t, it doesn’t make much difference, does it, old man?”

Impulsively Bob put out his hand. “We’ll win out, Jerry, and we’ll be proud that we did it. If something should happen—it’s for the Service!”

They felt the spirit of pioneers and an immense loyalty to the Service and what it stood for. Jerry shook his hand warmly.

A moment later the boys were afloat. As they got near to the dark entrance they saw that the jagged rocks which fringed the arch came very near to the water.

“We’ll have to feel our way through,” said Bob. “Lie low until we get in and then try to catch hold of the roof. We don’t want to go through too fast.”

“All right,” sang out Jerry. “But I wish we had a lantern.”

“Keep wishing,” laughed Bob. “That’s about all the good it’ll do you.”

The very real danger had shaken Jerry out of his aloofness. This is very often the case in moments of real peril when even bitter enemies are drawn together and become friends during the moments of danger.

“Duck!” yelled Jerry.

Hardly were the words out of his mouth before the boat and its occupants were plunged into the gloom of the cavern.

“Don’t bother about the oars,” said Bob, his voice echoing from the walls of the passage. “It’s too dark for ’em. Try to get a hold on the roof.”

It was some moments before their combined efforts to clutch the rocky roof of the tunnel succeeded sufficiently to bring their boat under control.

“Better not let go one hand till you get another hold!” cautioned Jerry. “It’s mighty slippery.”

Foot by foot they made their way through the tunnel of dread. Cold fear clutched at the heart of each boy, for any moment disaster might come in one of a hundred ways—and they couldn’t see it coming!

For a time all went well, but soon Jerry said in a whisper—somehow the dark made him whisper rather than speak aloud—“I can’t touch the roof any more, can you?”

“No, but it’s all right,” said Bob as cheerfully as he could. “We’ll just have to trust to luck. Sit down and let her rip!”

They slid noiselessly through the impenetrable darkness with only the murmur of the water to break the stillness. The very quietness added a terror of its own. There was no way of telling how fast they were going. They could not see the water and only the rush of cold air against their faces told them they were moving at all.

“Wonder how much longer it’ll be,” whispered Bob, forcing a little laugh. “Seems like we’ve gone miles!”

“I’ve got beyond wondering how far we’ve got to go,” said Jerry fervently. “I just want something to happen. Anything at all would be better than just sitting helpless.”

After this attempt at conversation each boy relapsed into his own gloomy thoughts. These were suddenly disturbed, however, for Jerry called out, a note of hope in his voice, “I think I see light ahead!”