on their imperturbability. She
ripped down the last pouring, contemptuously leaving tons of rock and
concrete at the foot of the concrete section. She roared and howled and
shook the good earth with the noise of a railway train tearing through a
tunnel. And Jim laughed.

"If it wasn't for you, old girl," he told her one afternoon, "I'd go
crazy with the flea bitings of the Enemy. But you, bless your wicked
soul, are an honest part of the game. I was bred from the beginning to
fight floods. You attack in the open, like an honest vixen. Wait till I
get my clutches on you again."

As Jim finished this soliloquy with considerable satisfaction to
himself, Iron Skull came up and laid a newspaper on his saddle horn.

"The newspapers are roasting you, Boss Still."

"What do they say this time, Iron Skull?" Jim did not offer to lift the
paper.

"You are inefficient. A friend of Freet's. They don't say you caused
high water but they insinuate you suggested it to the weather man. You'd
ought to tell the Secretary of the Interior the whole truth about the
Makon, Boss Still."

"I can't do that, Iron Skull. I'm no squealer."

"I know. And I've always advised you to keep your mouth shut. But write
to the editor of this paper, Boss."

Jim did not reply at once. The two were on the mountainside, not a great
distance from Pen's house past which the new road was to run. The
Indians were making ready for the sunset blasts. Above the distant roar
of old Jezebel, old Suma-theek's foreman's whistle sounded clear and
sweet as he signaled his men.

This was Geronimo's country, the land of the greatest of the Apache
fighters. All about were the trails he and his people had made. Yonder
to the north, across a harsh peak, was Geronimo's own pass. And now the
last of Geronimo's race was building new trails for a new people.

The naked beauty of the brown and lavender ranges, the wholesome tang of
the thin air, the far sweep of the afternoon sky, seemed suddenly remote
to Jim.

"It's bigger than any editor," he said. "I don't know what is the
matter. My only hope is that I can finish my dam before they get me."

"You've got to fight back, now," persisted Iron Skull.

"It's not my business to fight for permission to build this project!"
cried Jim. "I was hired to build it! I was hired to fight old Jezebel
and not the farmers!"

The little superintendent laid a knotted hand on Jim's knee. "You must
take my advice in this, partner. I'