clined to be, their certainty
of Freet's dishonesty, coupled with the fact that he was a pupil of
Freet's, would be used by the restless vindictiveness of the Vermont
member without doubt, to bring about his dismissal.

He felt an increasing desire to make a last stand against the wall of
the nation's indifference, to make the people of the Project and the
people of the world understand his viewpoint. But words failed him until
the last day of the Hearing.

On this last day, Sara and Pen attended the hearing, as guests of
Fleckenstein, who had sent his great touring car for them. Jim nodded to
them across the room but made no attempt to speak to them. It was
nearing five o'clock when Fleckenstein closed his testimony.

"The Reclamation Service," he said, "is like every other department of
the government. It is a refuge for the incompetent whose one skill is in
grafting. The cost of this dam has jumped over the estimates by hundreds
of thousands. Forty dollars an acre is what the farmers of this project
must pay the government instead of the estimated thirty. I do not lay
the whole blame on Mr. Manning, even though he is Freet's pupil. Part of
it is due to the criminal ignorance and weakness of Mr. Manning's
predecessor. We farmers----"

"Stop!" thundered Jim. He jumped to his feet. Fleckenstein gasped. Jim
threw back his hair. His gray eyes were black. His thin brown face was
flushed. Under his khaki riding suit his long steel muscles were tense.

"My predecessor was Frederick Watts. I grew to know him well. He was a
master mind in his profession, but he was gentle and sensitive and, like
many men who have lived long in the open, silent. About the time that he
started to build this dam the money interests in this country decided
that the nation was getting too much water power control. They decided
that the best way to stop the nation's growth in this direction was to
discredit the Service. Frederick Watts was one of their first targets.
By means too subtle for me to understand, they set machinery going in
this vicinity by which every step that Watts took was made a kick
against him.

"They never let up on him. They hounded him. They put him to shame with
the nation and in the privacy of his own family. Watts was over fifty
years old. He was no fighter. All he wanted was a chance to build his
dam. He was gentle and silent. He went into nervous prostration and
died, still silent, a broken-hearted man.

"Up in the