ed. "I want you to
increase the force to double its strength at once, so that the work--"

"What are you paying a yard for moving dirt?"

"The same as before."

"Not to me," Pat responded, complacently.

"What do you mean?" Gretzinger demanded, angrily.

"It's not enough."

"Not enough! You seem to imagine your contract doesn't bind you."

Pat slowly uncrossed his knees and stared at the speaker with a
countenance of bewilderment.

"Now what in the world is the man talking about! Contract? The only
contract I had with Bryant was an oral agreement to build the dam and
move dirt at a certain day rate per man and per team, terminable at
his option. Oh, you mean the first contract to construct the ditch in
a year! We tore that up after he got notice from the Land and Water
Board."

"Well, we'll continue the oral arrangement."

"Not any more," said Pat.

Gretzinger inspected the coal of his cigarette, replaced the latter
between his lips, and glanced at Bryant. But the engineer was
maintaining his consideration of objects on the outside of the window.

"So you're trying to hold me up," was Gretzinger's remark.

"You're slicing the fat off Bryant, and therefore I'll trim a bit off
you," Carrigan replied. "You're not the only one who can work a knife.
Once I used to sit back and let others keep all the easy money, but I
don't any more, not any more." With considerable relish he rolled the
words upon his tongue and nodded at Gretzinger.

The latter scowled.

"How much do you want?" he demanded.

Pat spat, then remained pursing his lips while he engaged in
calculation. Once he shook his head and muttered, "Not enough," and
again after a time repeated the words. The man by the stove glared at
the seated contractor during the prolonged period of study as if he
hoped his look would consume him.

"How much?" he questioned a second time, impatiently.

Pat looked up at Gretzinger from under his bushy eyebrows with a
steely glint showing. The lines of his weather-beaten face had
hardened.

"I don't like you," he stated. "I don't like you at all. When I work
for people I don't like, it costs them money. I like you less and less
all the time. If I go ahead and finish the ditch, I'll be liking you
so little that I'll be hating myself. And when I don't like any one
that much, I don't do it cheap. The job will cost you one hundred
thousand dollars."

"You--you----" Gretzinger choked.

"Cash down before I move a