الفصل الفصل 61 · BOOK IV CHAPTER XIV

The waters were wild with joy. From the mountain snows the sun had set

them free. Down hill and dale they sparkled, trickling from boulders,

dripping from mossy crannies, rioting in narrow runlets. Then, leaping

and laughing in a mad ecstasy of freedom, they dashed into the dam.

Here was something they did not understand, some contrivance of the

tyrant Man to curb them, to harness them, to make them his slaves. The

waters were angry. They gloomed fearsomely. As they swelled higher in

the broad basin their wrath grew apace. They chafed against their prison

walls, they licked and lapped at the stolid bank. Higher and higher they

mounted, growing stronger with every leap. More and more bitterly they

fretted at their durance. Behind them other waters were pressing, just

as eager to escape as they. They lashed and writhed in savage spite. Not

much longer could these patient walls withstand their anger. Something

must happen.

The "something" was a man. He raised the floodgate, and there at last

was a way of escape. How joyously the eager waters rushed at it! They

tumbled and tossed in their mad hurry to get out. They surged and swept

and roared about the narrow opening.

But what was this? They had come on a wooden box that streaked down the

slope as straight as an arrow from the bow. It was some other scheme of

the tyrant Man. Nevertheless, they jostled and jammed to get into it. On

its brink they poised a moment, then down, down they dashed.

Like a cataract they rushed, ever and ever growing faster. Ho! this was

motion now, this was action, strength, power. As they shot down that

steep hill they shrieked for very joy. Freedom, freedom at last! No more

trickling feebly from snowbanks; no more boring devious channels in oozy

clay, no more stagnating in sullen dams. They were alive, alive, swift,

intense, terrific. They gloried in their might. They roared the raucous

song of freedom, and faster and faster they charged. Like a stampede of

maddened horses they thundered on. What power on earth could stop them?

"We must be free! We must be free!" they cried.

Suddenly they saw ahead the black hole of a great pipe, a hollow shard

of steel. Prison-like it looked, again some contrivance of the tyrant

Man. They would fain have overleapt it, but it was too late. Countless

other waters were behind them, forcing them forward with irresistible

power. And, faster and faster still, they crashed into the shard of

steel.

They were trapped, atrociously trapped, cabined, confined, rammed

forward by a vast and remorseless pressure. Yet there was escape just

ahead. It was a tiny point of light, an outlet. They must squeeze

through it. They were crushed and pinioned in that prison of steel, and

mightily they tried to burst it. No! there was only that orifice; they

must pass through it. Then with that great force behind them, tortured,

maddened, desperate, the waters crashed through the shard of steel, to

serve the will of Man.

The man stood by his water-gun and from its nozzle, the gleaming terror

leapt. At first it was only a slim volley of light, compact and solid as

a shaft of steel. To pierce it would have splintered to pieces the

sharpest sword. It was a core of water, round, glistening and smooth,

yet in its mighty power it was a monster of destruction.

The man was directing it here and there on the face of the hill. It flew

like an arrow from the bow, and wherever he aimed it the hillside seemed

to reel and shudder at the shock. Great cataracts of gravel shot out,

avalanches of clay toppled over; vast boulders were hurled into the air

like heaps of fleecy wool.

Yes, the waters were mad. They were like an angry bull that gored the

hillside. It seemed to melt and dissolve before them. Nothing could

withstand that assault. In a few minutes they would reduce the stoutest

stronghold to a heap of pitiful ruins.

There, where the waters shot forth in their fury, stood their conqueror.

He was one man, yet he was doing the work of a hundred. As he battered

at that bank of clay he exulted in his power. A little turn of the wrist

and a huge mass of gravel crumbled into nothingness. He bored deep holes

in the frozen muck, he hammered his way down to bed rock, he swept it

clean as a floor. There, with the solid force of a battering-ram, he

pounded at the heart of the hill.

The roar deafened him. He heard the crash of falling rock, but he was so

intent on his work he did not hear another man approach. Suddenly he

looked up and saw.

He gave a mighty start, then at once he was calm again. This was the

meeting he had dreaded, longed for, fought against, desired. Primordial

emotions surged within him, but outwardly he gave no sign. Almost

savagely, and with a curious blaze in his eyes he redirected the little

giant.

He waved his hand to the other man.

"Go away!" he shouted.

Mosher refused to budge. The generous living of Dawson had made him

pursy, almost porcine. His pig eyes glittered, and he took off his hat

to wipe some beads of sweat from the monumental baldness of his

forehead. He caressed his coal-black beard with a podgy hand on which a

large diamond sparkled. His manner was arrogance personified. He seemed

to say, "I'll make this man dance to my music."

His rich, penetrating voice pierced through the roar of the "giant."

"Here, turn off your water. I want to speak to you. Got a business

proposition to make."

Still Jim was dumb.

Mosher came close to him and shouted into his ear. The two men were very

calm.

"Say, your wife's in town. Been there for the last year. Didn't you

know it?"

Jim shook his head. He was particularly interested in his work just

then. There was a great saddle of clay, and he scooped it up magically.

"Yes, she's in town--living respectable."

Jim redirected his giant with a savage swish.

"Say, I'm a sort of a philant'ropic guy," went on Mosher, "an' there's

nothing I like better than doing the erring wife restitootion act. I

think I could induce that little woman of yours to come back to you."

Jim gave him a swift glance, but the man went on.

"To tell the truth, she's a bit stuck on me. Not my fault, of course.

Can't help it if a girl gets daffy on me. But say, I think I could get

her switched on to you if you made it worth my while. It's a business

proposition."

He was sneering now, frankly villainous. Jim gave no sign.

"What d'ye say? This is a likely bit of ground--give me a half-share in

this ground, an' I'll guarantee to deliver that little piece of goods to

you. There's an offer."

Again that smug look of generosity beamed on the man's face. Once more

Jim motioned him to go, but Mosher did not heed. He thought the gesture

was a refusal. His face grew threatening. "All right, if you won't," he

snarled, "look out! I know you love her still. Let me tell you, I own

that woman, body and soul, and I'll make life hell for her. I'll

torture you through her. Yes, I've got a cinch. You'd better change your

mind."

He had stepped back as if to go. Then, whether it was an accident or not

no one will ever know--but the little giant swung round till it bore on

him.

It lifted him up in the air. It shot him forward like a stone from a

catapult. It landed him on the bank fifty feet away with a sickening

crash. Then, as he lay, it pounded and battered him out of all semblance

of a man.

The waters were having their revenge.