ranching venture. I had to deal with Indians, weather, and the fact that I was too far away from civilization to make it practical. Then the railroad arrived and I had a way of getting my beef to the market. Since then it has been wonderfully profitable.”
Thousands of cattle milled about, some cropping grass some lying under shade trees, others sunning themselves in open fields. The range consisted of gently rolling grassland. To the southeast lay a low-lying ridge of hills, close enough that Hawke could see the vegetation on the slopes. To the north was another line of mountains, purpled by distance.
“That’s the Sweetwater Range,” Dorchester said, pointing toward the distant mountains. “Half of my cowboys are up there right now, hunting for gold. A couple of them have even told me that when they strike it rich, they are going to come back and buy Northumbria. But they hastened to add that they would offer me a job,” he said with a chuckle.
Just ahead of them was a long, irregular line of bright green vegetation.
“That must be the creek,” Hawke said.
“Yes. It was one of my earliest accomplishments,” Dorchester replied. “The water actually flows from the Big Sandy, but the channel was clogged nearly shut with rocks and bank cave-ins and such. It took me two years to get it open and cleared out, but the result has been a steady, year-round supply of water. I can’t imagine what would stop it.”
“Perhaps a beaver dam,” Hawke suggested. “I’ve seen beaver dams so large that they’ve shut down small rivers.”
“Perhaps,” Dorchester said, “though we don’t have a history of problems with beaver.”
When they reached the line of vegetation, they dismounted and walked up to the creek to look down into it.
“What in the world?” Pamela said aloud.
There was nothing where the creek had been but a few disconnected puddles of water, slowly drying up under the sun. Not one trickle of water was flowing.
“Let’s go upstream and see if we can find out what happened,” Hawke suggested.
The four riders began following the dry stream bed along its meandering course.
“I hope Walter Louis doesn’t think that I purposely shut down Sugar Creek,” Dorchester said as they rode.
“Who is Walter Louis?”
“He owns a small farm just south of Northumbria, and he is totally dependent upon water from Sugar Creek. In fact, he has been very good about coming over to help my men keep the creek cleared of debris.”
After a ride of about five miles, they reached a thick-growing patch of woods. Just on the other side of the woods they saw a large dam.
“What in the world?” Dorchester gasped. “When, and how, did that get here?”
“It’s no beaver dam, that’s for sure,” Hawke said.
“Look at the size of it, Father. It had to take some time to build it.” Pamela turned to Willie. “Why didn’t we know about this before now?”
“Ma’am, we ain’t run no stock on this here section of range since last summer,” Willie replied. “We was about to move some beeves over when one of the men noticed that the creek had run dry.”
“Is that dam on your property?” Hawke asked.
“No, it isn’t,” Dorchester admitted. “My property line ends there, with the edge of that copse.”
“Who does own the property?
“It belongs to a man named Anthony Miller,” Dorchester said.
“Perhaps we should talk to Miller,” Hawke suggested.
Dorchester shook his head. “That’s not possible, I’m afraid,” he said. “Miller is an absentee owner who lives in New York. In fact, that’s what makes this whole thing so odd. This land isn’t being used. We’ve exchanged a few letters as to whether or not I would be interested in leasing some grassland from him.”
“Perhaps he’s trying to sweeten the pot by adding water to the deal,” Hawke suggested.
Dorchester shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I’ve only met Miller one time, and he was a very nice person. I can’t see him doing something like this.”
“Well, someone did,” Hawke said. “Why don’t we ride over and find out who.”
Just beyond the patch of woods was a sign.
KEEP OUT
PROPERTY OF
SWEETWATER RAILROAD COMPANY
“Sweetwater Railroad Company?” Dorchester said. “Why, I’ve never heard of such an organization.”
“What do we do now?” Pamela asked.
“We keep going,” Dorchester replied. “Whether this land is owned by Mr. Miller or by some railroad that I’ve never heard of, they are guilty of stealing our water, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
The four crossed the property line, then rode up to the dam and dismounted. They were surprised when a man dressed in a business suit suddenly showed up.
“Well, it looks as if we managed to attract attention from someone,” Dorchester said.
Three other men came out to join the man wearing the suit. One man was carrying a rifle, a second had a shotgun, and the third, unarmed, wore new jeans and a clean shirt. Hawke recognized the man carrying the shotgun as Luke Rawlings, who had come into the saloon yelling that he had discovered gold.
“You people are trespassing,” the man in the business suit said.
“Who the devil are you?” Dorchester asked.
“I know who he is, Father,” Pamela said. “His name is Addison Ford. He is Administrative Assistant to Secretary of Interior Columbus Delano.”
Ford looked more closely at Pamela, then at Hawke.
“It’s you!” he said in a disgruntled voice. “I recognize you two. You are the people from the train, the ones who forced us to move to another car.”
“Yes,” Pamela said.
Ford smiled. “Well, well, now isn’t this a bit of sweet irony? You ran us out of the rail car, now I am running you off this property.”
“Are you responsible for this dam?” Dorchester asked.
“I authorized it, yes,” Ford said.
“And I designed it,” the unarmed man in jeans said proudly. “My name is Jason White. I’m a civil engineer.” White stepped forward and stuck his hand out, but Dorchester made no movement to take it.
“You are trespassing on property belonging to the Sweetwater Railroad Company,” Ford said.
“Yes, I saw the sign. But I’ve never heard of the Sweetwater Railroad,” Dorchester replied. “What is it?”
“The Sweetwater Railroad is a railroad that will be built from Green River to South Pass.”
“My daughter said you were with the Department of Interior.”
“That is right.”
“Then I don’t understand. What does the Department of Interior have to do with the Sweetwater Railroad? Since when did the U. S. government get in the business of building railroads?”
“The government isn’t building it. It is being built by a private company. We are merely providing the incentive.”
“The incentive?”
“According to the Railroad Land Grant Act of 1862, any approved railroad company is entitled to a four hundred foot right of way, plus ten square miles of property for every one mile of route.”
“You mean the government gives land to people who build railroads?” Dorchester asked in surprise.
“How do you think the transcontinental railroad was built? Without the land incentive, it would never have been completed.”
“Yes, well, I can’t believe Miller sold his land to the government without first checking with me. He knew that I would have bought it if he had put it up for sale. And he knew that I would give him a fair price for it.”
