get out of his field.

Bryant straightened up from sighting through his transit, and asked,
"What's on your mind? What's disturbing your brain, _hombre_?"

"You get off," was the unkempt fellow's answer.

"Why?"

"You can't come on my ranch; get off."

The engineer pulled a map from his hip pocket--a copy made from one
filed in the land commissioner's office thirty years previous. He
spread it open before the Mexican.

"See this? Here is Bartolo, here is the river, here is your field," he
said, pointing with a finger. "Now look at that line; it runs across
this field right where we stand. That's the Perro Creek Canal,
extending down to Perro Creek."

The man stared at the earth under his feet.

"No, I see no canal," he stated, now looking right and left as if to
make sure. "There is no canal."

"Yes, there is. But it needs cleaning badly. I'm surveying its banks
again and then I shall clean out the dirt. You can see that it needs
cleaning, because you can scarcely see it at all. Menocal, the banker,
didn't take very good care of the canal after he built it; that's the
trouble. Hello, does that surprise you? Yes, Mr. Menocal got the water