"Oh, yes; I told him. He doesn't like it, of course."

The sheriff turned for a full view of Bryant's face. In respect to
features the two men were not unlike: both had the same thin curving
nose and level eyes and cut of jaw.

"Well, let me say as between man and man," the elder spoke, "that
Menocal won't let you take away that much water from him if he can
help it. And I'll drop you some more news, in addition: several
Mexicans are going to file on homesteads or desert claims along the
base of the hills south of here, scattered along like and running part
way up the mountain sides. I don't know where your canal to Perro
Creek will go, but if its line follows the foot of the range, as may
be likely, it might happen to find those claims in the way."

"Any idea in your mind where those fellows may locate their filings?"

"No; I can't say definitely. Shouldn't be surprised if they began
stringing them along a couple of miles south of here till they reached
Perro Creek."

Bryant gazed at the flank of the mountain. The gentle ridge where his
ditch line left the hillside was but half a mile away. Beyond that the
Mexicans could file to their hearts' content, for they would be left
on one side by the canal. But in all this he perceived Menocal's
cunning hand.

"Much obliged to you, sheriff," said he. "I'll see if I can't find
some way to satisfy those chaps when the time comes."