Chapter 4

THE LANDSCAPE INSIDE THE CONSTRUCTION COMPANY'S TERRITORY WAS COMPLETELY TRANSFORMED.  Since all the sidetracks that were needed at the time had been completed, Dan was transferred to an extra gang, a bull gang, as it was called.  Its jobs were varied and many.  For a while the gang might work in the general storage warehouse, then unload a few carloads of sacked cement.  Next the might be swampers on trucks, riding around and loading or unloading the various articles and material that it takes to make a dam.  Occasionally they were sent back to pick and shovel; once in a while they would go for a few hours to load skip.  For days at a time they would be called to the boiler shops, the to blacksmithing or plumbing shops to carry in materials.  Thus Dan got to see the whole "dam factory" in operation.

Money, men and machinery would do almost anything.  He began to wonder if they might not after all dam the Columbia River.  The cofferdams had finally been completed.  Man's cunning, machinery, and might had overpowered old man river.  But they had to take every possible advantage, fighting him at his weakest condition, at lowest-water season.  Luckily, they had at last swung the last section into place, then sunk and waterproofed it.  This had been done with clay and Russian thistles.  The mighty old river was at last rebuffed and sent back and around through the west channel.  The cofferdams had made a lake of several acres of impounded water between the mainland and the island.

Monstrous centrifugal pumps, mounted on platforms and driven by motors, soon drained the lake.  A rumor was started that the river bed had been pumped dry and gold was being scooped up by the sackful.  Since there was a placer mine within a few miles, this made the story more plausible.  "Sure," said some who were supposed to know, "the river brought the gold here and left it among the potholes in the rapids."  People came by the hundreds, so bringing scoops and sacks.  They saw workmen sacking struggling eels and fish and dumping them more dead that alive back into the main channel.  The joke was on the spectators, but nevertheless a sight worth viewing.  Here were chasms fifteen feet wide and a hundred feet deep below the average bottom of the river bed.  There were round potholes, twenty feet across and sixty to eighty feet deep, with sides polished round and smooth, tapering almost to a point at the bottom.  They had evidently been formed by imprisoned boulders grinding around and around, century after century with the swirl of the water.  Here was igneous rock laid bare to view for the first time since the forming of the earth, or the eruption that had put the rock there.

Some of these deep holes and chasms had to be pumped out and cleaned of all the sand and gravel... as they were below where the dam was to go... and then filled with concrete to make proper footing.  It fell to Dan's gang to do this work.  After the water was dropped as low as possible by pumping, men were lowered with shovels, dippers and buckets.  Dan did not enjoy this work, nor did his partners, but they were elected to do their share below.  So they went down into the dark, slimy, fishy-smelling potholes... into the bowels of the earth.  The smell of dead fish and decaying eels almost gagged Dan.  He spent some time panning for gold, with shovel and bucket, looking for a trace.  It was a good, clean, save job down out of sight of the boss.  Save... if his partner didn't drop his bucket or knock a loose rock on him.   The water ran in from leaks and seeps about as fast as they could pump and dip it out.  He was wet from head to foot.  What if the pumps should quit, or the cofferdams give way, or his partner rush away at the quitting whistle and forget to pull him out?  These were farfetched worries, but real, nevertheless.

Then Dan's shovel struck something in the sand at the very bottom of the pothole.  Something soft but tough.  Cloth, an old sack, maybe.  No a sheepskin coat.  But what was below it?  Now he was scared and shouted, "Boys, I've found something."  He dug fast and furiously.  "I think it's a dead man.  Should we get the coroner?"

"I'll bet it's a cofferdam victim.  The whirlpool caught him and never let go.  So, he didn't travel to the ocean as everyone supposed."  And so it proved to be, but the body was so bruised, ground and decomposed as to be beyond recognition except by the identification badge numbers.

The river bed drained, the solid rocks were washed with fire hose and water under great pressure, then blown clean and dry with compressed air.  On this clean solid rock the bottom of the dam was outlined.  Then came the jackhammer crew with their huge compressed airlines and leader hose, and their noisy rat tat tat tat tat.  Next were the gadhammer men with their clack, clack, clack, clack, as they gored and gouged, chipped and clattered away, sinking trenches in solid rock to hold the footings.  Into the deep holes were inserted long perpendicular pieces of steel that would dit the dam to the solid rock.  This placement had to be so sound that it would not be swept away by the tremendous water pressure caused by the closing of the gates and the backing up of the water.  As rock was shot and gadded loose, several large cranes lowered skips into the holes.  Laborers filled these with boulders, broken rock, and chippings.  The skips were then lifted, swung around and emptied into waiting trucks that hauled the material away to make road beds or fills.  Cleaned of loose rock, the bed was again washed and blown.  It was ready then for the steel and forms.  Carpenters swarmed about, hundreds in each section.  The forms completed laborers removed scraps and waste lumber.  Then came clean- up men with fire shovels, brooms, and buckets, cleaning up splinters and chips.  Then again, the bed was blown with compressed air to remove bits of sawdust and dirt.

In the meantime, a railroad was built alongside, and now they were ready to pour concrete, to commence to build the dam.  Trainloads of concrete came continuously from a huge mixing plant and were dumped into an elevator that raised carload lots to a great height.  The concrete then flowed out through long tubes and trough-like shutes, or elephant trunks.  These could be moved readily and so spout the concrete where it was wanted below.  Several men waded about below in hip boots on the freshly poured concrete, stamping, pounding, and puddling the concrete smoothly into avery nook and cranny in the forms.  This work went on uninterrupted, night and day and Sunday, for weeks and even months.  New records were made and then broken.  It was the most concrete ever poured on any job in so short a space of time.  Cement finishers followed the puddlers and smoothed up all top surfaces, then dropped back behind the strippers and plugged all holes, then chipped and ground down all projections.  The strippers worked like spiders on the end of a thread, with a wrench and a stout bar in hand, as they dangled on ropes and removed recently built forms.

"Look out below" they would yell, and down would come timbers with a crash.  If the panels were to be used again, a man perched high on top let down ropes to tie to them, and snubbing the ropes to projecting steel or the dam top, let the panels down quickly, checking them before they hit the ground below.  Ground men untied them and carried them away.  Occasionally, a rope slipped, the, "Look out below!" was the cry... perhaps, too late, just as the panel crashed.  The ground men watched with an eagle eye and usually escaped.  Only when the men were hurried, worries and harassed by a sharp-tongued boss did they become reckless in their efforts to show they were doing something.

As the strippers moved on, behind them appeared the new dam.  On top of monstrous columns were tracks, walks, and roadways.  Between the columns were spillways to be closed by massive gates running up and down on steel rails.  A huge, eighty-ton gantry gliding on tracks on the dam top would reach down its mighty hook to raise or lower the gates.

The work went on without much excitement or commotion.  The men had been instructed to be careful.  They had steeled themselves to expect anything, as minor accidents were happening quite often.  Rather too often something was dropped on some unlucky fellow, or sometimes poor devils would slip and fall from heights of ten to a hundred feet.  The stretchers always hung handy; the ambulances were often loaded and racing to town with sirens wide open.  No one knew who would be next, but all hoped to hit rock instead of water, as those that fell into the roaring torrent were never recovered alive.  The men often passed and signed pledges to contribute money for the unlucky fellows in the hospital.  One afternoon a man who donated to the fund had his legs run over by an engine, and before night he was in the hospital to get the benefit of his own contribution.

There was some drinking on the job, although every precaution was taken to prevent it.  The boys had to take their shoes to town quite often, as the sharp rocks were hard on them.  Some took their high tops in every time they went to town and got them fixed with a quart or two of bootleg liquor in each.  This way they could sneak in past the watchful eye of the guard, walking strait as possible and trying to look as sober as judges, although they were quite tipsy.  When the men were going on and off each shift, a uniformed guard stood at the entrance to a viaduct near the time clock.  He watched every man as he approached to see if he wore a badge, if he walked straight enough to attempt to work, or if he was carrying contraband.  He also watched to see that the men did not pack out tools when they left.  Even then the dinner pails contained electric light bulbs quite often.  Many a lunch sack contained only a bottle of liquor wrapped in paper.  And who could tell whether Thermos bottles were filled with coffee or moon?  Most of the drinking was done on the night shift.  It was dismal and cold, and some said they needed liquor to keep up their spirits.

One dreary night, as a group of men were pouring concrete as usual, wading about, stamping, and puddling in a deep form of a newly-started section, someone was missed.

"I wonder where Jack went" said Shorty, as he stopped long enough to take a fresh pinch of snoose.  "The lights aren't too good.  The last time I seen him he was tramping around under the spout.  You don't suppose he was knocked down and covered with concrete when our backs were turned, do you?"

"Oh, I guess not.  He would have yelled when he was hit" returned Tom.  "He probably just sneaked off somewhere to take a nap.  He went to town today and didn't get much sleep."

"No, Jack isn't shirking" said Shorty.  I've worked with him a good deal, and he's too conscientious to do that.  It must be over an hour since I last saw him.  Even if he went to do a job, even a railroad job... walk a mile and pass an hour... he should be back by this time."

"Jack! Oh, Jack!," Shorty called, "where are you?  Tom, I wish we had stopped the pouring and prodded around in that concrete under the spout when we first missed him.  Now it's too late.  We're ten feet above that level now with tons and tons of concrete between."

"Maybe he just ain't around.  IF he didn't sneak off to snooze, maybe he took sick and went home.  Looks like he would have told us though" worried Tom.  "We'll see if his card is in the rack when we punch out.  If it is and he doesn't show up for the next shift, what'll we do?"

"I think we should report it and have them investigate and excavate this section" said Shorty seriously.

"Nothing doing" said Tom.  "Mum's the word.  They're liable to blame us and we'll lose our jobs.  Suppose they say one of us hit him over the head with a shovel?"  They left it at that.

Jack Jennings was never seen again.  It was a mystery to the company why he never showed up to get his pay check.

On his way home from work one evening, Chester Evans decided to look over the town of Power City for a house to rent.  Not many of the houses were entirely completed as yet, even though they had been occupied for months.  Most of the owners had done their own building during their space time while off shift.  The majority of the houses were small, but build so that they could be added to as desired.  Chet stopped before a two-story house, as yet the only one in town, hoping that it would have a spare room.

"No" said the woman who answered the door.  "We have four children and no extra room.  If you're looking for a house, we might sell you our contract on this one, though.  My husband isn't satisfied with his job here.  He didn't get the job he expected, and he has a good job waiting for him in Seattle.  We're thinking of going back if we can sell out."

"I might be interested," mused Chet, "if I knew the price and the terms of your contract."

"My husband, Mr. Nixon, will be here soon and he'll tell you.  I am sure it will be a good buy for someone.  We're anxious to move and we'll sacrifice.  We'll be satisfied if we just get back our money for materials.  We'll forget about the labor."

Just then the husband drove up, and after a hasty introduction he explained prices and terms.  He said, "I'd like to get the deal settled up and vacate this week.  The Seattle job won't be held open indefinitely."

Chet said, "I believe I'll take the place.  Let's meet at the townsite office tomorrow night right after work and read your contract, and if everything is okay, I'll buy your equity and assume your obligations."

At the time appointed, they arrived before the townsite office.  Mr. Nixon walked in and said, "Mr. Elsworth, meet Mr Chester Evans."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Evans" bowed the pleasant appearing Mr. Elsworth.  "Welcome to our city."

"I hope I'm welcome" Chet said.  "I'm thinking of buying a home here and locating permanently."

"That's the idea.  That's the spirit.  We need men like you here.  I still have some choice lots for sale at a reasonable price... reasonable considering their location right in the center of what will be Power City" responded Elsworth, warming to his subject.  "We have..."

"Pardon me," broke in Chet, "but I've been talking to Mr. Nixon, who has a better job offered him elsewhere, and he wants to sell his home.  I've decided to buy it if you're willing that I assume his contract."

"Fine, fine, then we'll all be better satisfied.  By the way, what is your line of business?  I see you're wearing the emblem of the Concrete Construction Company.  That's a pretty good fraternity.  They're earning and spending lots of money, and there's nothing better for the development of our country."

"I'm an engineer... civil, locating engineer, I like to call myself.  I did quite a bit of the preliminary surveying for the dam.  More often on most jobs I'm just a civil engineer of the common, field variety."

"We can sign over a transfer of the contract any time, can't we?" asked Nixon.

"Yes, go ahead.  Or if you wish me to, I'll have my secretary draw up an agreement now and you can go home and get your wife and bring her to sign here before me.  I'm a notary.  That way the transfer will be completed in land-office style."

"Mrs. Henry" he called to the back room.  "Come here and meet this new investor in our town.  I also have a hurry up job for you.  Mr. Evans, meet my private secretary, Mrs. Henry."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Henry.  I see plainly why he puts the emphasis on the ?private'" laughed Chet.

"You do, eh?" smilingly responded Mrs. Henry, as she moved toward her typewriter.

She was a compact, pony-built, pretty, alert little woman of some thirty years, with a head and eye for business, Chet saw.  He had spent many nights poring over a course in character reading, and he prided himself on being able to use the knowledge this gleaned.  Chet watched her, as with an experienced had she arranged her papers and typed the transfer agreement.  Mr. Elsworth was called outside to show some lots to another interested party.  Mrs. Henry soon completed the typing.

"Mr. Elsworth was very good to help us with this, to lend us your services:, said Chet, smilingly.

"Oh, that's okay.  We're glad to accommodate our people" replied Mrs. Henry.

"Perhaps I can bother you again some time.  I rather like to watch you work.  I'm really interested in your new town, so if you don't mind, I'll remain in the office until Mr. Nixon gets back.  It should be a good place to meet buyers and backers and to get a line on things in general.  I like to feel that I'm a sort of humanitarian.  I think this local development is going to be a great thing for this community and the people, especially the poor.  I made that statement to a man, a native, and he laughed at me.  I told him to stick around and see if I wasn't right.  I'm afraid he won't do it.  So I may decide to stick around and watch the outcome myself."

"I wish you would, big boy.  We need more men like you.  Men with vision, faith, and some charity.  We've heard rumors already of a winter shutdown at the dam.  People are afraid they'll be unable to make their payments and live if they're laid off.  Have you heard anything about the shutdown from men higher up?"

"Yes, I've known all along that the winter crew will be much smaller.  There will probably be quite a bit going on all winter, but right now the work is getting along fine.  We're ahead of schedule.  It won't be long until the forms for the first part are completed; then there won't be much carpenter work again until the middle of next summer.  That will mean hundreds of carpenters laid off in less than a month and probably not put back on again for six months."

My goodness, we're sunk" gasped Mrs. Henry.  "Most of our new home builders are carpenters.  Why weren't we informed of this sooner?  Most of the carpenters figured they'd have steady work at the dam for four or five years."

"They weren't misinformed; they just misunderstood.  It's a big job but it can't furnish work for twenty-seven hundred men very long.  I don't expect they'll work over a thousand men all winter.  The dam should be completed in two years or so, but then again, it might not be until 1936 or 1940.  At any rate, whenever the company decides to complete another unit, it will do it in a few months, in the most favorable season, and with but a few hundred men.  The solution is to bring in factories to give your population work, or else have them become farmers, gardeners, or orchardists.  With the use of cheap water power, they could irrigate the land and live off the soil".

A stout German carpenter entered the office and made his monthly payment.  Others came on the same mission or to ask for Mr. Elsworth.  Chet watched them come and go, studying their features; their dress, their speech, their oddities and predominating traits, trying to decide just what kind of people they were who had also bought here and were to be his neighbors.  Some he read like a book; others were harder to catalogue.

During a lull in the business, Mrs. Henry said, "Mr. Evans, I'm sorry yet glad to know what you've just told me.  I must tell Mr. Elsworth.  It will make a great difference in our receipts if our people are out of work.  That German gentleman that just paid up... your nearest neighbor, by the way... would not have paid up so proudly had he known that perhaps before long he would be laid off.  No, I'm afraid he would have salted down that fifteen dollars for winter.  They're a thrifty lot."

"What is the nationality of the majority of your population?" inquired Chet.

"I've never figured that, but I'd say the Irish predominate, though we have a sprinkling of Scotch, German, and Swedes.  Taken as a whole, they're just Americans of a hard-working, adventurous variety, who have decided to root in here and grow up with the country or go down with it.  Some of them are dam laborers who had intended to let someone else build the next dam, unless it was built nearby.  Then when the work began, perhaps they couldn't resist the call, the lure of the old job."

Chet finally left, deciding that Mr. Nixon was detained and would not be back with the papers before closing time.  It was near supper time, and Chet was always hungry.  He was not much disappointed that the deal was not concluded, for it would give him an excuse to return to the office.  Mr. Elsworth surely had an attractive, capable, and perhaps not too private and exclusive a secretary.  He would enjoy studying her.  There was a woman with a man's head on her, a dynamic, positive personality.  Chet wondered why so few women were like her.  He would like to know Mrs. Henry better... her background, her life's story.  He could guess at it, but he wasn't sure that he had her catalogued and pigeon-holed right.

When Mr. Elsworth returned to the office, Mrs. Henry relayed what Chet had told her about the rumored lay-off.

"I'm afraid he's right:, said Mr. Elsworth.  "I've heard it hinted several times lately.  It may put us in sort of a hole, but we'll do our best.  What did you think of Mr. Evans?  You had more time with him than I did.  How did he impress you?  Don't you think he will be a valuable addition to our population?  He seems to be a man of some education and intelligence."

"I don't know just what to think of him" Mrs. Henry answered slowly.  "He talked a lot, asked several questions.  Wanted to get a line on things in general, he said.  I may be wrong, but I'm afraid he's not sincere in his purchase of Nixon's contract.  Their equity is not costing him much.  OF course, it will give him a cheap place to live, even cheaper than paying rent if he just continues to make Nixon's payments and completes his contract.  My impression is that he's buying that house as a blind, that he intends to live there inconspicuously and get a line on things.  I watched how he scanned everyone who entered the office.  I believe he's looking for someone.  If I had to guess, I'd say he was a plain-clothes man or a federal agent."

"Maybe you're right; only time will tell" said Elsworth.  Come to think of it, though, he has been on the job since before it started... so he is probably just as he represented himself to be.  I know we're fast getting too much of a lawless element in our new town.  I am afraid hell will be popping around here soon.  It's becoming general knowledge that our rooming houses are not just exactly rooming houses.  They say they have a chambermaid for every room, if you know what I mean.  There is altogether too much drinking and carousing around our pool halls and card tables, and even on our streets.  Las pay day and two or three days and nights afterwards were a regular nightmare."

"What can we do?" Mrs. Henry asked anxiously.

"I think we had better incorporate, elect regular city officers, and tax the business houses and the whole town.  How else can we support the city, the water system, the fire-fighting system, and most of all a police system.  How else can we afford to patrol our city properly and establish and maintain order?  I hear... and all I know is what I hear and what little I see... that it's being broadcast about that this town is wide open.  Of course, I want to be liberal and progressive, but I'm afraid this adverse publicity will bring us nothing but the wrong kind of people.  Eventually, the trouble will be too much to handle.  The country is so hard up and we are off in this corner so far from the county seat that the sheriff's protection is negligible.  We must do something, and soon, or we will be blamed for this lawless condition."

Chet called on the Nixons the next evening and found the house already vacant.  He went to the townsite office and found the papers there and signed.  His small payment was all that was needed.  This taken care of, he started studying the map of the townsite as drawn by the California real estate auctioneers.  It stood on an easel by the wall, and, accustomed as he was to maps and drawing plans, it didn't take him long to locate his own lot and familiarize himself with the plan of the town and the names of the principal streets.  It was more than a map... it was a prospectus of what the town would eventually be, showing the park, the aviation field, and the location of the mills and factories that were to come.  The map was a very good blind to work behind.  From the corner of his eye he could watch the pretty secretary as she went about her duties taking in the money and writing up and passing out receipts.  She seemed to know everyone and had a pleasant word for all.  Toward closing time there came a lull in the procession of her callers.  She left the counter behind which she worked and came and stood by Chet, a breath of sweetness, open-faced and frank, to explain more fully the particulars of the map.

"You see," she said, "here are the factory sites, between the side-tracks and the river, and near the highway.  We thought we had them sold for a grand price, but there was a slip-up.  Is there anything else I can show you about the map?  You see, right here is your lot, number fifteen."

"Yes, I had located it.  I've done considerable map work, so I caught on to the plan of your city quite readily" he responded.

"You do seem to be getting lined up and catching on quite fast.  I noticed that map wasn't the only thing you were studying when those girls were in here.  You do have an eye for pretty women, don't you, big boy?  Just like a man."

"Well, good excuse, I am a man."

"Oh, boy! What a man, and how!" she flirted.  "If you hadn't pretended to be busy with the map, I might have introduced you to them.  I'm sure they would have been charmed to meet you.  Perhaps if you're good I will favor you with an introduction Friday night.  We're to have our first dance then.  Just an old-time, friendly, get-acquainted, sociable time in the store across the way.  Our dance hall is not completed yet.  We're having a smoker there Friday to raise money to put in a floor.  The town has a large building already built that is okay for such bouts, even if it does have only a dirt floor.  I suppose you will help support your home town, Mr. Evans, and patronize our places of amusement?"

"Why... yes, some of them" stammered Chet.  "I love a good fight or a good wrestling card.  In fact, I've done some boxing myself and refereed some.  I also enjoy watching a jolly crowd of dancers.  Trouble is I never learned to dance when young, as my mother objected, and now I can't find anyone that will endure being tramped on long enough to teach me.  So about one dance is all I get from any one woman."

"I'll dance with you, big boy!  I'll show you how.  Its easy."

Chet found power City's charms irresistible.  He had some rent paid in advance at his rooming house in town, but he also owned a house.  He must procure a "baching" outfit, a few provisions, a supply of fuel, and some congenial companions to move in.

He thought first of Bill Evans.  He had liked the alert, active old fellow from the start.  He couldn't help having a warm spot in his heart for him.  He looked neat and clean, and Chet concluded that he was probably a good cook, since he talked so much to the contrary about his sourdough biscuits that could be used to knock a bull down.  He would see if Bill and Dan wouldn't move in with him.  It would place them nearer to their work and save fuel for all of them.  To be sure, fuel was not much of an item.  Chet could get a permit for a load of waste and scrap lumber from the dam.  The only expense was the hauling.  Every worker was entitled to fuel, though some were already abusing the privilege and were hauling away new lumber to build houses with.  The company had to heir men to supervise the hauling of the wood to keep themselves from being robbed.

Dan had never seemed very cordial or friendly, and still seemed offish and suspicious of Chet.  Having always been somewhat of a lone wolf himself, Chet partially sympathized with Dan and wished to live in the same cage with him.  He might possibly make Dan more mellow, or at least learn to understand him.  It would be the right plan.  If he was to become a native, he might as well take lessons from these old-timers, that he, like them, might remain and survive.

Accordingly, the next evening Chet went to Bill's house to tell his friends of his plans.  They were outside their shack on the shady side, their chairs tilted back against the side of the building.  They were resting after a hard day's work and enjoying the evening breeze.

"Welcome, son, dismount and hitch your car to a post, so it don't run or blow off the ridge, and come and take the weight off you feet and mind.  It's a long time I no see you in these parts" the old man cheerfully joked, lapsing into his native jargon and the usual loud voice of those that are hard of hearing.

"Hello, Dad.  Hello, Dan.  Glad to see you in good spirits" Chet said, for Dan had so far forgotten himself as to smile.

"What a change a job makes in the appearance of a man!" Chet thought.  This was a hard-looking pair of hombres the first time I laid eyes on them here by the shack.  Then they were unshaven, dirty, gaunt, despondent-looking fellows.  Now they were tired but recently barbered in the modern fashion.  Their clothing was new and strong and clean except for stains of honest toil.  They looked well-fed and well-sweated out and hard as nails.  They had the expression of contented men, who had earned their pay and called it a day.

"Boys," said Chet, "I've come to propose marriage.  The love nest is ready.  I have bought me a house in town."

"More good money shot" growled Dan.

"I'm looking for a cook and housekeeper, a chief cook and bottle washer.  It will be much nearer the job and save you quite a walk.  Besides, my house is newer than yours, Bill... not that I'm trying to run yours down... and should be warmer.  Also, you'll be living in the newest town in the State of Washington, or perhaps in the United States.  You may become quite citified in time.  You'll also be there when the city is incorporated, which will be in a few days.  You'll automatically become citizens then and be allowed to vote in the coming election.  I may run for mayor," he joked, "and need all the votes I can collect, coerce, buy, or steal.  You boys can ride to and from work with me if we still all continue to work on the same shift.  I can't see why it shouldn't be a satisfactory arrangement all around."

"Sounds good to me," said Bill, "what I heard of it, and I guess I got you as I had both hands up to my ears and my mouth open."

"Well, I don't know about it.  Don't sound so good to me" sulked Dan.  "I don't want to be beholding to anybody.  Leastwise, not to someone who is a little bit off and is forever throwing advice and money around where it will all be wasted.  Of course, I don't want to stay here alone if Bill moves out on me."

"It's up to you boys, of course.  I can go it alone or probably find others who would be only too clad to come in with me, but I thought of you first.  And, boys, if I don't miss my guess, we're going to have some stirring times down there.  I wouldn't miss it for a good deal.  I want to be there on the grounds when the show commences.  There'll be lots of entertainment there this winter for a casual observer even in the free outside shows, to say nothing of the excitement which the incorporation, the election, the smokers, and dances will bring.  I shouldn't wonder but that we shall see melodrama, comedy, and even tragedy before the show is over.  It's quite a walk from here, and you'll miss it if you stay up here.  Come, be my fellow citizens and supporters."

No, we'll not support you:, said Bill, after the two old partners has put their head together in a brief, gruff consultation, "but since you insist, if you let us do our share of the work and buy our share of the bacon and beans and furnish the gasoline, we'll live with you and ride with you to the parting of the ways."

"All right, boys, move in anytime.  Bring anything that you think we can use, and I'll buy the rest to furnish Bachelors' Hall.  I'm sure we'll get along fine.  We'll consider it just a sort of companionate marriage.  In case it doesn't turn out all right, Power City divorces for that kind of marriage are cheap, I understand."

Thus it came about that the Old-Time, the Doleful, and the Dreamer became a family.  Dan was the alarm clock, wood-cutter, fire-builder and dish-washer.  He wanted to do his share and did.  Bill was the cook par excellence.  He had been camp cook for many an outfit.  His well-done flapjacks and his huge, rare, plain steaks were a combination to make a man's mouth water.  Chet was the purchasing agent and housekeeper, giving the shack an almost feminine touch with his pictures, books, rugs, decorations, and curtains.  He bought many groceries and supplies which were more or less staples to him, yet relishes and surprises to Dan and Bill.  Bill did himself proud in preparing them for the table.

None of the three had enjoyed such a happy, well-kept home for many a day.  They shared a comradeship here that is not often found among mere men.  Even Dan relaxed and smiled when no one was looking.

They went out almost every evening on the pretext of doing a little shopping but more to get acquainted with the people of the town.  And most of these, newcomers, too, were interested in getting acquainted with Dan and Bill.

The election came on in a hurry.  There was considerable campaigning done and quite a bit of propaganda peddled.  The founder and owner of the townsite, Mr. Elsworth, had spent much time, money and effort to get the town located, sold and settled.  He did not see fit, of course, to step down and turn over his machine for someone else to run, although he knew it had been getting somewhat out of hand lately.  That was why he had incorporated, to get a city government to aid him.  He felt he should be the mayor.  Many others thought likewise.

There was another faction that thought and said that Mr. Elsworth's relations with Mrs. Henry were not proper, that he was leading a licentious life and setting a poor example for the rest to follow.  They said he was in cahoots, hand and glove with liquor, gambling, vice, and other rackets and was not a fit man to be mayor.  This group was led by Mr. Dinsmore, who's slogan was: "We are the good element.  We are honest, industrious, sober, Godfearing people that want to make this town a good, clean, decent place to live in and bring up a family."  Thus they talked to some.  To others they whispered, "Vote for Mr. Dinsmore, he is for toleration and license, for a free and open town, for free people."

Chet took quite an interest in the coming election.  He watched the people and tried to sift to the bottom of all that he saw and heard.  He had not been on the grounds long enough to know the whole truth and to know just where he stood, but he decided there was so much good in the worst candidate and so much bad in the best that neither should say too much about the other.  He took for his motto, "He who lives in Power City should not throw stones."

Chet could not believe half that was said about Mr. Elsworth.  He thought him to be a shrewd and capable man, a dreamer like himself, who was living perhaps twenty or thirty years ahead of his time.  He could see the glory that was sometime to be Power City, and because his predictions did not come to pass the next day or the next year, he was branded a false prophet.  Already some were beginning to reach for the first stone.  Chet understood and supported him to the utmost and was pleased to know that he was elected.

He was not greatly surprised to hear that the other candidate was sentenced shortly thereafter and sent to the penitentiary for crooked work, although some said he was sent there on a trumped-up charge because he had attempted to outshine Mr. Elsworth for Mrs. Henry's favors.  A great wail went up from the losers.  They declared the wrong man had been sent to prison.  There never would be a real town at Rock Island.  The wrong faction was in control.

Nevertheless, things went forward.  A newspaper office was built, and the new editor came to town.  With their own paper to boost them, they would do great things.  Many predicted that if the next election went right, the county seat might be moved to Rock Island.

Chet had studied advertising in college.  He offered his assistance and suggestions to the mayor.  If they were going to sell their factory site and mill site, they must advertise beyond their local papers.  They must interest eastern capital.  They must have the right king of advertising in the right magazines.  But that would cost money, and already some American capitalists had take their American-earned gold bags under their arms and had lit out for Canada, Australia, England, or god knows where.  They expected to set up factories with foreign materials and cheap foreign labor that could make products to sell to and compete with the very people from whom they had taken.  Every penny of that money had been wrung from the sweat and labor of the American people, who now shivered and starved and begged for the very crumbs of existence.  Power City's time was not yet!  But would it come?  Too late!  Too late people began to see the handwriting on the wall.

Already the rumor was confirmed that with the coming of winter some fifteen hundred men would be laid off.  The people became panicky.  The job wasn't going to amount to anything.  There were going to be too many layoffs.  It wasn't going to last long at best.  They decided that since they would never be able to finish paying for their lots and houses, they would pay no more on them.

Chet had foreseen this condition from the start.  He tried to allay the peoples' fears and encourage them to turn to the soil... the rich, irrigated soil.  If so many left their shacks and cabins, where could cheaper rent be found?  Where could a person buy cheaper chicken houses?  No place other than right in or around Power City.

Mr. Elsworth and Mrs. Henry were almost convinced that Chet was just a good fellow come to live among them and do his bit.  Chester helped to organize and get underway the town's first Chamber of Commerce.  He was made one of a committee of three upon whom fell the duty of selecting and nominating officers of the organization.  He was pressed to take the presidency but declined.  But he began to realize his importance and to feel that he might become an influential citizen.  He hoped that his influence would be for the good of the masses, the poor and down- trodden.  He had always had great sympathy for the underdog, just because he was an underdog, or thought of himself that way.

The Chamber of Commerce put on a membership drive, closing with a big dinner and program of notable speakers from all over the state.  These speakers, educated men, foresaw the future of Power City far better than most of the scared, disappointed residents.  Many residents who had come in on the freight trains had lamented to the fact that they could not buy land, build a home, and pay for it in one year hence they had ridden away leaving a string of bad debts.  The speakers cited this practice and warned against it.  They spoke of what had happened in the last fifty years and what they predicted would happen in the next fifty.  Many things would be done.  The Columbia River Basin project would be developed.

To encourage civic pride, Chet, Mr. Elsworth, and others took a truck and brought back beautiful, young trees from the mountains.  The trees were set out in the parking strips and about the public square.  The Chamber of Commerce got up a home-beautifying contest, and a prize of fifty dollars was offered for the most beautiful, artistically arranged, and well-kept lawn and garden.  The city could be beautiful and be made a real home, not just a damtown camp.  If the residents would just turn their thoughts and interests to the soil, they could live and prosper even if depression conditions should retard developments immediately after the completion of the dam.  Chet wrote an article for the local papers entitled "Overproduction vs. Underconsumption" which was printed and commented on by many.  He then wrote "Ode to the Apple Kingdom".  They ran thus:

OVERPRODUCTION VS. UNDERCONSTRUCTION

Is the Grain Grower's Trouble One of Overproduction,
Or One of Underconsumption?
Compare the Wheat Grower's Poverty
With the Apple Grower's Prosperity in Washington
In Washington Wheat once was king with a crown,
But lo! Lately how he has tumbled down.
To buy and average bushel of apples to eat
It now takes three good bushels of wheat.
In a bushel of wheat 98,000 calories there be;
Food value of wheat to apples is almost eight to one,
The price of wheat to apples is all of one to three,
So a difference of twenty-four times we see.
The grain growers have produced bushels untold,
Wenatchee apple men have produced but also sold!
How can the poor wheat farmer his condition meet?
From the wise Valley apple man let him take a tip
A Bull Durham-sized sack for five cents on each hip;
Let the unemployed on every street sell and eat wheat
A food product in itself, with which none can compete;
Whole in salad, cake or candy, as nuts it can be used;
A tastier, cheaper, better filler we could not choose.
Soft Washington Wheat, Good as Peanuts To Eat.
Let's make it a fad; it won't go bad,
If we let this slogan around the world take a trip,
All the world's hungry will soon take a tip.
Then they all with me will loudly repeat:
Soft Washington Wheat, Good as Peanuts To Eat.
Then annually we will eat our ten bushels or more
Instead of per capita consuming bushels only four;
And the poor wheat raiser will again gladly see
A quick return of pros-per-ity.

ODE TO THE APPLE KINGDOM  Dedicated to all Homeseekers

Homeseekers! Come!
Come! To you the invitation's hurled,
Come! To the Apple Kingdom of the world.
The rest of the world may be on the bum,
But business in the valleys continues to hum.
Come to an new place out in the West
There to prosper and grow up with the rest.
Where they know how to produce, also to sell,
Where they live healthy, wealthy, and well,
Where they raise their apples and make them pay
and now have the world coming their way.
Homeseekers!  Come!
Where the people are prosperous, happy, and sing...
Where the Big Red Apple is crowned king.

The dam building had been progressing rapidly during the late summer and fall.  The first half was nearing completion.  But rumor was afloat again.  The November election did not go to suit the electric company, the builder of the dam.  Uncle Sam could buy them out, force them to sell, and take control if they got to making money.  Why build any more dams to be confiscated?  Besides, rumor said the Concrete construction Company was bankrupt.  Its stocks were selling far below par.  They were laying off men.  They were going to shut down and probably would never start up again.  Even if they did, they wouldn't be able to get a cofferdam across the west channel.  The completed dam across the east side, even with the gates open, would back up the water, make it swifter, and increase the pressure in the west channel.  They would never get it completed.  It was sheer luck that they had completed the first.  Besides, there wasn't good footing for the west half of the dam.  There were great ledges of clay and soapstone between ledges of rock in the river bed that could not be removed.  It was soft, could be scratched with a finger nail, and would not hold the dam.  It would float away if it was completed, but it would not even be completed.

Dan had known it from the start.  They were doomed to fail.

It was even against the law to dam a river.  To be sure, thousands of dollars, perhaps a million, were being spent to build fish ladders; however, there were not yet completed, and it was salmon-running time.  Accordingly, the fish were not getting by the dam.  There were too many dams, coffer dams, and constructions for the fish.  The Indians, up the river, lamented the fact that the fish were not coming.  They held a powwow and threatened vengeance and trouble, a regular old-time uprising, if something was not done soon.  Without their regular supply of dried fish for winter, they would starve.

The construction company brought in huge pumps, which poured a long, sloping stream of water down the partly finished fish ladder.  By this means the fish were to fight their way up over the dam to their ancestral spawning grounds.  The ladder, however, was near the edge of the river, and the fish refused to use it.  Instead, they would swim up into the swift water of the spillways at terrific speed until they lost their momentum and were stalled.  Then they would hurl themselves high into the air, upward and onward, end over end, their silver and red sides glistening in the sun.  Of course, they could not hurl themselves far enough and would fall back exhausted into the roaring, falling waters to be carried downstream to more quiet water to rest.  Again they would tack back upstream, jockeying along the eddies at the edge of the spillway to try again.  Perhaps they would never get over, but they would continue to try.

The dam would never be completed, said Dame Rumor.  One important reason was that the Canadian government would not allow the river to be dammed.  According to an old treaty the Columbia River was never to be obstructed.  The neighboring country must have free and open access to the sea.  The builders were warned to stop all construction work, but they did not.  Therefore, one day and injunction was served, and they had to stop.

"Too bad! Too Bad! growled Dan.  "They started something they could never finish."  It was only graft, just a plan to make jobs for the unemployed.  Why didn't they give the money to the people, let them get it easy like the bosses, engineers, bookkeepers, stenographers, cops, guards, and all those white-collared, kid-gloved parasites who didn't earn their salt but got big pay?  It wasn't fair for the laborers to have to earn their pay and support so many parasites.  There were almost as many of them blood-suckers as workers.  He hadn't seen them do a tap of real work.  They just stood around and looked wise, thinking they rated their pay for what they knew instead of what they did.  The whole kit and caboodle should have known better than to start such a job.  But they wanted a job, wanted to be on the payroll at least.  Now they were laid off.  Their next job, perhaps, would be to pump the Pacific Ocean dry.  Dan wished them luck.