Chapter 5

CHESTER EVANS WAS PROUD OF HIS HUMBLE HOME IN THE NEW CITY.  He was a loyal citizen who stuck up for his home town and boosted it through thick and thin.  The lads with whom he worked did a great deal of teasing, hailing him as the next mayor of Power City and then poking fun at him for buying a home in such a hole.  It would never be a town, they prophesied.  The dam construction would soon be shut down completely and neither guards nor maintenance crew would be left.  It was just a boom town, a dam camp.  Even if the dam was completed, there would never be nay mills or factories built nor any more land irrigated.  There was overproduction now.  Was he in the real estate business, helping Mr. Elsworth to take the dam workers' hard-earned money for worthless, rocky lots?  Chet took all this good-naturedly and tried to be loyal to his town and its mayor.

The newly incorporated city was having its difficulties.  Its permanent water system, which was still being set up, was costing a considerable amount of money.  A policemen had been hired, but how was he to be paid?  People were retrenching for the layoff and for the coming winter.  They didn't have much money and what they did have they intended to keep as long as possible.  They were not putting out.  The plan had been to tax all business houses to raise funds to operate the city and pay police salaries.  But the business houses, with almost no exception, failed to pay up.  Let those that were getting protection and services pay for them. The liquor and vice element had created the need for police, so let them pay the fiddler.  It was argued that the police were actually hired and supported by the local vice and liquor elements, that they were protected, rather than detected, arrested and prosecuted.  Yet the police were appointed by the mayor.  If this were so, then wasn't' the mayor working hand in hand with the vice element?  The honest merchants were not going to pay taxes or license fees to protect the mayor's pet element.

Thus the destructive criticism and rumor went the rounds.  The discussion of the mayor's relations with his secretary, Mrs. Henry, became the main indoor sport of those habiting the poolrooms, card tables, and gambling joints.  No, the mayor could not force them to pay taxes or licenses, and as they gathered in the O.K. card rooms, they waxed eloquent over their own drinks.  Their indignation grew great.  The mayor, they said, was not setting the right example before the children of the community.  He was not fit to be mayor.  He should be stoned from town.  He should be tarred and feathered, or at least horsewhipped.  Yes, he should be horsewhipped... both of them should be.  The self appointed purgers of the town grew more self-righteous as they got deeper in their cups.  They would do it that very night.  Just a few more drinks of hooch and another shot of dope for some, and they would be ready to start.

Chet, who had been writing a letter at an idle card table, could not help but take in the situation.  Some of the men had cast suspicious glances at him and suggested that they throw him out or pipe down so that he would not hear.  They feared he had heard, knew he stood in with the mayor and might not sanction their plans.  Finally in their drunken parleying they decided to put the question squarely up to him.  A saturated, self-appointed spokesman staggered over to where Chet was sitting and thus accosted him: "Mister... hic... how would you like to be the next... hic... next... the new mayor of this ?yer bert?  You... hic... pardon me, seem to be a sort serious, sober, educated chap.  You ?sociated here with us and don't squeal on us, and we want you for our new... hic... mayor, don't we, boys?  Stand up.  I present you, Mr. Evans, ah... the new mayor.  Three cheers for the new mayor!"

"I'm sorry, but I must decline the honor."

"You can't resign.  We need another mayor.  That old, lewd Elsworth is as good as gone now; we have rebelled.  We won't stand for this taxation without representation.  We're taxed for the support of a cop that stools on us and works with the Feds.  So it's down with the old mayor tonight.  We will hang him to a sour apple tree."

"No, we decided to horsewhip him," spoke another.  "Let's go.  I'll be the next mayor if Chester Evans don't take it.  He's too slow anyway.  This will be a good town when I get to running it.  We are the better element.  We are the home- loving, home-building, family-raising kind and can't have a mayor setting such an example before our children.  Let's go, let's get ?em and strip ?em."

"Boys, may I have a word?" asked Chet.

"Silence!  The new mayor is about to make his maiden speech."

"Boys, listen a minute.  Cool off.  Consider well what you're doing.  A mob is a monster with heads enough but no brains.  Can you prove your accusations against Mr. Elsworth?  What do you actually know he has done that you wouldn't do if you had the chance?  He had a difficult place to fill.  Are you sure you could do as well?  Are you boys all one hundred percent perfect and pure and sober?  Let's think these things over well before we start.  He may be armed and resist, and there may be murder and bloodshed.  Let's examine ourselves, and let him among us who is without sin cast the first stone, wield the first lash.  Let's consider well before we go, boys!"  For a full minute all were silent.

"Ain't he a dandy preacher?  We wanted a new mayor, and we got a new parson.  Danged if I don't think he's a pretty level-headed guy at that.  Believe I'll be getting on home to bed to sleep over the matter."  Thus the crowd broke up and scattered.

Chet debated long with himself that night, whether or not he would tell Mr. Elsworth and Mrs. Henry of the affair.  To do so might cause them needless worry, as the drunken mob might not get organized again, and if they did, might not do much but talk.  Then again, it might be better that the two were warned, so that they might be armed and on their guard.  He shuddered to think what might have happened if after getting his mail he had not dropped in at the O.K. to write a hasty letter before going home.

Accordingly, the next evening he attempted to see Mr. Elsworth, but he was somewhere about the townsite looking after some of his various duties and could not be located.  The townsite office was closed.  Mrs. Henry was indisposed and was resting at her rooming house, he heard.  This news aroused Chet's fears; perhaps he had not been early enough with his warning.  They might have got together again after he went home.  He hurried to the rooming house.  He didn't know just how to broach such a subject, so he only told Mrs. Henry he had heard things that made him fear for her and Mr. Elsworth's safety; that too much talk, booze, and dope were floating around and clouding the minds of the people.  He told her not to be alarmed, but he thought it might pay them to be armed and watchful.

"You wouldn't kid a sick girl, would you?" laughed Mrs. Henry.

"Oh, surely no one would harm us when we're trying to do our best for the people and the town," she replied seriously.

"It's hard to tel just what a misguided mob of fiends might do," mused Chet.  "You have no idea how scared I was to find the office closed.  I was afraid you had been harmed or had been warned by someone else and were in hiding."

"What?  Me afraid and in hiding?  There's nothing to it.  I believe this is a cock-and-bull story.  I'm going to go down to the office and open it awhile this evening.  I feel fine now; this was just what I needed to put me on my feet.  Don't you worry, I'm not afraid," said the plucky little secretary, whom Chet had heard called everything from a queen to a gold digger.

Friday evening Chet urged Bill and Dan to go downtown with him and take in the night life.  They usually did not stir out much after supper.  Their work was more strenuous than Chet's and after supper dishes were done they sat about as if paralyzed... smoking, chatting, drowsing, or browsing over the headlines of the daily paper.  Tonight was a big occasion, Chet said.  They should do differently.  There was a big prize fight.  The signs and posters, showing the stripped boxers in threatening attitudes, were on the door of the auditorium and in other conspicuous places near the gates of the dam job, so that they were certain to be seen by all.  There should be a big crowd and lots of excitement.  Some of the best scrappers in the Pacific Northwest were to be there.  The price of admission was only one dollar.

"Nothing doing," said Dan.  "I'm not shooting two hours of hard labor to see some guys stall around in a ring with padded gloves on.  When I see a fight, I want to see a fight."

"Dan about states my sentiments, too," Bill put in.  "I guess us natives are too much old-timers to appreciate such things.  I've heard you have to be schooled and educated to that sort of entertainment.  Never having lived in cities or gone to high school or college, I can't see the excitement in fights or athletic events... especially football and basketball.  I've seen a high school game or two but I couldn't make heads or tails out if it.  But there was a bunch of white-collared guys there yelling fit to bust their collars.  But take baseball, that's different.  I learned to play three o'cat when I was a little shaver, then soon got to understand baseball.  That's a game I would go twenty miles on horseback to see our local boys play.  I played with them in the old days.  Wasn't such a rotten player either.  Not many balls got by me, if I do say it myself."

"Well, a stroll downtown will do you good," said Chet.  "You can see the crowd and excitement, and if you want to go in, the treat's on me."

"Oh, I guess we may as well go down and look around and listen on the outside, Dan," said Bill.  "We needn't stay long.  We won't waste Chet's money for him.  Anyway, we ain't dressed right for a fight.  I ain't been anywhere for so long I don't know how to dress for the occasion.  If we were going in we'd have to put on a necktie and maybe a white shirt.  Red mackinaws ain't the latest in dress coats, to say nothing of overalls for pants."

"There'll be lots of dances, parties, and good sociable times here this winter.  I want you old codgers to get some togs and get in and get your feet wet.  I'm going to try to marry you off," joked Chet.

Chet stayed outside with Bill and Dan until the fight started.  A large crowd had driven in and parked in all the vacant parts of town.  "If you boys aren't really coming in with me, I must go in alone and soon, or I won't get a seat," said Chet.

The only seats vacant were a few in the entrance that had been kept to the last.  Chet settled himself, picked his favorite, and in his excitement was yelling himself hoarse with the rest of the crowd.  There were several rounds of preliminaries.  Then came the main fight of the night between Bearcat Carter and Jim Jeffries II.  Bearcat was a seasoned warrior.  Bearcat was muscled like a bulldog but lithe and supple as a tiger.  And could he give and take punishment!  Jeffries was so much heavier and such a dirty fighter that Bearcat was the crowd's favorite.

Just as they were starting the third round, a drunken woman staggered through the entrance, seated herself beside Chet, and began to converse with him.  She wanted to stake her all on Bearcat.

There were many women in the crowd.  Between rounds the mayor and Mrs. Henry, seated across the room, were watching Chet and his lady friend.  She was slobbering and maudlin.  As the fight began to warm up again, Jeffries hit Carter a dirty one far below the belt.  Then pandemonium broke loose.

"Kill him, Bearcat!  Come on you, Bearcat, come on you, Bearcat!"  Chet's seatmate chanted again and again, as she pounded him low in the lap in her excitement, or with even aforethought.  Chet had to move.  When the fitht was over and Chet was making his way to the door, she again overtook him and asked him why he didn't come to see her.  Chet said he was sorry but that he had never met her.  She apologized and said she mistook him for somebody that had visited here before.  Chet bade adieu and went his way.

Saturday evening the restaurant man cleared his kitchen, cleaned up his dining room, carried out tables, and pushed back counters.  The town was canvassed for prospective musicians.  Everyone that could play on any kind of musical instrument was invited to bring it along.  The admission would be free.  It was the first get-together, get-acquainted new-town dance, sponsored by the would- be respectable element.

The expectant crowd began to arrive early, some of the men in work clothes brushed up for the occasion, some in big hats and boots, but all in their party-going best.  Some of the women were dressed in evening gowns and pumps and visibly nothing else, others wore brilliant-colored pajamas.

The musicians began to gather and compare instruments and tune them, extracting from them harsh, discordant sounds.  There were, besides the piano, violins, a drum, a saxophone, and a mouth harp.  There were one or more players for each instrument, but all more or less out of practice.  But soon they had "The Irish Washer Woman" and "Turkey in the Straw" going well, though with a few variations.

The crowd, rather shy and backward at first, soon warmed to the occasion.  Good-natured banter, loud laughter, and whoops of delight were heard from all directions, and some of the crowd became rather noisy, with a continuous babble of good humor and merriment.

Chet had gotten Bill and Dan to come as far as the porch lights, but there they had shied off.  Chet entered alone and was soon welcomed and heralded as one of the crowd.

Mrs. Henry, true to her promise, came to Chet on the first ladies' choice and insisted that he dance with her.  Chet said he would try anything once in such glorious company.  He made a few blunders but soon got into motion with the rhythm of the music and jostled about on the crowded floor almost as expertly as the old-timers.  He warmed to the occasion and dared to ask for more dances.  Several of the other ladies also gladly consented to complete his instruction.  It was a jolly, happy-go-lucky time everyone seemed to be having.  They were practically all newcomers and strangers, yet all so friendly and forward and agreeable it seemed that they had been acquainted for years.  They were there in common cause, to construct a great dam, to build homes and to live peaceably together.

At midnight an intermission was called and refreshments were served.  There must have been other liquid refreshment secretly on hand, for after the intermission the crowd became even more hilarious and jolly.  Toward morning they broke up, tired but in good humor, feeling that their time had been well spent.  They had met and rubbed shoulders with many of their new neighbors, danced with them, eaten with them, laughed with them, and talked with them.  They felt they now understood each other and each other's problems.  Even Bill had so far forgotten his shyness, age, and lack of fine feathers that he had gradually worked his way through the crowd at the door and then to the edge of the dance floor.  By midnight, and before the break-up, he found himself talking with some of the ladies, and when Mrs. Henry, at Chet's suggestion, came and asked the old fellow to dance, he was too gallant to refuse.  In fact, far from that, he was tickled pink.  He was an old-tim dancer and spry as a cricket.  Chet was envious and ashamed of his own awkward maneuvers as he watched the old man and the Queen of Rock Island glide about on the now less-crowded floor.

Dan, who had become bolder and even gained the entrance of the door, now pushed his way to the edge of the circle and cried with enthusiasm, "?At-a-boy, Dad!  You show ?em!  You got Chet's eyes turning green with jealousy.  ?At-a- boy!"

A little excitement that very few people knew about took place that night.  Slim and Red, two notorious characters were caught with the goods.  The cashier had reported receiving specially marked money from them, and they were taken aside and searched.  When more of the money was found in their possession, they were arrested as the town's bootleggers.

A few days later some of Slim's cronies were certain that they had spotted the stool pigeon.  They invited him... one of the City Dads... to a lonely shack.  They gave him quite a bit to drink, and then questioned him about his part in a certain affair.  He denied any personal knowledge of the matter.  This little episode ended when the gang jumped on the man, choked him until he was almost dead, robbed him of his watch and what money he had, and warned him to stool no more.  He was allowed to go his way.

Friendship and good spirits, however, reigned for the most part in Power City, although each rank seemed to have its own code of ethics.

Christmas time was approaching.  Every day long lines of men were handed pink slips that read like this: ?Owing to the reduction in the construction forces, your services are no longer required."  It had bee a grind, a long, steady treadmill for most of the men, and they were expecting the "pink," but even so it came as a distinct shock.  They were dazed when let off the treadmill.  They were almost paralyzed.  They had no other place to go.  They didn't know what to do.  Some of them had laid up a little money.  They knew it would not last through the winter, but they homed to find another job.  Others had spent their money as fast as they had made it.  Their payments for lots and lumber, cars and groceries had left them flat.  Others had spent theirs as fast as they earned it on nothing more substantial than wine and women.  Many a nickel had been taken in by the slot machines.

Some few heads of families had been unfortunate and had failed to get on steady work at the dam even at the start.  These were destitute and discouraged.  The dammers were a prolific bunch.  Like most poor people they had large families, and the small local schoolhouse that had been adequate before the coming of the dammers had soon to be supplemented with another, and then still another.  Many of the children were wondering and worrying lest Santa might not find them here in this new land.  There had been times when he had failed to find isolated shacks in other dam camps where they had been.

Mr. Elsworth, Mrs. Henry, and others decided to make it their business to see that Santa had something for every child in the community.  Many hours were spent in preparing packages with candy, nuts, oranges, and small toys.  Clothing requirements were quietly investigated.  On Christmas Eve there was a good children's program of recitations, singing, and music, and then, to the delight and surprise of all, the treats were handed out.

Daily the crew at the dam was getting smaller, and at last even Chet got his "pink".  More of a vacation, it seemed to him.  Never was he idle, and a layoff meant just that much more time to locate and develop new sidelines and new opportunities.

Actual construction activity had stopped with the injunction, so work had not commenced un the west channel.  This did not matter, however, as a start had not been intended until the powerhouse could be completed and the finishing touches put on the east wing.

Dan and Bill were exceptionally lucky.  Being cheap laborers and hard workers, they were shifted about and retained.  Because there no longer was much need of water carriers for a small crew in cold weather, Bill was shifted to the job of night watchman.  For ten long hours, bundled in a sheepskin coat, he stalked about the island, keeping sharp watch for cofferdam leaks, sneak thieves or fire.

Dan continued with the bull gang, growing stronger and it seemed, more sullen and sour as he walked about, cleaning every section of the damsite.  The bull gang's job was to shed machinery and put things in shipshape for winter.

The fact that Dan and Bill continued to work while men with families were laid off caused some comment.  Most of the laid-off men were skilled laborers and had drawn larger pay, and their kind of work was now at a standstill.  So Dan and Bill continued to work hard and slave.

The old-time community dances had soon played out, as they had not been conducted properly enough to pay the orchestra.  Another element got behind the dances.  They gave work to the unemployed by flooring the auditorium.  They hired a high-priced orchestra and a new cop and started Saturday and Sunday night dances, remaining open until the wee small hours of morning.  They thus got the sporting element that was not yet ready to go home at the closing hours of the other dance halls.  They would have a few more drinks and hit for Power City and whoop her up.  At eleven o'clock the orchestra might be playing to an almost empty house, if playing at all, but by two in the morning the floor would be crowded by a jazzy, mad, drunken crowd of three or four hundred.  Most of the women drank as heavily as the men.  Fights and automobile accidents became altogether too frequent occurrences.

Chet attended these dances regularly.  Though the price of admission was one dollar, the doorkeeper, seeing him entering alone, sober and serious, mistook him for a plainclothes man and let him pass.  The later gatekeepers continued to do likewise, so that Chet had free admission and a rating that he did not deserve, but he was thankful for every opportunity to study ignorant, happy-g--lucky humanity in the raw.  It was grist to his mill.  Of course the behavior of those "in the know" with the man at the door was improved somewhat by his appearance.  He would notice an over drunk young sprout try to steady himself as he drew near.

Many mistook him for a stooly.  He tried to look natural, to pass himself off as a writer looking for local color, but he could not be natural for he was not like the rest.  He was a lone wolf, always smiling, even jolly, yet alert and sober.  He was among the Romans but did not do as the Romans did.  He did occasionally try to dance with Mrs. Henry or some of the other ladies as he had at the old-time dance, but the music was different, the floor was less crowded, and his awkwardness more apparent.  He had to give it up in despair.  "Too old a dog to learn to do that trick neatly," he murmured.

Now the policing of the dance hall was done by the man who ran the dance; he hired the cop.  There was no city policeman at that time, as the town had found it impossible to support one.  It was rumored that the main liquor element, the vice element, the gambling joints, and the dance hall were all under the management of one man, one Leo Granger.  He was young, handsome, dark-haired, dark-skinned, lathe and slender.  He was a neat dresser, who favored spats and a dark suit.  Many churches would have welcomed such a quiet, charming personality into their pulpits.  Granger appeared to be well-to-do, yet not vulgarly so.  He drove a fine car but was not snobbish or stuck up.  He picked up all hitch-hikers and had a ready smile and a cheery word for everyone.  Everyone who knew him personally seemed to like him.  He fed and housed the sick and cared for the stray cats and dogs in the community.

Once a dog that had just been run over in the street by a truck lay yelping.  The mayor, Mr. Elsworth, ran to his office, got his gun, and ran back toward that part of town that was said to be occupied by the vice element.  A passer-by going through town hurried to the neighboring town and reported that Power City was going to be cleaned up, that the mayor had taken the law and his six-gun in hand and was running to the fray.  Since the passer-by hadn't dared to stay to see the finish, the reporters had to make a trip to get the rest of the story.  They found that the mayor had been carrying a gun only to do an act of mercy.  They found, too, that Leo Granger had pleaded with the mayor to save the dog's life.  He had promised to nurse the dog, and this he faithfully did.  Every day the animal's recovery was watched and recorded as he lay or limped about Leo's card room in company with a number of nondescript dogs and an odd assortment of human beings.

Rumor said that Granger was a big-time racketeer and gangster, that he was at the head of a syndicate of vice and crime.  It was whispered that he had hundreds of prostitutes working for him in a dozen large cities, that he was at the head of, or at least in with the biggest gang of booze peddlers and narcotics smugglers on the Pacific coast, and that he was hiding out in the small boom town of Power City but was making the most of his opportunities even while there.  The receipts from his enterprises, it was said, ran over six hundred a day on paydays... as long as the job was in full blast with a full crew.

But the authorities could not pin anything on Granger.  Hew was shrewd and careful, always within the law... or else he had thousands of dollars to pay for protection.  Only once, to Chet's knowledge, was he haled into court.  That occasion was when some of his girls were caught.  When the case came up, it was reported that the Judge was taken with a severe and sudden attack of indigestion and could not appear in court.  When a bot, chet knew about how many green apples it took to make a bellyache, and wh wondered how many greenbacks it took to make a serious old judge sick.

It was rumored, too, that a few of Granger's retinue, of whom he always had about a dozen, had recently become too independent and threatened to tell all they knew.  They had suddenly, mysteriously disappeared, never to return.  It was suggested that they had probably followed the river to the sea.

Such were the stories that were whispered around town about its apparently most prosperous citizen.  Be it said again that he had the appearance of being the nicest, most-refined personage there.  The dogs and the ladies loved him.  Hungry tramps blessed him.  The poor praised him.  It was also rumored that because of the hard times and the nearness of the river, the price of having a man put away in Power City was something less than fifty dollars.  Just how these price quotations were arrived at was not known, but so rumor had it.

Chet applied for the now-vacant job of chief of police.  He thought it would be a good way to put in his time and perhaps learn a thing or two.  The mayor took the application under advisement, but there was no money in the treasury to pay a salary and no way to raise any, the matter was dropped.  Chet, with not much to do, became the self-appointed guardian of Mr. Elsworth and Mrs. Henry.  He still feared for their safety.  As yet, he had no authority and had always taken in the fights and rumpuses with a good-natured neutrality, only wishing to see fair play and if possible, to discourage lawlessness.

One night, on growing tired of the stuffy ballroom, he went outside for a breath of fresh air and to see if there might not be more excitement outside than within.  An excited, tipsy man exclaimed, "You...... you.  What are you doing out here snooping around?  I know you're responsible for this."

Chet spoke up, "What was that you said?  Repeat it or swallow it."

The fellow began sputtering and stammering but finally swallowed, apologized and explained.  He and his sister had driven to a neighboring town and returned with some friends.  They had all had some drinks and then headed for the dance hall.  No sooner had they reached it, however, than they were picked up by the county sheriffs, who were just passing through.  For some unaccountable reason, out of all the drunken crowd only his sister and his friends had been taken, and he was certain Chet had been responsible.  He wanted someone, anyone, to arrest every drunken person on the spot, which surely would have included himself, but the sheriff and deputy being gone, there was no one to please him and do the job.

Chet's miraculous power to stop fights spoiled his witnessing them.  Whenever he heard some commotion going on outside and went out to watch the excitement, someone in the crowd would warn the battlers and the fight would be broken up before he could get a ringside location.  Thus, he had some of the dangers, honors, and thrills of being a cop without having any of the responsibility.

Drunken driving was becoming too common.  It was unsafe to be on the road in the early morning hours of the weekend.  A new constable was appointed and instructed to stop drunken driving before innocent people were killed.  A plan was put into action.  Drunken dances and drunken parties were tolerated as long as there were sober drivers to haul the drinkers home.  When they were unable to walk without staggering and nevertheless crawled under the wheel, a restraining hand was laid on them.  The constable tried to explain the matter in a courteous way.  If the would-be driver reacted agreeably, surrendered the wheel, and did not attempt to drive until he was sober, that was all there was to it.  If he became obstreperous or resisted, he was locked up until sober and then taken to the Justice of the Peace.  He was lucky if he got off with a twenty-five dollar fine.  This sum the constable and J.P. split for their trouble.  As there were often more drunken drivers than one constable could take care of, Chet was deputized, and many were the scuffles they had subduing would-be drivers.

To make Chet's position more official, the constable, on deputizing him, presented him with the now-idle badge of chief of police of the town of Power City.  Thus clothed with authority, Chet felt free to help the constable whenever he was called upon.

At three o'clock one Sunday morning two hugh young huskies, overloaded with booze, came out from the hall and settled in the seat of a yellow roadster.  They began to fumble at the switch, starter, and choke.  The constable and Chet were on the job.  The constable explained to the boys.  One of them became clear- headed and, ashamed of their condition, realized the harm they might do to themselves, to their expensive car, and to others.  He was in no hurry to go home.  He was willing to stay and sober up.  But the other one was angry and scared.  He jumped out of the car, staggering, stumbling, cursing, and ran away into the darkness around the corner of the building.  Soon he returned but kept a safe distance, shouting to his partner what a blankety-blank fool he was for letting common, ordinary, low-down, yellow-bellied, small-town cop catch him.  He knew better than that.  It had happened to him once, and it had cost him his job and thirty dollars.  To hell with those blankety-blank snoopers... he would show them.  When they started toward him he picked up rocks, threw them at the men and ran.  The other lad sat peacefully in the car.

The authorities, biding their time, intercepted some more would-be drivers.  The stubborn drunk, thinking they had given up, sneaked back to the car, but he was too woozy to make a quick start.  This time Chet grabbed him, but no words were wasted.  The drunk, however, was ready to scuffle and exchange blows.  Young, strong, and athletic, he was just a little too much for the constable and Chet to manage easily.  He fought viciously, hitting and kicking.  Finally, the constable struck him with his billy, almost bringing him to his knees.  H cried out in pain.  Chet got a hammerlock on his arm and that was that.  The young scamp walked peaceably to the car.  He was taken to the home of the J.P. and again it cost him thirty dollars, whereas his car and his reasonable partner were taken home by Chet at no cost or expense.  This it came about that even the wild, young men began to have respect for the new law and order.

The dam factory was dead, or at least it seemed dead after the rush and roar of the summer's activity.  Those processions on the highway had dwindled to but little more than normal traffic.  As Chet was no longer making the trip, Dan and Bill decided to stay at the dam camp and try out bunkhouse and mess-hall life.  It was new to both of them.  Of course, they had seen something of ranch bunkhouse life, but it was on too small a scale to prepare them for this camp life.

People had come to Power City expecting to have steady work.  They had eaten, drunk, and made merry during the summer.  Now they were destitute and discouraged.  They had bought land and built homes.  Most of those who hadn't bought were leaving; and many who had homes were leaving too.  Power City an incorporated town! It was a joke!  Why had they incorporated?  It wasn't even a town and never would be.  The dam would never be completed.  Almost everyone thought so now, and even Bill had no answer to Dan's smug, "I-told-you-so."

There was no winter work, no money, no mils, no factories or industries, and there never would be any.  That talk was all blah, all baloney to bilk people out ot their money.  How foolish they had been to pay such big prices to gravelly lots so far from civilization!