Prologue
Walsh studied the small creek. It started up the mountain, and it ran right next to his feet. Fast at any time of the year, he knew it ran cold and dangerous after a hard rain. The furrow funneled the water west, where it tumbled over a cliff in a small waterfall.
“You want what, Mr. Boone?” Walsh asked.
Walsh had surveyed the creek and mountain a decade before. He understood nature’s dynamics. Doing anything with the creek meant a lot of toil and sweat.
Most rustlers opted for the bullet.
“Know where this creek ends up?”
Walsh nodded. “Double-D ranch.”
“Ain’t the Double-D no more. It’s the Boone-5 now. My fifth ranch.”
“Yes, sir, I forgot.”
“Well, you’re right. That creek runs right next to the barn and my big corral. Know what happened last year?”
Walsh shook his head.
“The creek flooded. Filled my corral. I lost forty head. Don’t sound like much, but that’s a costly mistake. I should’ve thought about the creek before I took over. No mind now. I got to make sure it don’t happen again.”
“What you got in mind?”
“I want you to make this creek go in the opposite direction.”
Walsh frowned. “It don’t want to go that way.”
“I know it don’t want to. You got to do some digging and build up a turn so it runs over to that other creek.”
“Jacob Creek?”
“Yeah, that one. You feed this one over to the other. Can’t be more than a quarter mile or so.”
“Jacob Creek feeds Lake Jacob.”
“That’s right. So?”
“Lake Jacob ain’t no natural lake. The dam holds back the water.”
“Of course, I know that. What’s a little more runoff?”
“It’s another stream. The dam ain’t built for that.”
“A bit more water running over the dam ain’t gonna hurt nothing.”
“It’s dirt and rock.”
“What’s your point?”
Walsh rubbed his ragged beard. “You ever seen a dam give way?”
Boone’s eyes narrowed. “What you saying?”
“Tell me, what’s on the other side of that dam?”
“Jacob Creek, the water what gets through the rock side. Runs right down to Vance Fields.”
“That’s right. Runs a bit faster and deeper in the rainy season, but it runs over the spillway.”
“What’s a little more runoff?”
“It won’t run over the spillway. It will run over the dirt. Dirt don’t stand up to water. It washes away.”
Boone frowned. “So, you have to add dirt once in a while. That don’t mean nothing.”
“Ain’t gonna be no one out in the rain to add more dirt or rock or whatever. When the gush cuts deep enough, the pressure on the other side will bust right through. You got a million gallons of water racing to town.”
Boone looked up the mountain and down toward Jacob Creek. Walsh wondered what was going on inside the rich man’s head.
“How old is that dam, Walsh?”
“Ten year next September.”
“Any floods?”
“No sir.”
“Exactly. Cause no matter how bad it rains, there’s plenty of space behind that dam.” Boone pointed up the mountain. “This little rill don’t amount to a good spit. Nothing is gonna change. Hell, no one is even gonna notice.”
Walsh shook his head. “I don’t want to do it.”
“That’s fine. I can find someone else. You’re missing out, but that’s your choice. By the way, you ain’t gonna get any more work from me.”
Boone turned away, leaving Walsh in a lurch.
“Wait, wait.”
Boone turned back.
“What if I try to split the creek. Send some over to Lake Jacob, some down its regular run.”
“You ain’t listening, Walsh. Only a fool would think that there wouldn’t be more of my cattle drowned.”
Walsh viewed the possible change. “How much time I got?”
“Two weeks. Hire as many men as you need.”
“What about Lake Jacob?”
“What about it?”
“Want it expanded and maybe deepened?”
“Nope. Just reroute this little runoff.” Boone slapped Walsh’s shoulder. “We do good work together. Don’t get skittish on me.”
“No, sir.”
Walsh watched Boone start down the slope. Deep inside, Walsh felt a pang of worry. He lived in Vance Fields. The last thing he needed was a Jacob Creek flood.
The very last thing.