The man and boy now attacked the canal line in earnest, with Bryant intent on establishing its course, location, and displacement exactly, so that he could make necessary blueprints and compile construction estimates.  It was while they were working along the first mile of the line, where it ran from the Pinas River along the base of a hill to the low ridge that bore out upon the mesa, that they received their first interruption.  The worst and most expensive part of the canal to build would be this section, and the engineer was therefore taking especial care in its surveying; near the river the line traversed several fenced tracts of ground extending part way up the hillside, fields owned by natives; and it was one of these Mexicans who slouched forward to the spot where Bryant and Dave worked and ordered them to 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 right and dug the ditch in the first place; and he also secured a right of way across these fields, sixty feet wide, by buying it from whoever owned the ground at that time, and the right of way is certified to the state.  Now, I own Perro Creek ranch and the Perro Creek canal and likewise the right of way.  So you see, Jose, or whatever your name is, we’re standing on my ground and not yours; I could even make you take down your fence where it crosses my right of way.”

The Mexican blinked stupidly.

“I was born here; my father was born here; my grandfather lived here,” he said.  “There have been little ditches, many of them, but never a big canal in this field.  You must get off.”

“No; you’re mistaken.  Go see Mr. Menocal and he will set you right.”

“I saw Charlie Menocal, who said to drive strangers off.”

“Well, Charlie had best keep his fingers out of this dish, or he may find it full of pepper, and you tell him so next time you talk with him.”