But for the time being he dismissed this matter from his thoughts, when with tripod and rod and a bundle of stakes on Dick’s saddle he and Dave set out for Sarita Creek, leading the horse.  Bryant had postponed, under pressure of work, the business of fixing the feminine homesteaders’ garden ditch, until his conscience began to prick him on the subject.  He had neither seen nor had news of them since the chance meeting at the ford; but now, as he could survey his canal line on the mesa only during the early hours, he planned to make frequent visits to the girls.

That they already had a caller this afternoon he discovered on arriving at the two little cabins built of boards, peeping forth from among the trees in the mouth of the canon.  The place was indeed charming, with its grass and shade, with its brook flowing close by the dwellings, with walls of rock rising behind.  Just now an automobile rested before the trees; and the engineer saw a man sitting on the grass with Ruth Gardner and Imogene Martin, the three chatting and laughing gaily.  When Bryant got a good look at the other visitor he gave vent to an ejaculation in which was blended surprise and contempt.  “That magpie!  Of all damn impudence!” For the cavalier so debonairly entertaining the young ladies was none other than the olive-skinned Charlie Menocal.

A sense of pique was Bryant’s succeeding feeling.  He would have disdainfully denied that he was moved by a pang of jealousy.  But he had anticipated finding the girls alone and having a pleasant chat with them, enjoying their companionship, relaxing from the strain of arduous work, harkening to their badinage.  Indeed, if the interloper had been someone else, some other man, at least, he would have experienced a turn of disappointment—­but that the individual should be this tricky, coddled, egotistical Charlie Menocal!  Well, he should align the girls’ irrigating ditch and then go about his business.

“I’ve been delayed in coming to correct your water flow,” he remarked, when the fair homesteaders had given him greeting, “but I’m on hand at last.”

Ruth Gardner, looking prettier and fuller of spirits than ever, assured him the ditch was behaving no better than before.  Her next words, however, left him with an impression that he and not Charlie Menocal was the intruder, which hardened his annoyance into a desire to have done with the matter.

“I wish you had come some other day, for we’re just about to depart,” she exclaimed.  “Mr. Menocal is very kindly taking Imo and me in his car to see the old ruins of a pueblo somewhere over west.  We’ll be gone probably all the rest of the afternoon, and there’ll be no one to show you the ditch and what’s wrong with it.”

“Oh, I’ll find out what’s wrong and straighten out the trouble,” the engineer replied.  “You’ve a spade or shovel, I suppose?  Go right ahead with your exploring expedition and don’t worry about me; the ditch will be working properly when you return.”