The superintendent of construction had been watching Tug Jones. He had found out that the man was one who would accept responsibility and could be trusted to get efficient results without supervision. Twice he had taken him from the work he had in charge and given him engineering difficulties to solve. Each time the man from Massachusetts Tech had eliminated the tangle in the clearest and simplest way. Merrick was not given to asking advice of his subordinates, no matter how capable they might be. To-night he simply made an announcement of a detail in his plans that involved the foreman. “About time we began work on Elk Creek Cañon, Jones,” he said. “I’m going to put you in charge and run the ditch line through right away. We may have trouble there. That fellow Prowers had one of his men, a rider named Don Black, file a homestead claim right in the cañon. It won’t stick. He knows that, but he wants some ground to fight us. Look out for him.” “Yes,” agreed the foreman. The habit of mind of the Massachusetts Tech man was to be thorough. He studied the surveys very closely and went over the ground carefully from the dam site to the cañon entrance. The conclusion was forced upon him that Merrick had made a mistake. The grade through the hills to Elk Creek Cañon would not do. He could put his finger on the very spot that made it impossible. It was hard for him to believe that Merrick had made a blunder so vital to the success of the enterprise. He checked up his figures a second time and made a re-survey of that part of the line. There was no possible doubt about it. Since water will not run uphill by gravity, it could not flow from the dam to the upper entrance of the cañon. He reported to his chief what he had discovered. Merrick took this facer with no least hint of dismay. So far as his strong, square-cut visage gave any expression, it was one of impatience. “Suppose you leave that to me, Jones,” he said curtly. “I know what I’m doing. What I’m asking of you is to determine the best path for the ditch along the side of the cañon. That’s all.” “But if you can’t get the water to the cañon--” “That’s my business. You’re not responsible for that.” There remained nothing more to be said. Jones carried away with him the knowledge that his chief had flatly declined to give weight to his findings. He could either resign or he could do as he was told. The younger man was puzzled. Was it possible that Merrick, after all, was a pig-headed four-flusher? That he could be a pretentious incompetent fed up with a sense of infallibility? To see him on the work was a refutal of this view. He was an egoist through and through. To look at the salient jaw, into the cool, flinty eyes, was to recognize the man’s self-sufficiency. He was dominant and masterful. But it was hard to believe that his shrewd, direct, untiring energy masked any incapacity. He did not seem to have the quality of mind that is content to fool itself.