By God, I'm desperate enough to try anything--to try building the ditch--try whipping Menocal even under this moth-eaten law he's dug up!" Pat shut one eye against the smoke curling into it.
"I was speculating a little along the same line," said he, slowly.
"But twelve miles of ditch in ninety days! The whole mesa line! We'd be crazy to think of it.

Let's talk of something else." Lee's mouth, nevertheless, was twitching, while gleams like light came and went on his face.
"I always had a weakness for the bad bets," said Pat.
"But twelve miles of ditch!" "And the nights freezing harder every week," the old contractor added.
"And the days short." "Yes, and nerve shorter yet," said Pat.
The remark was airily given, but the inference was plain.

Lee took a step aside and stood staring across the capitol grounds, with brows knit, with lips compressed, the prey of struggling hopes and doubts.
"Pat," he said, turning.
"Well ?" "Do you think we could do it ?" "God knows; I don't.

But we could give the job an awful whirl," the contractor stated.
"The thing looks impossible, preposterous, but if you see the slightest chance of success I want you to say so.

Dirt moving is your game, not mine.