In sheer size, numbers and living conditions, this fight is as lopsided as they come.

In one corner, there are less than a thousand people who live along a stretch of land nearly 150 miles long along the Utah-Nevada border that is known, collectively, as Snake Valley.

In the other, there are almost 3 million people who live almost on top of one another in the rapidly growing metropolis of Las Vegas.

And while less than 300 miles separates Snake Valley from Las Vegas, their respective lifestyles are as far apart as Saturn and Neptune. Las Vegas has freeways, casinos, high-rise hotels, neon lights, shopping malls, 24-hour buffets, golf courses, swimming pools and Celine Dion. Snake Valley has about 40 ranches, Great Basin National Park, a wildlife refuge, almost no paved roads, zero street lights, no cable and virtually nonexistent cell phone coverage. Stand in the middle of Snake Valley and "you can't hear me now."

The fight is over what all classic fights in the West usually boil down to: water.

Las Vegas, growing at the rate of nearly 8,000 people per month, wants to tap into Snake Valley's water supply and staid Snake Valley — fearing the Apocalypse, or, even worse, having to up and move to Vegas — doesn't want that to happen.

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You may have heard the commotion a group of about 40 people belonging to the Snake Valley Citizens Alliance made this past Wednesday when they demonstrated at the Wallace F. Bennett Federal Building and delivered letters to Utah's senators, congressmen and governor.

Over a three-day period these fighting farmers had taken turns ferrying the letters by running the 223 miles from Snake Valley to Salt Lake. The final 100 miles or so symbolically followed the original Pony Express mail-delivery route.

"We're seriously outnumbered and we need to draw attention to our cause," said Kathy Hill, a rancher's wife from Partoun, as she took a break from rallying in front of the federal building. "There's nothing for us to do but fight."

What they're fighting for, explained Annette Garland of Callao, another rancher's wife, isn't just water. It's their homes and way of life.

"This could kill farming and dry up the springs," said Annette, who is also the schoolteacher in Callao (and I do mean the schoolteacher). "There wouldn't be anything left."

And while the Snake Valley residents acknowledge that the Southern Nevada Water Authority has insisted it isn't out to ruin anyone's home or environment, they aren't buying. Dipping into an underground aquifer, they point out, isn't quite the same as, say, sharing a drinking fountain.