"Nothing--nothing," she hastened to disclaim. "Only I know--have read about the dreadful conditions in the Chicago slums. It is--it must be so painful to recall them--That was so rude of me to--" "Not at all," he interrupted. To cover her evident confusion he held up his white hand in the scorching sunrays and commented jovially: "Talk about Eastern heat--this is a hundred and five Fahrenheit at the very least! A-a-ah!" He drew in a deep breath of the dry pure air. "This is something like! When you get your land under ditch, you'll have a paradise." "Oh, but you do not understand," she replied. "We want you to find out and tell us that Dry Mesa _cannot_ be watered. Irrigation would break up Daddy's range and put him out of business. It is just what we do not want." "I see," said Blake, with instant comprehension of the situation. "I know it cannot be done. But there are so many reclamation projects, and Daddy has read and read about them until he almost has a bee in his bonnet." "Yet you sent for me--an engineer." "Because I knew that when _you_ told him our mesa couldn't be watered, he would stop worrying. You know, you are quite a hero with us. We have read all about your wonderful work." Blake's pale eyes twinkled. "So I'm a hero. Will you dynamite my pedestal if I figure out a way to water your range?" She flashed him a troubled glance, but rallied for a quick rejoinder: "Even you can't pump the water out of Deep Canyon, and Plum Creek is only a trickle most of the year." "I see you want me to make my report as dry as I can write it," he bantered. "No," she replied, suddenly serious. "We wish the exact truth, though we hope you'll find it dry." "Then you are to blame if the matter does not figure out your way," he warned her. "You've given me a problem. If there is any possible way for me to irrigate your mesa, I am bound to try my best to work it out. Hadn't you better head me off before I start in? At present I haven't the remotest desire to do this except to comply with your wishes." "It's as I told Daddy," she said. "If there really is a way, the sooner we know it the better. It is the uncertainty that is bothering Daddy. If your report is for us, all well and good; if against us, he will stand up and fight and forget about worrying." "Fight?" asked Blake. "Fight the project, fight against the formation of any irrigation district. He owns five sections. The reservoir might have to be on his patented land. He'd fight fair and square and hard--to the last ditch!" "Isn't that a Dutchman's saying?" asked Blake humorously. The girl's tense face relaxed, and she burst out in a ringing laugh. She shifted the conversation to less serious subjects, and they cantered along together, laughing and chatting like old friends.