There was a streak of perversity about Billy Magee. When the idea of nesting first entered his head he had looked about for a place that would give excitement as well as a place to squat, until his Uncle Samuel should think fit to bestow upon him the dignity of a patent and the appendant distinction of being a law-abiding taxpayer. Just for that excitement Billy had planted his homestead in the strip of foothill level that separated the great free mountain range from the irrigated section of the valley. The green stretches belonged to the Holman Land and Water Company; and Holman, the president and whole works of the company had always regarded that strip as his own private property and had treated it as such, because no one had hitherto had the hardihood to file on it and make the promise to the government that they intended it for a home. The government range, in this instance, was a wild dry country. That it was still public land was due simply to the lack of accessible underground water. The creeks and springs had been taken up years before by individuals and had later been bought out by Holman. With the water in the big man’s hands the rest could go hang! Then along had come Billy Magee and his homestead. If the trick were successful, Billy, as well as Holman, would have contiguous access to the great free pasture. It worried Holman; Billy was inured to the desert and accustomed to its ways; wherefore it was hardly likely that his motives were those of an air-castle tenderfoot. Knowing the country as he did and realizing the value of water the cowboy would hardly have filed on the land unless he was pretty sure of just what he was doing. So Holman figured. Billy waited until the car came to a stop. A heavy, broad-shouldered individual sat at the wheel, a man with gray hair and a square-cut, have-my-own-way sort of jaw. “Magee?” he asked. He looked at the cowboy out of cold gray eyes. “Yes, sir. That’s what my ma called me.” “Ahem.” The big man sparred. “You received my letter last winter, I believe?” “Sure did,” said Billy. “And I answered it. Nothin’ doin’. She’s my homestead and I’m going to keep her.” The other nodded. “Are you sure?” He pulled out a check book. “I haven’t much time. Here’s one thousand dollars, if you relinquish--or, if you don’t wish to relinquish, we’ll call it a payment of one thousand dollars on the quarter section--against the day that you get your title.” Billy Magee shook his head. “Nope. She’s a pretty fair piece of land. Besides”--he waved his hand toward the range--“take a look at that.” The other bit his lip. “Where’s your water? You can’t use my creeks. I’ve served notice to my foremen to keep you out. So far I have been lenient, but I don’t propose to give you a bit more now than the law allows. You can’t raise stock without water. I own the creeks. You can’t drill a well because your water level is too deep, here, for successful pumping.”