Billy smiled. “She’s a fair homestead at that,” he answered. “I think I’ll keep her.” “What’s your game.” “No game at all,” said Billy. “Just a notion. I want to pay taxes and be a real citizen.” “You won’t relinquish?” “Not to-day--nor to-morrow.” The big man thought a bit; and frowned; then to relieve his feelings he pulled a black cigar from his pocket and lighted it. Billy kept company with a cigarette. “Let me tell you something, my boy. I’m giving you a fair chance. There’s a thousand cold, hard dollars in this paper. If you take it and give me your word I’ll help you get your title--grubstake you--and when you are done you can sign the land over to me for another thousand.” “Suppose I don’t take the thousand?” “That’s your funeral, not mine. A thousand’s a nice chunk of money.” “Sure is,” said Billy, “only----” “Only what?” “That I don’t like that kind of money. Come on, Holman, tell me the truth. Didn’t you get all those twenty thousand acres down yonder in the irrigated belt in just this fashion? I take it that you know the law on dummy homesteading?” No answer. “Well, I gave Uncle Sam my oath that I was after this land for Billy Magee.” “Then we can’t do business?” “Not to-day.” “Huh! Well, you’ve got the law on your side. I can’t throw you off, of course--unless I want to take a chance on the Federal prison. But”--he grinned maliciously--“better watch your homestead.” With that he started up his machine and hit down the road through the desert fringe to the great green belt that marked the patented holdings of the Holman Land and Water Company. Billy watched him go. Then he leaned over to his pinto. “Pinhead,” he said, “you an’ me is in fer it. I wonder what the game is? Anyway, just as soon as we hear from Uncle Samuel we’re going to have a vacation.” An hour later he had ridden out of the desert into the irrigated section to the post office. A young lady of pleasant eyes passed out a long envelope with the legend “Department of the Interior” in the upper left-hand corner. Billy tore it open. It was a leave of absence, à la red tape, granted to one, William Magee. Homestead entry--Serial No. 56943J, et cetera. When he had read it he put it in his pocket. “Well, Pinhead,” he spoke, “it’s you an’ me off to see the old boys again. We’re going back to the old outfit, where they raise real cattle. Then we’ll come back to take care of Holman.” II Billy Magee was coming home. During the five months that had elapsed he had picked up enough shekels to last him through another seven months of vigil. He had bought groceries, tobacco, magazines and a ukulele; and as soon as he could get a wagon he would hitch up and go for his provender. In the meantime he was bound for his homestead.