In a moment she had the piece of paper. Billy took it and read it. It was the regulation notice from the department of the interior, giving the name, Jennie Ross--serial number--township--range--meridian--everything; and signed by the register and receiver of the land office. “Isn’t it all right?” “All accordin’ to Hoyle, Miss Ross. Not a thing wrong with it.” He sniffed and looked at the oven; at the same instant the girl jumped up with a towel. “My pies!” she exclaimed. “I was so interested. Supposing they had burned!” During the interval Billy had a chance to take a piece of paper from his pocket; when she had the pies on the table he gave her back the notice of allowance. “Well,” he said, “I must be going.” She looked up at him, laughing. “Without eating any of my pie? Shame on you. I thought you were a real cowboy!” “Best cowboy ever was,” grinned Billy. “Do you test them all with apple pies? Better not let it be known. I know about a million cow-punchers who’d be standing in line.” “I’ll just bet that you could eat a whole pie,” she teased. “I’m not going to call you,” returned the man. “We’ll split the pot. Cut one in half and we’ll go evens. There now--I’ll take this one and start over in this corner.” “All right,” she answered. “You start over there--where the West begins!” There’s a time that comes to every man when he meets a girl on an even footing. Billy was usually bashful; it was the first time that he had ever met a real girl without stepping on his own feet or doing something equally ridiculous and self-conscious. Before he knew it he was telling Jennie Ross his whole history--outside his homestead experience--and almost everything that he knew. “Then you are a real Western cowboy,” she exclaimed. “All my life I have wanted to know one, one who lived on the range, who lived out in the open and thought the great free things of nature. You must meet my brother and get acquainted.” Then she went on to tell of their dreams--of a well, and alfalfa, fruit trees, a mansion, avenues, driveways--a dream that was half homesteader and half school-teacher; and most of all out of a girlish heart. Billy listened. They stepped out on the porch; the girl pointed to the irrigated lands in the distance. “See,” she spoke. “They tell me that all that country was once government land just like this--all desert.” “It sure was,” answered the cowboy. “And it would be desert yet were it not for the water.” “That’s what Arthur says. It seems to me that while they were getting water they could have drilled up here just as well as down there. When we get our well all our dreams will come true.”