Billy did some thinking. He was no tenderfoot; he knew why the irrigated belt extended just so far and no farther. He was familiar with the eccentricities of water. Down there it could be tapped at a reasonable depth and was at least semi-artesian; while up on the homestead it was almost inaccessible--the elevation was higher and the water, consequently, farther from the surface. Even after it was found there was a two-hundred-foot lift before it could be utilized; and water for irrigation purposes cannot be profitably pumped more than a hundred feet. But he said nothing to discourage her. She was having her dream. If he could he would make it all come true. He was half sorry and half doubtful; should he tell her the truth or go after Holman? He did not care for his homestead; at the very most it had been, with him, merely a whim--a place to hang his hat, a notion. At last he took his leave. She stepped out to the gate where he had left his pinto. “You must come back and meet my brother some day. I am sure you will like him--and I’ll have some more pies.” “Bet you will,” said Billy. “I am going to come back. Don’t forget the pies.” She waved her hat at him when he was out in the sagebrush and he answered with his sombrero. When he was beyond the knoll he reined in his pony. He was thinking. From the knoll he could look down at the section line that ran to the eastward. On the desert side it could be distinguished by the straight swath that had been cleared of sagebrush; on the other side it was marked by the fence that ran into the distance. The fence was Holman’s. Billy had business with Holman. He spoke to his pinto: “Pinhead,” said Billy Magee, “we have lost our homestead. We ain’t clever enough to deceive a lady. But we ain’t babes yet, either. You an’ me is goin’ to raise tarnation with Mr. Holman.” Then he struck out across the country, straight down the section line toward the irrigated belt that was the patented domain of the Holman Land and Water Company. There was a road that ran through the desert parallel to the belt of green. When Billy came to this road he stopped. A black object was coming toward him--a man on horseback. “’Lo, Billy Magee,” greeted the man. “When’d y’ get back? How’s the boys up ‘Pop’ Mobray’s way? Goin’ back t’ nestin’?” “Thinkin’ of it,” said Billy. “Mebbe. Don’t know what I’ll do. Y’ goin’ by the mines?” “Yep. Expect to be at the mine to-night. Why?” “Nothin’. Only I want to write a note. Can y’ wait? I want y’ to give it to the stage driver. It’s to my old boss, Mobray. It’s kinda special; seeing as how it has to deal with a funeral.” “A funeral?” “Yep. Leastways, almost so. There may be two. I kinda want to get news to Pop so’s he can be on hand, when they take a certain cow-puncher, that we know of, off to the calaboose.” “What’s the rumpus?”