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.