“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.