she asked
in a conventional tone: "I suppose you are glad to get away from
Chicago. The last papers we received say that the East is sweltering
in one of those smothery heat waves."

"It's the humidity and close air that kills," said Blake. "I ought to
know. I lived for years in the slums."

"Oh, you--you really speak of it--openly!" the girl exclaimed.

"What of it?" he asked, astonished in turn at her lack of tact.

"Nothing--nothing," she hastened to disclaim. "Only I know--have read
about the dreadful conditions in the Chicago slums. It is--it must be
so painful to recall them--That was so rude of me to--"

"Not at all," he interrupted. To cover her evident confusion he held
up his white hand in the scorching sunrays and commented jovially:
"Talk about Eastern heat--this is a hundred and five Fahrenheit at the
very least! A-a-ah!" He drew in a deep breath of the dry pure air.
"This is something like! When you get your land under ditch, you'll
have a paradise."

"Oh, but you do not understand," she replied. "We want you to find out
and tell us that Dry Mesa _cannot_ be watered. Irrigation would break
up Daddy's range and put him out of business. It is just what we do
not want."

"I see," said Blake, with instant comprehension of the situation.

"I know it cannot be done. But there are so many reclamation projects,
and Daddy has read and read about them until he almost has a bee in
his bonnet."

"Yet you sent for me--an engineer."

"Because I knew that when _you_ told him our mesa couldn't be watered,
he would stop worrying. You know, you are quite a hero with us. We
have read all about your wonderful work."

Blake's pale eyes twinkled. "So I'm a hero. Will you dynamite my
pedestal if I figure out a way to water your range?"

She flashed him a troubled glance, but rallied for a quick rejoinder:
"Even you can't pump the water out of Deep Canyon, and Plum Creek is
only a trickle most of the year."

"I see you want me to make my report as dry as I can write it," he
bantered.

"No," she replied, suddenly serious. "We wish the exact truth, though
we hope you'll find it dry."

"Then you are to blame if the matter does not figure out your way," he
warned her. "You've given me a problem. If there is any possible way
for me to irrigate your mesa, I am bound to try my best to work it
out. Hadn't you better head me off before I start in? At present I
haven't the remotest desire to do this except to comply wi