While his horse drank he eyed the line distrustfully until he remembered his parting advice to Dill.  “Dilly’s sure getting a move on him,” he decided, estimating roughly the size of the tract which that fence, when completed, would inclose.  To be sure, it was pure guesswork, for he was merely looking at one corner.  Up the creek he could not see, save a quarter mile or so to the next bend; even that distance he could not see the dotted line—­for he was looking upon a level clothed with rank weeds and grass and small brush—­but he knew it must be there.  When he turned his horse from the water and went his way, his mind was no longer given up to idle dreaming of love words and a girl.  This fencing business concerned him intimately, and his brain was as alert as his eyes.  For he had not meant that Dilly should fence any land just yet.

Farther up the creek he crossed, meaning to take another short cut and so avoid a long detour; also, he wanted to see just where and how far the fence went.  Yes, the post holes were there, only here they held posts leaning loosely this way and that like drunken men.  A half mile farther the wire was already strung, but not a man did he see whom he might question—­and when he glanced and saw that the sun was almost straight over his head and that Barney’s shadow scurried along nearly beneath his stirrup, he knew that they would be stopping for dinner.  He climbed a hill and came plump upon a fence, wire-strung, wire-stayed, aggressively barring his way.

“Dilly’s about the most thorough-minded man I ever met up with,” he mused, half annoyed, stopping a moment to survey critically the barrier.  “Yuh never find a job uh hisn left with any loose ends a-dangling.  He’s got a fence here like he was guarding a railroad right-uh-way.  I guess I’ll go round, this trip.”

At the ranch Charming Billy took the path that led to the kitchen, because when he glanced that way from the stable he caught a flicker of pink—­a shade of pink which he liked very much, because Flora had a dress of that color and it matched her cheeks, it seemed to him.  She had evidently not seen him, and he thought he would surprise her.  To that end, he suddenly stopped midway and removed his spurs lest their clanking betray him.  So he went on, with his eyes alight and the blood of him jumping queerly.

Just outside the door he stopped, saw the pink flutter in the pantry and went across the kitchen on his toes; sure, he was going to surprise her a lot!  Maybe, he thought daringly, he’d kiss her—­if his nerve stayed with him long enough.  He rather thought it would.  She was stooping a little over the flour barrel, and her back was toward him.

More daring than he would have believed of himself, he reached out his arms and caught her to him, and—­It was not Flora at all.  It was Mama Joy.

“Oh, I—­I beg your pardon—­I—­” stammered Billy helplessly.

“Billy!  You’re a bad boy; how you frightened me!” she gasped, and showed an unmistakable inclination to snuggle.