Two or three Sundays after they had come to the dam, Bob and Jerry found themselves with a day on their hands.  
“Come on, Bob, let’s get a couple of horses and ride up into the range country. I hear there are some wonderful farther up country.”
 
“No,” said Bob. “I’ll stick to the water. I found a canoe and I am just aching to do some paddling. Come on with me.”
 
“Didn’t you get enough water in the ?” laughed Jerry.
 
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough water,” returned Bob. “Are you coming?”
 
“No, I reckon I’ll let you go alone. Me for the high places!”
 
So the two boys spent their Sunday apart. The canoe had belonged to one of the engineers who had left for another project, and the storekeeper who had bought it was willing to rent it out. Bob to go down stream the first day and take a look at the land which would be by the water stored up by the dam when it was finished. He took his lunch with him as he expected to make an all day trip of it.
 
Soon after leaving civilization the river broadened out into a shallow slow-moving stream. Bob lay back in the canoe and merely paddled to it, letting the lazy current carry him slowly along. Close to the river bank everything was green and fresh looking, but this vegetation did not extend so far that Bob could not see where the green left off and the desert began.
 
His mind’s eye pictured the network of canals that would run off on each side and which, by bringing that magic thing, water, to the earth, would transform it into fruitful acres. Once around a bend from the dam he was alone in the immense country. Not a of human occupancy could be seen. The desert stretched way out on either side, broken here and there by hills, or buttes, as they are called.
 
Therefore, when he saw in the distance a figure seated on a rock fishing, it came as a great surprise. He the canoe’s nose toward the fisherman. When he got close he saw that it was a boy of perhaps his own age.
 
“Hello,” said the stranger as he grew nearer. “Where you from? The dam?”
 
“Yep,” answered Bob.
 
“But what are you doing down here?”
 
“Just out on a little . Where did you come from?”
 
“I live over the hill there,” answered the other boy. “Dad’s a stock raiser. You can see the house from the river after you get down a little further. I away from my old man this morning to see if I could get a few fish. They aren’t biting very good here, though,” he concluded. “I wish I had a boat, because I know of a peach of a place—”
 
“Come along with me then,” suggested Bob. “I would be to death to have company, especially if you’ve got another line and plenty of bait.”
 
“Sure Mike!” said the other boy. “I’m with you.” And he stepped gingerly into the canoe. The newcomer did not seem particularly familiar with the easily capsized craft, yet Bob with satisfaction that he had sense enough to keep very quiet once he was aboard.
 
As Bob shot out into the stream he asked the newcomer, “Want to paddle?”
 
“Don’t know much about it, to tell you the truth. All the boatin’ I’ve done was in a flat bottomed scow I had up to the last flood. The high water swiped it on me and I reckon the Mexicans have got it by now,” he grinned. “I felt pretty sore about losing it, but my Dad figured it was good business. Said I spent too much time on the river anyhow; that I ought to be out riding range for him.”
 
“Cowboy?” said Bob, at once interested by the two magic words “riding range.” He had met them in many books of adventure. They brought up thoughts of bronchos, fights with Indians, and all the rest of the romance of the West. That this boy of about his own age could be a cowboy was really exciting. But he missed the woolly chaps and the sombrero. The boy was simply dressed in , went barefooted and wore a heavy slouch hat.
 
“Nope,” said the other. “Dad don’t............