[Illustration: He worked desperately. The heat of the flames began toscorch his face and hands]

THE RULES OF THE GAME

BY

STEWART EDWARD WHITE

1910

ILLUSTRATED BY LEJAREN A. HILLER

1909, 1910, BY JAMES HORSBURGH, JR

1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

PUBLISHED, OCTOBER, 1910

AUTHOR'S NOTE

_The geography in this novel may easily be recognized by one familiarwith the country. For that reason it is necessary to state that thecharacters therein are in no manner to be confused with the peopleactually inhabiting and developing that locality. The Power Companypromoted by Baker has absolutely nothing to do with any Power Companyutilizing any streams: the delectable Plant never exercised his talentsin Sierra North. The author must decline to acknowledge anyidentifications of the sort. Plant and Baker and all the rest are, however, only to a limited extent fictitious characters. What they didand what they stood for is absolutely true. _

ILLUSTRATIONS

He worked desperately. The heat of the flames began to scorch his faceand hands. 

The men calmly withdrew the long ribbon of steel and stood to one side. 

"I beg pardon, " said he. The girl turned. 

Bob found it two hours' journey down. 

PART ONE

I

Late one fall afternoon, in the year 1898, a train paused for a momentbefore crossing a bridge over a river. From it descended a heavy-set, elderly man. The train immediately proceeded on its way. 

The heavy-set man looked about him. The river and the bottom-landgrowths of willow and hardwood were hemmed in, as far as he could see, by low-wooded hills. Only the railroad bridge, the steep embankment ofthe right-of-way, and a small, painted, windowless structure next thewater met his eye as the handiwork of man. The windowless structure wasbleak, deserted and obviously locked by a strong padlock and hasp. Nevertheless, the man, throwing on his shoulder a canvas duffle-bag withhandles, made his way down the steep railway embankment, across a plankover the ditch, and to the edge of the water. Here he dropped his bagheavily, and looked about him with an air of comical dismay. 

The man was probably close to sixty years of age, but florid andvigorous. His body was heavy and round; but so were his arms and legs. An otherwise absolutely unprepossessing face was rendered mostattractive by a pair of twinkling, humorous blue eyes, set far apart. Iron-gray hair, with a tendency to curl upward at the ends, escaped fromunder his hat. His movements were slow and large and purposeful. 

He rattled the padlock on the boathouse, looked at his watch, and satdown on his duffle-bag. The wind blew strong up the river; the baringbranches of the willows whipped loose their yellow leaves. A dull, leaden light stole up from the east as the afternoon sun lost itsstrength. 

By the end of ten minutes, however, the wind carried with it the creakof rowlocks. A moment later a light, flat duck-boat shot around the bendand drew up at the float. 

"Well, Orde, you confounded old scallywattamus, " remarked the man on theduffle-bag, without moving, "is this your notion of meeting a train?"

The oarsman moored his frail craft and stepped to the float. He wasabout ten years the other's junior, big of frame, tanned of skin, clearof eye, and also purposeful of movement. 

"This boathouse, " he remarked incisively, "is the property of the MapleCounty Duck Club. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Get off this float. "

Then they clasped hands and looked at each other. 

"It's surely like old times to see you again, Welton, " Orde broke themomentary silence. "It's been--let's see--fifteen years, hasn't it?How's Minnesota?"

"Full of ducks, " stated Welton emphatically, "and if you haven'tanything but mud hens and hell divers here, I'm going to sue you forgetting me here under false pretences. I want ducks. "

"Well, I'll get the keeper to shoot you some, " replied Orde, soothingly, "or you can come out and see me kill 'em if you'll sit quiet and notrock the boat. Climb aboard. It's getting late. "

Welton threw aboard his duffle-bag, and, with a dexterity marvellous inone apparently so unwieldy, stepped in astern. Orde grinned. 

"Haven't forgotten how to ride a log, I reckon?" he commented. 

Welton exploded. 

"Look here, you little squirt!" he cried, "I'd have you know I'm ridinglogs yet. I don't suppose you'd know a log if you'd see one, you'soft-handed, degenerate, old riverhog, you! A golf ball's about yoursize!"

"No, " said Orde; "a fat old hippopotamus named Welton is about mysize--as I'll show you when we land at the Marsh!"

Welton grinned. 

"How's Mrs. Orde and the little boy?" he inquired. 

"Mrs. Orde is fine and dandy, and the 'little boy, ' as you call him, graduated from college last June, " Orde replied. 

"You don't say!" cried Welton, genuinely astounded. "Why, of course, hemust have! Can he lick his dad?"

"You bet he can--or could if his dad would give him a chance. Why, he'sbeen captain of the football team for two years. "

"And football's the only game I'd come out of the woods to see, " saidWelton. "I must have seen him up at Minneapolis when his team licked thestuffing out of our boys; and I remember his name. But I never thoughtof him as little Bobby--because--well, because I always did remember himas little Bobby. "

"He's big Bobby, now, all right, " said Orde, "and that's one reason Iwanted to see you; why I asked you to run over from Chicago next timeyou came down. Of course, there _are_ ducks, too. "

"There'd better be!" said Welton grimly. 

"I want Bob to go into the lumber business, same as his dad was. Thiscongressman game is all right, and I don't see how I can very well getout of it, even if I wanted to. But, Welton, I'm a Riverman, and Ialways will be. It's in my bones. I want Bob to grow up in the smell ofthe woods--same as his dad. I've always had that ambition for him. Itwas the one thing that made me hesitate longest about going toWashington. I looked forward to _Orde & Son_. "

He was resting on his oars, and the duck-boat drifted silently by theswaying brown reeds. 

Welton nodded. 

"I want you to take him and break him in. I'd rather have you than anyone I know. You're the only one of the outsiders who stayed by the BigJam, " Orde continued. "Don't try to favour him--that's no favour. If hedoesn't make good, fire him. Don't tell any of your people that he's theson of a friend. Let him stand on his own feet. If he's any good we'llwork him into the old game. Just give him a job, and keep an eye on himfor me, to see how well he does. "

"Jack, the job's his, " said Welton. "But it won't do him much good, because it won't last long. We're cleaned up in Minnesota; and have onlyan odd two years on some odds and ends we picked up in Wisconsin just tokeep us busy. "

"What are you going to do then?" asked Orde, quietly dipping his oarsagain. 

"I'm going to retire and enjoy life. "

Orde laughed quietly. 

"Yes, you are!" said he. "You'd have a high old time for a calendarmonth. Then you'd get uneasy. You'd build you a big house, which wouldkeep you mad for six months more. Then you'd degenerate to buyingsubscription books, and wheezing around a club and going by the cocktailroute. You'd look sweet retiring, now, wouldn't you?"

Welton grinned back, a trifle ruefully. 

"You can no more retire than I can, " Orde went on. "And as for enjoyinglife, I'll trade jobs with you in a minute, you ungrateful old idiot. "

"I know it, Jack, " confessed Welton; "but what can I do? I can't pick upany more timber at any price. I tell you, the game is played out. We'reold mossbacks; and our job is done. "

"I have five hundred million feet of sugar pine in California. What doyou say to going in with me to manufacture?"

"The hell you have!" cried Welton, his jaw dropping. "I didn't knowthat!"

"Neither does anybody else. I bought it twenty years ago, under acorporation name. I was the whole corporation. Called myself theWolverine Company. "

"You own the Wolverine property, do you?"

"Yes; ever hear of it?"

"I know where it is. I've been out there trying to get hold ofsomething, but you have the heart of it. "

"Thought you were going to retire, " Orde pointed out. 

"The property's all right, but I've some sort of notion the title isclouded. "

"Why?"

"Can't seem to remember; but I must have come against some recordsomewhere. Didn't pay extra much attention, because I wasn't interestedin that piece. Something to do with fraudulent homesteading, wasn't it?"

Orde dropped his oars across his lap to fill and light a pipe. 

"That title was deliberately clouded by an enemy to prevent my raisingmoney at the time of the Big Jam, when I was pinched, " said he. "FrankTaylor straightened it out for me. You can see him. As a matter of fact, most of that land I bought outright from the original homesteaders, andthe rest from a bank. I was very particular. There's one 160 I wouldn'ttake on that account. "

"Well, that's all right, " said Welton, his jolly eyes twinkling. "Whythe secrecy?"

"I wanted a business for Bob when he should grow up, " explained Orde;"but I didn't want any of this 'rich man's son' business. Nothing'sworse for a boy than to feel that everything's cut and dried for him. Heis to understand that he must go to work for somebody else, and standstrictly on his own feet, and make good on his own efforts. That's why Iwant you to break him in. "

"All right. And about this partnership?"

"I want you to take charge. I can't leave Washington. We'll get down todetails later. Bob can work for you there the same as here. By and by, we'll see whether to tell him or not. "

The twilight had fallen, and the shores of the river were lost in dusk. The surface of the water itself shone with an added luminosity, reflecting the sky. In the middle distance twinkled a light, beyondwhich in long stretches lay the sombre marshes. 

"That's the club, " said Orde. "Now, if you disgrace me, you old duffer, I'll use you as a decoy!"

A few moments later the two men, opening the door of the shooting-box, plunged into a murk of blue tobacco smoke. A half-dozen men greeted themboisterously. These were just about to draw lots for choice of blinds onthe morrow. A savoury smell of roasting ducks came from the tiny kitchenwhere Weber--punter, keeper, duck-caller and cook--exercised thelast-named function. Welton drew last choice, and was commiserated onhis bad fortune. No one offered to give way to the guest, however. Onthis point the rules of the Club were inflexible. 

Luckily the weather changed. It turned cold; the wind blew a gale. Squalls of light snow swept the marshes. Men chattered and shivered, andblew on their wet fingers, but in from the great open lake came myriadsof water-fowl, seeking shelter, and the sport was grand. 

"Well, old stick-in-the-mud, " said Orde as, at the end of two days, themen thawed out in a smoking car, "ducks enough for you?"

"Jack, " said Welton solemnly, "there are no ducks in Minnesota. They'veall come over here. I've had the time of my life. And about that otherthing: as soon as our woods work is under way, I'll run out toCalifornia and look over the ground--see how easy it is to log thatcountry. Then we can talk business. In the meantime, send Bob over tothe Chicago office. I'll let Harvey break him in a little on the officework until I get back. When will he show up?"

Orde grinned apologetically. 

"The kid has set his heart on coaching the team this fall, and he don'twant to go to work until after the season, " said he. "I'm just an oldfool enough to tell him he could wait. I know he ought to be at itnow--you and I were, long before his age; but----"

"Oh, shut up!" interrupted Welton, his big body shaking all over withmirth. "You talk like a copy-book. I'm not a constituent, and youneedn't run any bluffs on me. You're tickled to death with that boy, andyou are hoping that team will lick the everlasting daylights out ofChicago, Thanksgiving; and you wouldn't miss the game or have Bob out ofthe coaching for the whole of California; and you know it. Send himalong when you get ready. "

II

Bob Orde, armed with a card of introduction to Fox, Welton's officepartner, left home directly after Thanksgiving. He had heard much ofWelton & Fox in the past, both from his father and his father'sassociates. The firm name meant to him big things in the past history ofMichigan's industries, and big things in the vague, large life of theNorthwest. Therefore, he was considerably surprised, on finding thefirm's Adams Street offices, to observe their comparativeinsignificance. 

He made his way into a narrow entry, containing merely a high desk, asafe, some letter files, and two bookkeepers. Then, without challenge, he walked directly into a large apartment, furnished as simply, withanother safe, a typewriter, several chairs, and a large roll-top desk. At the latter a man sprawled, reading a newspaper. Bob looked about fora further door closed on an inner private office, where the weightybusiness must be transacted. There was none. The tall, broad, lean youngman hesitated, looking about him with a puzzled expression in hisearnest young eyes. Could this be the heart and centre of those vast andfar-reaching activities he had heard so much about?

After a moment the man in the revolving chair looked up shrewdly overhis paper. Bob felt himself the object of an instant's searchingscrutiny from a pair of elderly steel-gray eyes. 

"Well?" said the man, briefly. 

"I am looking for Mr. Fox, " explained Bob. 

"I am Fox. "

The young man moved forward his great frame with the easy, loose-jointed grace of the trained athlete. Without comment he handedhis card of introduction to the seated man. The latter glanced at it, then back to the young fellow before him. 

"Glad to see you, Mr. Orde, " he unbent slightly. "I've been expectingyou. If you're as good a man as your father, you'll succeed. If you'renot as good a man as your father, you may get on--well enough. Butyou've got to be some good on your own account. We'll see. " He raisedhis voice slightly. "Jim!" he called. 

One of the two bookkeepers appeared in the doorway. 

"This is young Mr. Orde, " Fox told him. "You knew his father at Monroviaand Redding. "

The bookkeeper examined Bob dispassionately. 

"Harvey is our head man here, " went on Fox. "He'll take charge of you. "

He swung his leg over the arm of his chair and resumed his newspaper. After a few moments he thrust the crumpled sheet into a huge wastebasket and turned to his desk, where he speedily lost himself in a massof letters and papers. 

Harvey disappeared. Bob stood for a moment, then took a seat by thewindow, where he could look out over the smoky city and catch a glimpseof the wintry lake beyond. As nothing further occurred for some time, heremoved his overcoat, and gazed about him with interest on the framedphotographs of logging scenes and camps that covered the walls. At theend of ten minutes Harvey returned from the small outer office. Harveywas, perhaps, fifty-five years of age, exceeding methodical, verycompetent. 

"Can you run a typewriter?" he inquired. 

"A little, " said Bob. 

"Well, copy this, with a carbon duplicate. "

Bob took the paper Harvey extended to him. He found it to be a list, including hundreds of items. The first few lines were like this:

Sec. 4 T, 6 N. R. , 26 W S. W. 1/4 of N. W. 1/4 4 6 26 N. W. 1/4 of N. W. 1/4 4 6 26 S. W. 1/4 of S. W. 1/4 5 6 26 S. W. 1/4 of N. W. 1/4 5 6 26 S. E. 1/4 of N. W. 1/4

After an interminable sequence, another of the figures would change, ora single letter of the alphabet would shift. And so on, column aftercolumn. Bob had not the remotest notion of what it all meant, but hecopied it and handed the result to Harvey. In a few moments Harveyreturned. 

"Did you verify this?" he asked. 

"What?" Bob inquired. 

"Verify it, check it over, compare it, " snapped Harvey, impatiently. 

Bob took the list, and with infinite pains which, nevertheless, couldnot prevent him from occasionally losing the place in the bewildermentof so many similar figures, he managed to discover that he had omittedthree and miscopied two. He corrected these mistakes with ink andreturned the list to Harvey. Harvey looked sourly at the ink marks, andgave the boy another list to copy. 

Bob found this task, which lasted until noon, fully as exhilarating asthe other. When he returned his copies he ventured an inquiry. 

"What are these?" he asked. 

"Descriptions, " snapped Harvey. 

In time he managed to reason out the fact that they were descriptions ofland; that each item of the many hundreds meant a separate tract. Thusthe first line of his first copy, translated, would have read asfollows:

"The southwest quarter of the northwest quarter of section number four, township number six, north, range number twenty-six, west. "

--And that it represented forty acres of timber land. The stupendousnature of such holdings made him gasp, and he gasped again when herealized that each of his mistakes meant the misplacement on the map ofenough for a good-sized farm. Nevertheless, as day succeeded day, andthe lists had no end, the mistakes became more difficult to avoid. TheS, W, E, and N keys on the typewriter bothered him, hypnotized him, forced him to strike fantastic combinations of their own. Once Harveyentered to point out to him an impossible N. S. 

Over his lists Harvey, the second bookkeeper, and Fox held longconsultations. Then Bob leaned back in his office chair to examine forthe hundredth time the framed photographs of logging crews, winterscenes in the forest, record loads of logs; and to speculate again onthe maps, deer heads, and hunting trophies. At first they had appealedto his imagination. Now they had become too familiar. Out the windowwere the palls of smoke, gigantic buildings, crevasse-like streets, andswirling winds of Chicago. 

Occasionally men would drift in, inquiring for the heads of the firm. Then Fox would hang one leg over the arm of his swinging chair, light acigar, and enter into desultory conversation. To Bob a great deal oftime seemed thus to be wasted. He did not know that big deals weredecided in apparently casual references to business. 

Other lists varied the monotony. After he had finished the tax lists hehad to copy over every description a second time, with additionalstatistics opposite each, like this:

S. W. 1/4 of N. W. 1/4, T. 4 N. R. , 17, W. Sec. 32, W. P. 68, N. 16, H. 5. 

The last characters translated into: "White pine, 68, 000 feet; Norwaypine, 16, 000 feet; hemlock, 5, 000 feet, " and that inventoried thestanding timber on the special forty acres. 

And occasionally he tabulated for reference long statistics on how Camp14 fed its men for 32 cents a day apiece, while Camp 32 got it down to27 cents. 

That was all, absolutely all, except that occasionally they sent himout to do an errand, or let him copy a wordy contract with a great many_whereases_ and _wherefores_. 

Bob little realized that nine-tenths of this timber--all that wherein SP (sugar pine) took the place of W P--was in California, belonged to hisown father, and would one day be his. For just at this time theprincipal labour of the office was in checking over the estimates on theWestern tract. 

Bob did his best because he was a true sportsman, and he had entered thegame, but he did not like it, and the slow, sleepy monotony of theoffice, with its trivial tasks which he did not understand, filled himwith an immense and cloying languor. The firm seemed to be dying of thesleeping sickness. Nothing ever happened. They filed their interminablestatistics, and consulted their interminable books, and marked squaresoff their interminable maps, and droned along their monotonous, unimportant life in the same manner day after day. Bob was used toout-of-doors, used to exercise, used to the animation of free humanintercourse. He watched the clock in spite of himself. He made mistakesout of sheer weariness of spirit, and in the footing of the long columnsof figures he could not summon to his assistance the slow, painstakingenthusiasm for accuracy which is the sole salvation of those who wouldget the answer. He was not that sort of chap. 

But he was not a quitter, either. This was life. He triedconscientiously to do his best in it. Other men did; so could he. 

The winter moved on somnolently. He knew he was not making a success. Harvey was inscrutable, taciturn, not to be approached. Fox seemed tohave forgotten his official existence, although he was hearty enough inhis morning greetings to the young man. The young bookkeeper, Archie, was more friendly, but even he was a being apart, alien, one of thestrangely accurate machines for the putting down and docketing of theseinnumerable and unimportant figures. He would have liked to know andunderstand Bob, just as the latter would have liked to know andunderstand him, but they were separated by a wide gulf in which whirledthe nothingnesses of training and temperament. However, Archie oftenpointed out mistakes to Bob before the sardonic Harvey discovered them. Harvey never said anything. He merely made a blue pencil mark in themargin, and handed the document back. But the weariness of his smile!

One day Bob was sent to the bank. His business there was that of anerrand boy. Discovering it to be sleeting, he returned for his overcoat. Harvey was standing rigid in the door of the inner office, talking toFox. 

"He has an ingrained inaccuracy. He will never do for business, " Bobcaught. 

Archie looked at him pityingly. 

III

The winter wore away. Bob dragged himself out of bed every morning athalf-past six, hurried through a breakfast, caught a car--and hoped thatthe bridge would be closed. Otherwise he would be late at the office, which would earn him Harvey's marked disapproval. Bob could not see thatit mattered much whether he was late or not. Generally he had nothingwhatever to do for an hour or so. At noon he ate disconsolately at acheap saloon restaurant. At five he was free to go out among his ownkind--with always the thought before him of the alarm clock thefollowing morning. 

One day he sat by the window, his clean, square chin in his hand, hiseyes lost in abstraction. As he looked, the winter murk partednoiselessly, as though the effect were prearranged; a blue sky shonethrough on a glint of bluer water; and, wonder of wonders, there throughthe grimy dirty roar of Adams Street a single, joyful robin note flew upto him. 

At once a great homesickness overpowered him. He could see plainly thehalf-sodden grass of the campus, the budding trees, the red "gym"building, and the crowd knocking up flies. In a little while the shotputters and jumpers would be out in their sweaters. Out at Regents'Field the runners were getting into shape. Bob could almost hear thecreak of the rollers smoothing out the tennis courts; he could almostrecognize the voices of the fellows perching about, smell the fragrantreek of their pipes, savour the sweet spring breeze. The library clockboomed four times, then clanged the hour. A rush of feet from all therecitation rooms followed as a sequence, the opening of doors, themurmur of voices, occasionally a shout. Over it sounded the sharp, half-petulant advice of the coaches and the little trainer to theathletes. It was getting dusk. The campus was emptying. Through thetrees shone lights. And Bob looked up, as he had so often done before, to see the wonder of the great dome against the afterglow of sunset. 

Harvey was examining him with some curiosity. 

"Copied those camp reports?" he inquired. 

Bob glanced hastily at the clock. He had been dreaming over an hour. 

A little later Fox came in; and a little after that Harvey returnedbringing in his hand the copies of the camp reports, but instead oftaking them directly to Bob for correction, as had been his habit, helaid them before Fox. The latter picked them up and examined them. In amoment he dropped them on his desk. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " he demanded of Harvey, "that _seventeen_ onlyran ten thousand? Why, it's preposterous! Saw it myself. It has ahalf-million on it, if there's a stick. Let's see Parsons's letter. "

While Harvey was gone, Fox read further in the copy. 

"See here, Harvey, " he cried, "something's dead wrong. We never cut allthis hemlock. Why, hemlock's 'way down. "

Harvey laid the original on the desk. After a second Fox's face cleared. 

"Why, this is all right. There were 480, 000 on _seventeen_. And thathemlock seems to have got in the wrong column. You want to be a littlemore careful, Jim. Never knew that to happen before. Weren't out withthe boys last night, were you?"

But Harvey refused to respond to frivolity. 

"It's never happened before because I never let it happen before, " hereplied stiffly. "There have been mistakes like that, and worse, inalmost every report we've filed. I've cut them out. Now, Mr. Fox, Idon't have much to say, but I'd rather do a thing myself than do it overafter somebody else. We've got a good deal to keep track of in thisoffice, as you know, without having to go over everybody else's worktoo. "

"H'm, " said Fox, thoughtfully. Then after a moment, "I'll see about it. "

Harvey went back to the outer office, and Fox turned at once to Bob. 

"Well, how is it?" he asked. "How did it happen?"

"I don't know, " replied Bob. "I'm trying, Mr. Fox. Don't think it isn'tthat. But it's new to me, and I can't seem to get the hang of it rightaway. "

"I see. How long you been here?"

"A little over four months. "

Fox swung back in his chair leisurely. 

"You must see you're not fair to Harvey, " he announced. "That mancarries the details of four businesses in his head, he practically doesthe clerical work for them all, and he never seems to hurry. Also, hecan put his hand without hesitation on any one of these documents, " hewaved his hand about the room. "I can't. "

He stopped to light the stub of a long-extinct cigar. 

"I can't make it hard for that sort of man. So I guess we'll have totake you out of the office. Still, I promised Welton to give you a goodtry-out. Then, too, I'm not satisfied in my own mind. I can see you aretrying. Either you're a damn fool or this college education racket hashad the same effect on you as on most other young cubs. If you're theson of your father, you can't be entirely a damn fool. If it's thecollege education, that will probably wear off in time. Anyhow, I thinkI'll take you up to the mill. You can try the office there. Collins iseasy to get on with, and of course there isn't the same responsibilitythere. "

In the buffeting of humiliation Bob could not avoid a fleeting innersmile over this last remark. Responsibility! In this sleepy, quietbackwater of a tenth-floor office, full of infinite little statisticsthat led nowhere, that came to no conclusion except to be engulfed indark files with hundreds of their own kind, aimless, useless, annoyingas so many gadflies! Then he set his face for the further remarks. 

"Navigation will open this week, " Fox's incisive tones went on, "and ourhold-overs will be moved now. It will be busy there. We shall take theeight o'clock train to-night. " He glanced sharply at Bob's lean, setface. "I assume you'll go?"

Bob was remembering certain trying afternoons on the field when ascaptain, and later as coach, he had told some very high-spirited boyswhat he considered some wholesome truths. He was remembering the variousways in which they had taken his remarks. 

"Yes, sir, " he replied. 

"Well, you can go home now and pack up, " said Fox. "Jim!" he shot out inhis penetrating voice; then to Harvey, "Make out Orde's check. "

Bob closed his desk, and went into the outer office to receive hischeck. Harvey handed it to him without comment, and at once turned backto his books. Bob stood irresolute a moment, then turned away withoutfarewell. 

But Archie followed him into the hall. 

"I'm mighty sorry, old man, " he whispered, furtively. "Did you get theG. B. ?"

"I'm going up to the mill office, " replied Bob. 

"Oh!" the other commiserated him. Then with an effort to see the bestside, "Still you could hardly expect to jump right into the head officeat first. I didn't much think you could hold down a job here. You seethere's too much doing here. Well, good-bye. Good luck to you, old man. "

There it was again, the insistence on the responsibility, the activity, the importance of that sleepy, stuffy little office with its two men atwork, its leisure, its aimlessness. On his way to the car-line Bobstopped to look in at an open door. A dozen men were jumping truck loadsof boxes here and there. Another man in a peaked cap and a silesia coat, with a pencil behind his ear and a manifold book sticking out of hispocket shouted orders, consulted a long list, marked boxes and scribbledin a shipping book. Dim in the background huge freight elevators roseand fell, burdened with the mass of indeterminate things. Truck horses, great as elephants, magnificently harnessed with brass ornaments, drewdrays, big enough to carry a small house, to the loading platform wherethey were quickly laden and sent away. From an opened upper window camethe busy click of many typewriters. Order in apparent confusion, immenseactivity at a white heat, great movement, the clanging of the wheels ofcommerce, the apparition and embodiment of restless industry--theseappeared and vanished, darted in and out, were plain to be seen and werevague through the murk and gloom. Bob glanced up at the emblazoned sign. He read the firm's name of well-known wholesale grocers. As he crossedthe bridge and proceeded out Lincoln Park Boulevard two figures rose tohim and stood side by side. One was the shipping clerk in his peaked capand silesia coat, hurried, busy, commanding, full of responsibility; theother was Harvey, with his round, black skull cap, his great, gold-bowedspectacles, entering minutely, painstakingly, deliberately, his neatlittle figures in a neat, large book. 

IV

The train stopped about noon at a small board town. Fox and Bobdescended. The latter drew his lungs full of the sparkling clear air andfelt inclined to shout. The thing that claimed his attention moststrongly was the dull green band of the forest, thick and impenetrableto the south, fringing into ragged tamaracks on the east, opening into acharming vista of a narrowing bay to the west. Northward the land randown to sandpits and beyond them tossed the vivid white and blue of theLake. Then when his interest had detached itself from the predominantnote of the imminent wilderness, predominant less from its physicalsize--for it lay in remote perspective--than from a certain indefinableand psychological right of priority, Bob's eye was at once drawn to thehuge red-painted sawmill, with its very tall smokestacks, its row ofwater barrels along the ridge, its uncouth and separate conical sawdustburner, and its long lines of elevated tramways leading out into thelumber yard where was piled the white pine held over from the seasonbefore. As Bob looked, a great, black horse appeared on one of theseaerial tramways, silhouetted against the sky. The beast movedaccurately, his head held low against his chest, his feet lifted andplanted with care. Behind him rumbled a whole train of little cars eachladen with planks. On the foremost sat a man, his shoulders bowed, driving the horse. They proceeded slowly, leisurely, without haste, against the brightness of the sky. The spider supports below them seemedstrangely inadequate to their mass, so that they appeared in an occultmanner to maintain their elevation by some buoyancy of their own, somequality that sustained them not only in their distance above the earthbut in a curious, decorative, extra-human world of their own. After amoment they disappeared behind the tall piles of lumber. 

Against the sky, now, the place of the elephantine black horse and thelittle tram cars and the man was taken by the masts of ships lyingbeyond. They rose straight and tall, their cordage like spider webs, ina succession of regular spaces until they were lost behind the mill. From the exhaust of the mill's engine a jet of white steam shot upsparkling. Close on its apparition sounded the exultant, high-keyedshriek of the saw. It ceased abruptly. Then Bob became conscious of aheavy _rud, thud_ of mill machinery. 

All this time he and Fox were walking along a narrow board walk, elevated two or three feet above the sawdust-strewn street. They passedthe mill and entered the cool shade of the big lumber piles. Along theirbase lay half-melted snow. Soggy pools soaked the ground in the exposedplaces. Bob breathed deep of the clear air, keenly conscious of thefreshness of it after the murky city. A sweet and delicate odour wasabroad, an odour elusive yet pungent, an aroma of the open. The youngman sniffed it eagerly, this essence of fresh sawdust, of new-cut pine, of sawlogs dripping from the water, of faint old reminiscence of curedlumber standing in the piles of the year before, and more fancifully ofthe balsam and spruce, the hemlock and pine of the distant forest. 

"Great!" he cried aloud, "I never knew anything like it! What a countryto train in!"

"All this lumber here is going to be sold within the next two months, "said Fox with the first approach to enthusiasm Bob had ever observed inhim. "All of it. It's got to be carried down to the docks, and talliedthere, and loaded in those vessels. The mill isn't much--tooold-fashioned. We saw with 'circulars' instead of band-saws. Not likeour Minnesota mills. We bought the plant as it stands. Still we turnout a pretty good cut every day, and it has to be run out and piled. "

They stepped abruptly, without transition, into the town. A double rowof unpainted board shanties led straight to the water's edge. This rowwas punctuated by four buildings different from the rest--a hugerambling structure with a wide porch over which was suspended a largebell; a neatly painted smaller building labelled "Office"; a trim housesurrounded by what would later be a garden; and a square-fronted store. The street between was soft and springy with sawdust and finely brokenshingles. Various side streets started out bravely enough, but soonpetered out into stump land. Along one of them were extensive stables. 

Bob followed his conductor in silence. After an interval they mountedshort steps and entered the office. 

Here Bob found himself at once in a small entry railed off from the mainroom by a breast-high line of pickets strong enough to resist abattering-ram. A man he had seen walking across from the mill wastalking rapidly through a tiny wicket, emphasizing some point on asoiled memorandum by the indication of a stubby forefinger. He was ashort, active, blue-eyed man, very tanned. Bob looked at him withinterest, for there was something about him the young man did notrecognize, something he liked--a certain independent carriage of thehead, a certain self-reliance in the set of his shoulders, a certainpurposeful directness of his whole personality. When he caught sight ofFox he turned briskly, extending his hand. 

"How are you, Mr. Fox?" he greeted. "Just in?"

"Hullo, Johnny, " replied Fox, "how are things? I see you're busy. "

"Yes, we're busy, " replied the man, "and we'll keep busy. "

"Everything going all right?"

"Pretty good. Poor lot of men this year. A good many of the old menhaven't showed up this year--some sort of pull-out to Oregon andCalifornia. I'm having a little trouble with them off and on. "

"I'll bet on you to stay on top, " replied Fox easily. "I'll be over tosee you pretty soon. "

The man nodded to the bookkeeper with whom he had been talking, andturned to go out. As he passed Bob, that young man was conscious of akeen, gimlet scrutiny from the blue eyes, a scrutiny instantaneous, butwhich seemed to penetrate his very flesh to the soul of him. Heexperienced a distinct physical shock as at the encountering of anelemental force. 

He came to himself to hear Fox saying:

"That's Johnny Mason, our mill foreman. He has charge of all the sawing, and is a mighty good man. You'll see more of him. "

The speaker opened a gate in the picket railing and stepped inside. 

A long shelf desk, at which were high stools, backed up against thepickets; a big round stove occupied the centre; a safe crowded onecorner. Blue print maps decorated the walls. Coarse rope matting edgedwith tin strips protected the floor. A single step down through a doorled into a painted private office where could be seen a flat table desk. In the air hung a mingled odour of fresh pine, stale tobacco, and thecloseness of books. 

Fox turned at once sharply to the left and entered into earnestconversation with a pale, hatchet-faced man of thirty-five, whom headdressed as "Collins. " In a moment he turned, beckoning Bob forward. 

"Here's a youngster for you, Collins, " said he, evidently continuingformer remarks. "Young Mr. Orde. He's been in our home office awhile, but I brought him up to help you out. He can get busy on your tallysheets and time checks and tally boards, and sort of ease up the straina little. "

"I can use him, right now, " said Collins, nervously smoothing back astrand of his pale hair. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Orde. These 'jumpers' ... And that confounded mixed stuff from _seventeen_ ... " he trailed off, hiseye glazing in the abstraction of some inner calculation, his long, nervous fingers reaching unconsciously toward the soiled memoranda leftby Mason. 

"Well, I'll set you to work, " he roused himself, when he perceived thatthe two were about to leave him. And almost before they had time to turnaway he was busy at the papers, his pencil, beautifully pointed, runninglike lightning down the long columns, pausing at certain places asthough by instinct, hovering the brief instant necessary to calculation, then racing on as though in pursuit of something elusive. 

As they turned away a slow, cool voice addressed them from behind thestove. 

"Hullo, bub!" it drawled. 

Fox's face lighted and he extended both hands. 

"Well, Tally!" he cried. "You old snoozer!"

The man was upward of sixty years of age, but straight and active. Hisfeatures were tanned a deep mahogany, and carved by the years andexposure into lines of capability and good humour. In contrast to thisbrown his sweeping white moustache and bushy eyebrows, blenched flaxenby the sun, showed strongly. His little blue eyes twinkled, and finewrinkles at their corners helped the twinkles. His long figure was soheavily clothed as to be concealed from any surmise, except that it wasgaunt and wiry. Hands gnarled, twisted, veined, brown, seemed less likeflesh than like some skilful Japanese carving. On his head he wore avisored cap with an extraordinary high crown; on his back a rather dingycoat cut from a Mackinaw blanket; on his legs trousers that had been"stagged" off just below the knees, heavy German socks, and shoes nailedwith sharp spikes at least three-quarters of an inch in length. 

"Thought you were up in the woods!" Fox was exclaiming. "Where'sFagan?"

"He's walkin' white water, " replied the old man. 

"Things going well?"

"Damn poor, " admitted Tally frankly. "That is to say, the Whitefishbranch is off. There's trouble with the men. They're a mixed lot. Thenthere's old Meadows. He's assertin' his heaven-born rights some more. It's all right. We're on their backs. Other branches just about down. "

There followed a rapid exchange of which Bob could make little--talk offlood water, of "plugging" and "pulling, " of "winging out, " of "whitewater. " It made no sense, and yet somehow it thrilled him, as at timesthe mere roll of Greek names used to arouse in his breast vague emotionsof grandeur and the struggle of mighty forces. 

Still talking, the two men began slowly to move toward the inner office. Suddenly Fox seemed to remember his companion's existence. 

"By the way, Jim, " he said, "I want you to know one of our new men, young Mr. Orde. You've worked for his father. This is Jim Tally, andhe's one of the best rivermen, the best woodsman, the best boss of menold Michigan ever turned out. He walked logs before I was born. "

"Glad to know you, Mr. Orde, " said Tally, quite unmoved. 

V

The two left Bob to his own devices. The old riverman and theastonishingly thawed and rejuvenated Mr. Fox disappeared in the privateoffice. Bob proffered a question to the busy Collins, discovered himselffree until afternoon, and so went out through the office and into theclear open air. 

He headed at once across the wide sawdust area toward the mill and thelake. A great curiosity, a great interest filled him. After a moment hefound himself walking between tall, leaning stacks of lumber, piledcrosswise in such a manner that the sweet currents of air eddied throughthe interstices between the boards and in the narrow, alley-like spacesbetween the square and separate stacks. A coolness filled these streets, a coolness born of the shade in which they were cast, the freshness ofstill unmelted snow lying in patches, the quality of pine with its faintaromatic pitch smell and its suggestion of the forest. Bob wandered onslowly, his hands in his pockets. For the time being his more activeinterest was in abeyance, lulled by the subtle, elusive phantom ofgrandeur suggested in the aloofness of this narrow street fronted by itssquare, skeleton, windowless houses through which the wind rattled. After a little he glimpsed blue through the alleys between. Then a sidestreet offered, full of sun. He turned down it a few feet, and foundhimself standing over an inlet of the lake. 

Then for the first time he realized that he had been walking on "madeground. " The water chugged restlessly against the uneven ends of thelath-like slabs, thousands of them laid, side by side, down to and belowthe water's surface. They formed a substructure on which the sawdusthad been heaped. Deep shadows darted from their shelter and withdrew, following the play of the little waves. The lower slabs were black withthe wet, and from them, too, crept a spicy odour set free by themoisture. On a pile head sat an urchin fishing, with a long bamboo polemany sizes too large for him. As Bob watched, he jerked forth diminutiveflat sunfish. 

"Good work!" called Bob in congratulation. 

The urchin looked up at the large, good-humoured man and grinned. 

Bob retraced his steps to the street on which he had started out. Therehe discovered a steep stairway, and by it mounted to the tramway above. Along this he wandered for what seemed to him an interminable distance, lost as in a maze among the streets and byways of this tenantless city. Once he stepped aside to give passage to the great horse, or one likehim, and his train of little cars. The man driving nodded to him. Againhe happened on two men unloading similar cars, and passing the boardsdown to other men below, who piled them skilfully, two end planks oneway, and then the next tier the other, in regular alternation. They worethick leather aprons, and square leather pieces strapped across theinsides of their hands as a protection against splinters. These, likeall other especial accoutrements, seemed to Bob somehow romantic, to bedesired, infinitely picturesque. He passed on with the clear, yellow-white of the pine boards lingering back of his retina. 

But now suddenly his sauntering brought him to the water front. Thetramway ended in a long platform running parallel to the edge of thedocks below. There were many little cars, both in the process ofunloading and awaiting their turn. The place swarmed with men, allbusily engaged in handing the boards from one to another as buckets arepassed at a fire. At each point where an unending stream of them passedover the side of each ship, stood a young man with a long, flexiblerule. This he laid rapidly along the width of each board, and then asrapidly entered a mark in a note-book. The boards seemed to move fairlyof their own volition, like a scutellate monster of many joints, crawling from the cars, across the dock, over the side of the ship andinto the black hold where presumably it coiled. There were six ships;six, many-jointed monsters creeping to their appointed places under theurging of these their masters; six young men absorbed and busy at thetallying; six crews panoplied in leather guiding the monsters to theirlairs. Here, too, the sun-warmed air arose sluggish with the aroma ofpitch, of lumber, of tar from the ships' cordage, of the wetness ofunpainted wood. Aloft in the rigging, clear against the sky, weresailors in contrast of peaceful, leisurely industry to those who toiledand hurried below. The masts swayed gently, describing an arc againstthe heavens. The sailors swung easily to the motion. From below came thequick dull sounds of planks thrown down, the grind of car wheels, themovement of feet, the varied, complex sound of men working together, theclapping of waters against the structure. It was confusing, confusing asthe noise of many hammers. Yet two things seemed to steady it, toconfine it, keep it in the bounds of order, to prevent it from usurpingmore than its meet and proper proportion. One was the tingling lakebreeze singing through the rigging of the ship; the other was the idleand intermittent whistling of one of the sailors aloft. And suddenly, asthough it had but just commenced, Bob again became aware of the sawshrieking in ecstasy as it plunged into a pine log. 

The sound came from the left, where at once he perceived the tall stacksshowing above the lumber piles, and the plume of white steam glitteringin the sun. In a moment the steam fell, and the shriek of the saw fellwith it. He turned to follow the tramway, and in so doing almost bumpedinto Mason, the mill foreman. 

"They're hustling it in, " said the latter. "That's right. Can't give meyard room any too soon. The drive'll be down next month. Plenty doingthen. Damn those Dutchmen!"

He spoke abstractedly, as though voicing his inner thoughts to himself, unconscious of his companion. Then he roused himself. 

"Going to the mill?" he asked. "Come on. "

They walked along the high, narrow platform overlooking the water frontand the lading of the ships. Soon the trestles widened, the tracksdiverging like the fingers of a hand on the broad front to the secondstory of the mill. Mason said something about seeing the whole of it, and led the way along a narrow, railed outside passage to the other endof the structure. 

There Bob's attention was at once caught by a great water enclosure oflogs, lying still and sluggish in the manner of beasts resting. Rankafter rank, tier after tier, in strange patterns they lay, brown andround, with the little strips of blue water showing between like afantastic pattern. While Bob looked, a man ran out over them. He wasdressed in short trousers, heavy socks, and spiked boots, and a fadedblue shirt. The young man watched with interest, old memories of hisearly boyhood thronging back on him, before his people had moved fromMonrovia and the "booms. " The man ran erratically, but with an accuratepurpose. Behind him the big logs bent in dignified reminiscence of histread, and slowly rolled over; the little logs bobbed frantically in aturmoil of white water, disappearing and reappearing again and again, sleek and wet as seals. To these the man paid no attention, but leapedeasily on, pausing on the timbers heavy enough to support him, barelyspurning those too small to sustain his weight. In a moment he stoppedabruptly without the transitorial balancing Bob would have believednecessary, and went calmly to pushing mightily with a long pike-pole. The log on which he stood rolled under the pressure; the man quitemechanically kept pace with its rolling, treading it in correspondencenow one way, now the other. In a few moments thus he had forced the massof logs before him toward an inclined plane leading to the second storyof the mill. 

Up this ran an endless chain armed with teeth. The man pushed one of thelogs against the chain; the teeth bit; at once, shaking itself free ofthe water, without apparent effort, without haste, calmly and leisurelyas befitted the dignity of its bulk, the great timber arose. The waterdripped from it, the surface streamed, a cheerful _patter, patter_ ofthe falling drops made itself heard beneath the mill noises. In a momentthe log disappeared beneath projecting eaves. Another was just behindit, and behind that yet another, and another, like great patient beastsrising from the coolness of a stream to follow a leader through thenarrowness, of pasture bars. And in the booms, up the river, as far asthe eye could see, were other logs awaiting their turn. And beyond themthe forest trees, straight and tall and green, dreaming of the time whenthey should follow their brothers to the ships and go out into theworld. 

Mason was looking up the river. 

"I've seen the time when she was piled thirty feet high there, and thefreshet behind her. That was ten year back. "

"What?" asked Bob. 

"A jam!" explained Mason. 

He ducked his head below his shoulders and disappeared beneath the eavesof the mill. Bob followed. 

First it was dusky; then he saw the strip of bright yellow sunlight andthe blue bay in the opening below the eaves; then he caught the glitterand whirr of the two huge saws, moving silently but with the deadlymenace of great speed on their axes. Against the light in irregularsuccession, alternately blotting and clearing the foreground at the endof the mill, appeared the ends of the logs coming up the incline. For amoment they poised on the slant, then fell to the level, and glidedforward to a broad platform where they were ravished from the chain androlled into line. 

Bob's eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom. He made out pulleys, belts, machinery, men. While he watched a black, crooked arm shotvigorously up from the floor, hurried a log to the embrace of twoclamps, rolled it a little this way, a little that, hovered over it asthough in doubt as to whether it was satisfactorily placed, then plungedto unknown depths as swiftly and silently as it had come. So abrupt andpurposeful were its movements, so detached did it seem from control, that, just as when he was a youngster, Bob could not rid his mind of thenotion that it was possessed of volition, that it led a mysterious lifeof its own down there in the shadows, that it was in the nature of anintelligent and agile beast trained to apply its powers independently. 

Bob remembered it as the "nigger, " and looked about for the man standingby a lever. 

A momentary delay seemed to have occurred, owing to some obscuredifficulty. The man at the lever straightened his back. Suddenly allthat part of the floor seemed to start forward with extraordinaryswiftness. The log rushed down on the circular saw. Instantly the wild, exultant shriek arose. The car went on, burying the saw, all but thevery top, from which a stream of sawdust flew up and back. A long, cleanslab fell to a succession of revolving rollers which carried it, passingit from one to the other, far into the body of the mill. The car shotback to its original position in front of the saw. The saw hummed anundersong of strong vibration. Again it ploughed its way the length ofthe timber. This time a plank with bark edges dropped on the rollers. And when the car had flown back to its starting point the "nigger" rosefrom obscurity to turn the log half way around. 

They picked their way gingerly on. Bob looked back. Against the lightthe two graceful, erect figures, immobile, but carried back and forthover thirty feet with lightning rapidity; the brute masses of the logs;the swift decisive forays of the "nigger, " the unobtrusive figures ofthe other men handling the logs far in the background; and the bright, smooth, glittering, dangerous saws, clear-cut in outline by their veryspeed, humming in anticipation, or shrieking like demons as theybit--these seemed to him to swell in the dim light to the proportions ofsomething gigantic, primeval--to become forces beyond the experience ofto-day, typical of the tremendous power that must be invoked to subduethe equally tremendous power of the wilderness. 

He and Mason together examined the industriously working gang-saws, longsteel blades with the up-and-down motion of cutting cord-wood. Theypassed the small trimming saws, where men push the boards between littleround saws to trim their edges. Bob noticed how the sawdust was carriedaway automatically, and where the waste slabs went. They turned througha small side room, strangely silent by contrast to the rest, where thefiler did his minute work. He was an old man, the filer, withsteel-rimmed, round spectacles, and he held Bob some time explaining howimportant his position was. 

They emerged finally to the broad, open platform with the radiatingtram-car tracks. Here Bob saw the finished boards trundled out on themoving rollers to be transferred to the cars. 

Mason left him. He made his way slowly back toward the office, noticingon the way the curious pairs of huge wheels beneath which were slung theheavy timbers or piles of boards for transportation at the level of theground. 

At the edge of the lumber piles Bob looked back. The noises of industrywere in his ears; the blur of industry before his eyes; the clean, sweetsmell of pine in his nostrils. He saw clearly the row of ships and themany-jointed serpent of boards making its way to the hold, the sailorsswinging aloft; the miles of ruminating brown logs, and the alert littleman zigzagging across them; the shadow of the mill darkening the water, and the brown leviathan timbers rising dripping in regular successionfrom them; the whirr of the deadly circular saws, and the calm, erectmen dominating the cars that darted back and forth; and finally thesparkling white steam spraying suddenly against the intense blue of thesky. Here was activity, business, industry, the clash of forces. Headmired the quick, compact alertness of Johnny Mason; he joyed in theabsorbed, interested activity of the brown young men with the scaler'srules; he envied a trifle the muscle-stretching, physical labour of themen with the leather aprons and hand-guards, piling the lumber. It wasgood to draw in deep breaths of this air, to smell deeply of hearomatic odours of the north. 

Suddenly the mill whistle began to blow. Beneath the noise he could hearthe machinery beginning to run down. From all directions men came. Theyconverged in the central alley, hundreds of them. In a moment Bob wascaught up in their stream, and borne with them toward theweather-stained shanty town. 

VI

Bob followed this streaming multitude to the large structure that hadearlier been pointed out to him as the boarding house. It was acommodious affair with a narrow verandah to which led steps picked outby the sharp caulks of the rivermen's boots. A round stove held theplace of honour in the first room. Benches flanked the walls. At one endwas a table-sink, and tin wash-basins, and roller towels. The men weresplashing and blowing in the plunge-in-all-over fashion of their class. They emerged slicked down and fresh, their hair plastered wet to theirforeheads. After a moment a fat and motherly woman made an announcementfrom a rear room. All trooped out. 

The dining room was precisely like those Bob remembered fromrecollections of the river camps of his childhood. There were the samelong tables covered with red oilcloth, the same pine benches worn smoothand shiny, the same thick crockery, and the same huge receptaclessteaming with hearty--and well-cooked--food. Nowhere does the man wholabours with his hands fare better than in the average lumber camp. Forest operations have a largeness in conception and execution thatleads away from the habit of the mean, small and foolish economics. Atone side, and near the windows, stood a smaller table. The covering ofthis was turkey-red cloth with white pattern; it boasted a white-metal"caster"; and possessed real chairs. Here Bob took his seat, in companywith Fox, Collins, Mason, Tally and the half-dozen active young fellowshe had seen handling the scaling rules near the ships. 

At the men's tables the meal was consumed in a silence which Boblearned later came nearer being obligatory than a matter of choice. Conversation was discouraged by the good-natured fat woman, Mrs. Hallowell. Talk delayed; and when one had dishes to wash----

The "boss's table" was more leisurely. Bob was introduced to thesealers. They proved to be, with one exception, young fellows oftwenty-one or two, keen-eyed, brown-faced, alert and active. Theyimpressed Bob as belonging to the clerk class, with something added bythe outdoor, varied life. Indeed, later he discovered them to be sons ofcarpenters, mechanics and other higher-class, intelligent workingmen;boys who had gone through high school, and perhaps a little way into thebusiness college; ambitious youngsters, each with a different idea inthe back of his head. They had in common an air of capability, ofcomplete adequacy for the task in life they had selected. The sixthsealer was much older and of the riverman type. He had evidently come upfrom the ranks. 

There was no general conversation. Talk confined itself strictly toshop. Bob, his imagination already stirred by the incidents of hisstroll, listened eagerly. Fox was getting in touch with the wholesituation. 

"The main drive is down, " Tally told him, "but the Cedar Branch hasn'tgot to the river yet. What in blazes did you want to buy that littlestrip this late in the day for?"

"Had to take it--on a deal, " said Fox briefly. "Why? Is it hard driving?I've never been up there. Welton saw to all that. "

"It's hell. The pine's way up at the headwaters. You have to drive herthe whole length of the stream, through a mixed hardwood and farmcountry. Lots of partridges and mossbacks, but no improvements. Not a damthe whole length of her. Case of hit the freshet water or get hung. "

"Well, we've done that kind of a job before. "

"Yes, _before_!" Tally retorted. "If I had a half-crew of good, old-fashioned white-water birlers, I'd rest easy. But we don't have nocrews like we used to. The old bully boys have all moved out west--ordied. "

"Getting old--like us, " bantered Fox. "Why haven't you died off too, Jim?"

"I'm never going to die, " stated the old man, "I'm going to live to turninto a grindstone and wear out. But it's a fact. There's plenty left canride a log all right, but they're a tough lot. It's too close here toMarion. "

"That _is_ too bad, " condoled Fox, "especially as I remember so wellwhat a soft-spoken, lamb-like little tin angel you used to be, Jim. "

Fox, who had quite dropped his old office self, winked at Bob. Thelatter felt encouraged to say:

"I had a course in college on archaeology. Don't remember much about it, but one thing. When they managed to decipher the oldest known piece ofhieroglyphics on an Assyrian brick, what do you suppose it turned out tobe?"

"Give it up, Brudder Bones, " said Tally, dryly, "what was it?"

Bob flushed at the old riverman's tone, but went on. 

"It was a letter from a man to his son away at school. In it he lamentedthe good old times when he was young, and gave it as his opinion thatthe world was going to the dogs. "

Tally grinned slowly; and the others burst into a shout of laughter. 

"All right, bub, " said the riverman good-humouredly. "But that doesn'tget me a new foreman. " He turned to Fox. "Smith broke his leg; and Ican't find a man to take charge. I can't go. The main drive's got to besorted. "

"There ought to be plenty of good men, " said Fox. 

"There are, but they're at work. "

"Dicky Darrell is over at Marion, " spoke up one of the scalers. 

"Roaring Dick, " said Tally sarcastically, "--but there's no denyinghe's a good man in the woods. But if he's at Marion, he's drunk; and ifhe's drunk, you can't do nothing with him. "

"I heard it three days ago, " said the scaler. 

Tally ruminated. "Well, " he concluded, "maybe he's about over with hisbust. I'll run over this afternoon and see what I can do with him. IfTom Welton would only tear himself apart from California, we'd get onall right. "

A scraping back of benches and a tramp of feet announced the nearlysimultaneous finishing of feeding at the men's tables. At the boss'stable everyone seized an unabashed toothpick. Collins addressed Bob. 

"Mr. Fox and I have so much to go over this afternoon, " said he, "that Idon't believe I'll have time to show you. Just look around a little. "

On the porch outside Bob paused. After a moment he became aware of afigure at his elbow. He turned to see old Jim Tally bent over to lighthis pipe behind the mahogany of his curved hand. 

"Want to take in Marion, bub?" he enquired. 

"Sure!" cried Bob heartily, surprised at this mark of favour. 

"Come on then, " said the old riverman, "the lightning express is gettin'anxious for us. "

VII

They tramped to the station and boarded the single passenger car of theaccommodation. There they selected a forward seat and waited patientlyfor the freight-handling to finish and for the leisurely puffing littleengine to move on. An hour later they descended at Marion. The journeyhad been made in an almost absolute silence. Tally stared straightahead, and sucked at his little pipe. To him, apparently, the journeywas merely something to be endured; and he relapsed into that patientabsent-mindedness developed among those who have to wait on forces thatwill not be hurried. Bob's remarks he answered in monosyllables. Whenthe train pulled into the station, Tally immediately arose, as thoughreleased by a spring. 

Bob's impressions of Marion were of great mills and sawdust-burnersalong a wide river; of broad, sawdust-covered streets; of a single blockof good, brick stores on a main thoroughfare which almost immediatelypetered out into the vilest and most ramshackle frame "joints"; of wideside streets flanked by small, painted houses in yards, some very neatindeed. Tally walked rapidly by the respectable business blocks, butpushed into the first of the unkempt frame saloons beyond. Bob followedclose at his heels. He found himself in a cheap bar-room, its paint andvarnish scarred and marred, its floor sawdust-covered, its centreoccupied by a huge stove, its walls decorated by several pictures of thenude. 

Four men were playing cards at an old round table, hacked and bruisedand blackened by time. One of them was the barkeeper, a burly individualwith black hair plastered in a "lick" across his forehead. He pushedback his chair and ducked behind the bar, whence he greeted thenewcomers. Tally proffered a question. The barkeeper relaxed from hisprofessional attitude, and leaned both elbows on the bar. The twoconversed for a moment; then Tally nodded briefly and went out. Bobfollowed. 

This performance was repeated down the length of the street. Thestage-settings varied little; same oblong, painted rooms; same varnishedbars down one side; same mirrors and bottles behind them; samesawdust-strewn floors; same pictures on the walls; same obscure, backrooms; same sleepy card games by the same burly but sodden type of men. This was the off season. Profits were now as slight as later they wouldbe heavy. Tim talked with the barkeepers low-voiced, nodded and wentout. Only when he had systematically worked both sides of the street didhe say anything to his companion. 

"He's in town, " said Tally; "but they don't know where. "

"Whither away?" asked Bob. 

"Across the river. "

They walked together down a side street to a long wooden bridge. Thisrested on wooden piers shaped upstream like the prow of a ram in orderto withstand the battering of the logs. It was a very long bridge. Beneath it the swift current of the river slipped smoothly. The breadthof the stream was divided into many channels and pockets by means ofbrown poles. Some of these were partially filled with logs. A clearchannel had been preserved up the middle. Men armed with long pike-poleswere moving here and there over the booms and the logs themselves, pushing, pulling, shoving a big log into this pocket, another into that, gradually segregating the different brands belonging to the differentowners of the mills below. From the quite considerable height of thebridge all this lay spread out mapwise up and down the perspective ofthe stream. The smooth, oily current of the river, leaden-hued and coldin the light of the early spring, hurried by on its way to the lake, swiftly, yet without the turmoil and fuss of lesser power. Downstream, as far as Bob could see, were the huge mills' with their flanking lumberyards, the masts of their lading ships, their black sawdust-burners, andabove all the pure-white, triumphant banners of steam that shot straightup against the gray of the sky. 

Tally followed the direction of his gaze. 

"Modern work, " he commented. "Band saws. No circulars there. Two hundredthousand a day"; with which cryptic utterance he resumed his walk. 

The opposite side of the river proved to be a smaller edition of theother. Into the first saloon Tally pushed. 

It resembled the others, except that no card game was in progress. Thebarkeeper, his feet elevated, read a pink paper behind the bar. A figureslept at the round table, its head in its arms. Tally walked over toshake this man by the shoulder. 

In a moment the sleeper raised his head. Bob saw a little, middle-agedman, not over five feet six in height, slenderly built, yet with broad, hanging shoulders. His head was an almost exact inverted pyramid, thebase formed by a mop of red-brown hair, and the apex represented by avery pointed chin. Two level, oblong patches of hair made eyebrows. Hisface was white and nervous. A strong, hooked nose separated a pair ofred-brown eyes, small and twinkling, like a chipmunk's. Just now theywere bloodshot and vague. 

"Hullo, Dicky Darrell, " said Tally. 

The man struggled to his feet, knocking over the chair, and laid bothhands effusively on Tally's shoulders. 

"Jim!" he cried thickly. "Good ole Jim! Glad to see you! Hav' drink!"

Tally nodded, and, to Bob's surprise, took his place at the bar. 

"Hav' 'nother!" cried Darrell. "God! I'm glad to see you! Nobody intown. "

"All right, " agreed Tally pacifically; "but let's go across the riverto Dugan's and get it. "

To this Darrell readily agreed. They left the saloon. Bob, following, noticed the peculiar truculence imparted to Darrell's appearance by thefact that in walking he always held his hands open and palms to thefront. Suddenly Darrell became for the first time aware of his presence. The riverman whirled on him, and Bob became conscious of something asdistinct as a physical shock as he met the impact of an electricalnervous energy. It passed, and he found himself half smiling down onthis little, white-faced man with the matted hair and the bloodshot, chipmunk eyes. 

"Who'n hell's this!" demanded Darrell savagely. 

"Friend of mine, " said Tally. "Come on. "

Darrell stared a moment longer. "All right, " he said at last. 

All the way across the bridge Tally argued with his companion. 

"We've got to have a foreman on the Cedar Branch, Dick, " he began, "andyou're the fellow. "

To this Darrell offered a profane, emphatic and contemptuous negative. With consummate diplomacy Tally led his mind from sullen obstinacy tomere reluctance. At the corner of Main Street the three stopped. 

"But I don't want to go yet, Jim, " pleaded Darrell, almost tearfully. "Iain't had all my 'time' yet. "

"Well, " said Tally, "you've been polishing up the flames of hell forfour days pretty steady. What more do you want?"

"I ain't smashed no rig yet, " objected Darrell. 

Tally looked puzzled. 

"Well, go ahead and smash your rig and get done with it, " he said. 

"A' right, " said Darrell cheerfully. 

He started off briskly, the others following. Down a side street hisrather uncertain gait led them, to the wide-open door of a frame liverystable. The usual loungers in the usual tipped-back chairs greeted him. 

"Want m' rig, " he demanded. 

A large and leisurely man in shirt sleeves lounged out from the officeand looked him over dispassionately. 

"You've been drunk four days, " said he, "have you the price?"

"Bet y', " said Dick, cheerfully. He seated himself on the ground andpulled off his boot from which he extracted a pulpy mass of greenbacks. "Can't fool me!" he said cunningly. "Always save 'nuff for my rig!"

He shoved the bills into the liveryman's hands. The latter straightenedthem out, counted them, thrust a portion into his pocket, and handed therest back to Darrell. 

"There you are, " said he. He shouted an order into the darkness of thestable. 

An interval ensued. The stableman and Tally waited imperturbably, without the faintest expression of interest in anything evident on theirimmobile countenances. Dicky Darrell rocked back and forth on his heels, a pleased smile on his face. 

After a few moments the stable boy led out a horse hitched to the mostramshackle and patched-up old side-bar buggy Bob had ever beheld. Darrell, after several vain attempts, managed to clamber aboard. Hegathered up the reins, and, with exaggerated care, drove into the middleof the street. 

Then suddenly he rose to his feet, uttered an ear-piercing exultantyell, hurled the reins at the horse's head and began to beat the animalwith his whip. The horse, startled, bounded forward. The buggy jerked. Darrell sat down violently, but was at once on his feet, plying thewhip. The crazed man and the crazed horse disappeared up the street, thebuggy careening from side to side, Darrell yelling at the top of hislungs. The stableman watched him out of sight. 

"Roaring Dick of the Woods!" said he thoughtfully at last. He thrusthis hand in his pocket and took out the wad of greenbacks, contemplatedthem for a moment, and thrust them back. He caught Tally's eye. "Funnywhat different ideas men have of a time, " said he. 

"Do this regular?" inquired Tally dryly. 

"Every year. "

Bob got his breath at last. 

"Why!" he cried. "What'll happen to him! He'll be killed sure!"

"Not him!" stated the stableman emphatically. "Not Dicky Darrell! He'llsmash up good, and will crawl out of the wreck, and he'll limp back herein just about one half-hour. "

"How about the horse and buggy?"

"Oh, we'll catch the horse in a day or two--it's a spoiled colt, anyway--and we'll patch up the buggy if she's patchable. If not, we'llleave it. Usual programme. "

The stableman and Tally lit their pipes. Nobody seemed much interestednow that the amusement was over. Bob owned a boyish desire to follow thewake of the cyclone, but in the presence of this imperturbability, herepressed his inclination. 

"Some day the damn fool will bust his head open, " said the liveryman, after a ruminative pause. 

"I shouldn't think you'd rent him a horse, " said Bob. 

"He pays, " yawned the other. 

At the end of the half-hour the liveryman dove into his office for acoat, which he put on. This indicated that he contemplated exercising inthe sun instead of sitting still in the shade. 

"Well, let's look him up, " said he. "This may be the time he busts hisfool head. "

"Hope not, " was Tally's comment; "can't afford to lose a foreman. "

But near the outskirts of town they met Roaring Dick limping painfullydown the middle of the road. His hat was gone and he was liberallyplastered with the soft mud of early spring. 

Not one word would he vouchsafe, but looked at them all malevolently. His intoxication seemed to have evaporated with his good spirits. Asanswer to the liveryman's question as to the whereabouts of the smashedrig, he waved a comprehensive hand toward the suburbs. At insistence, hesnapped back like an ugly dog. 

"Out there somewhere, " he snarled. "Go find it! What the hell do I carewhere it is? It's mine, isn't it? I paid you for it, didn't I? Well, gofind it! You can have it!"

He tramped vigorously back toward the main street, a grotesque figurewith his red-brown hair tumbled over his white, nervous countenance ofthe pointed chin, with his hooked nose, and his twinkling chipmunk eyes. 

"He'll hit the first saloon, if you don't watch out, " Bob managed towhisper to Tally. 

But the latter shook his head. From long experience he knew the type. 

His reasoning was correct. Roaring Dick tramped doggedly down the lengthof the street to the little frame depot. There he slumped into one ofthe hard seats in the waiting-room, where he promptly slept. Tally satdown beside him and withdrew into himself. The twilight fell. After anapparently interminable interval a train rumbled in. Tally shook hiscompanion. The latter awakened just long enough to stumble aboard thesmoking car, where, his knees propped up, his chin on his breast, herelapsed into deep slumber. 

They arrived at the boarding house late in the evening. Mrs. Hallowellset out a cold supper, to which Bob was ready to do full justice. Tenminutes later he found himself in a tiny box of a bedroom, furnishedbarely. He pushed open the window and propped it up with a piece ofkindling. The earth had fallen into a very narrow silhouette, and thestar-filled heavens usurped all space, crowding the world down. Againstthe sky the outlines stood significant in what they suggested andconcealed--slumbering roof-tops, the satiated mill glowing vaguelysomewhere from her banked fires, the blackness and mass of silent lumberyards, the mysterious, hushing fingers of the ships' masts, and then lowand vague, like a narrow strip of velvet dividing these men's affairsfrom the star-strewn infinite, the wilderness. As Bob leaned from thewindow the bigness of these things rushed into his office-starved spiritas air into a vacuum. The cold of the lake breeze entered his lungs. Hedrew a deep breath of it. For the first time in his short businessexperience he looked forward eagerly to the morrow. 

VIII

Bob was awakened before daylight by the unholy shriek of a greatwhistle. He then realized that for some time he had been vaguely awareof kindling and stove sounds. The bare little room had become bitterlycold. A gray-blackness represented the world outside. He lighted hisglass lamp and took a hasty, shivering sponge bath in the crockerybasin. Then he felt better in the answering glow of his healthy, straight young body; and a few moments later was prepared to enjoy afragrant, new-lit, somewhat smoky fire in the big stove outside hisdoor. The bell rang. Men knocked ashes from their pipes and arose; othermen stamped in from outside. The dining room was filled. 

Bob took his seat, nodding to the men. A slightly grumpy silencereigned. Collins and Fox had not yet appeared. Bob saw Roaring Dick atthe other table, rather whiter than the day before, but carrying himselfboldly in spite of his poor head. As he looked, Roaring Dick caught hiseye. The riverman evidently did not recognize having seen the youngstranger the day before; but Bob was again conscious of the quick impactof the man's personality, quite out of proportion to his diminutiveheight and slender build. At the end of ten minutes the men trooped outnoisily. Shortly a second whistle blew. At the signal the mill awoke. The clang of machinery, beginning slowly, increased in tempo. Theexultant shriek of the saws rose to heaven. Bob, peering forth into theyoung daylight, caught the silhouette of the elephantine tram horse, high in the air, bending his great shoulders to the starting of hislittle train of cars. 

Not knowing what else to do, Bob sauntered to the office. It was lockedand dark. He returned to the boarding house, and sat down in the mainroom. The lamps became dimmer. Finally the chore boy put them out. Thenat last Collins appeared, followed closely by Fox. 

"You didn't get up to eat with the men?" the bookkeeper asked Bob atrifle curiously. "You don't need to do that. We eat with Mrs. Hallowellat seven. "

At eight o'clock the little bookkeeper opened the office door andushered Bob in to the scene of his duties. 

"You're to help me, " said Collins concisely. "I have the books. Ourother duties are to make out time checks for the men, to answer thecorrespondence in our province, to keep track of camp supplies, and tokeep tab on shipments and the stock on hand and sawed each day. There'syour desk. You'll find time blanks and everything there. The copyingpress is in the corner. Over here is the tally board, " He led the way toa pine bulletin, perhaps four feet square, into which were screwed ahundred or more small brass screw hooks. From each depended a small pinetablet or tag inscribed with many figures. "Do you understand a tallyboard?" Collins asked. 

"No, " replied Bob. 

"Well, these screw hooks are arranged just like a map of the lumberyards. Each hook represents one of the lumber piles--or rather thelocation of a lumber pile. The tags hanging from them represent thelumber piles themselves; see?"

"Sure, " said Bob. Now that he understood he could follow out on thisstrange map the blocks, streets and alleys of that silent, tenantlesscity. 

"On these tags, " pursued Collins, "are figures. These figures show howmuch lumber is in each pile, and what kind it is, and of what quality. In that way we know just what we have and where it is. The sealersreport to us every day just what has been shipped out, and what has beenpiled from the mill. From their reports we change the figures on thetags. I'm going to let you take care of that. "

Bob bestowed his long figure at the desk assigned him, and went to work. He was interested, for it was all new to him. Men were constantly in andout on all sorts of errands. Fox came to shake hands and wish him well;he was off on the ten o'clock train. Bob checked over a long invoice ofcamp supplies; manipulated the copying press; and, under Collins'sinstructions, made out time checks against the next pay day. Theinsistence of details kept him at the stretch until noon surprised him. 

After dinner and a breath of fresh air, he plunged again into his tasks. Now he had the scalers' noon reports to transfer to the tally board. Hewas intensely interested by the novelty of it all; but even this earlyhe encountered his old difficulties in the matter of figures. He made nomistakes, but in order to correlate, remember and transfer correctly hewas forced to an utterly disproportionate intensity of application. Tothe tally board he brought more absolute concentration and will-powerthan did Collins to all his manifold tasks. So evidently painstaking washe, that the little bookkeeper glanced at him sharply once or twice. However, he said nothing. 

When darkness approached the bookkeeper closed his ledger and came overto Bob's desk. In ten minutes he ran deftly over Bob's afternoon work;re-checking the supply invoices, verifying the time checks, comparingthe tallies with the scalers' reports. So swiftly and accurately did heaccomplish this, with so little hesitation and so assured a belief inhis own correctness that the really taxing job seemed merely a bit oflight mental gymnastics after the day's work. 

"Good!" he complimented Bob; "everything's correct. "

Bob nodded, a little gloomily. It might be correct; but he was verytired from the strain of it. 

"It'll come easier with practice, " said Collins; "always difficult to doa new thing. "

The whistle blew. Bob went directly to his room and sat down on theedge of his bed. In spite of Collins's kindly meant reassurances, theiron of doubt had entered his soul. He had tried for four months, andwas no nearer facility than when he started. 

"If a man hadn't learned better than that, I'd have called him a dub andtold him to get off the squad, " he said to himself, a little bitterly. He thought a moment. "I guess I'm tired. I must buck up. If Collins andArchie can do it, I can. It's all in the game. Of course, it takes timeand training. Get in the game!"

IX

This was on Tuesday. During the rest of the week Bob worked hard. Even askilled man would have been kept busy by the multitude of details thatpoured in on the little office. Poor Bob was far from skilled. He feltas awkward amid all these swift and accurate activities as he had whenat sixteen it became necessary to force his overgrown frame into acrowded drawing room. He tried very hard, as he always did witheverything. When Collins succinctly called his attention to adiscrepancy in his figurings, he smiled his slow, winning, troubledsmile, thrust the hair back from his clear eyes, and bent his leanathlete's frame again to the labour. He soon discovered that this workdemanded speed as well as accuracy. "And I need a ten-acre lot to turnaround in, " he told himself half humorously. "I'm a regular ice-wagon. "

He now came to look back on his college triumphs with an exaggerated butwholesome reaction. His athletic prowess had given him great prominencein college circles. Girls had been flattered at his attention; hisclassmates had deferred to his skill and experience; his juniors had, inthe manner of college boys, looked up to him as to a demi-god. Then forthe few months of the football season the newspapers had made of him anational character. His picture appeared at least once a week; hisopinions were recorded; his physical measurements carefully detailed. When he appeared on the streets and in hotel lobbies, people were apt torecognize him and whisper furtively to one another. Bob was naturallythe most modest youth in the world, and he hated a "fuss" after thedelightfully normal fashion of normal boys, but all this could not failto have its subtle effect. He went out into the world without conceit, but confident of his ability to take his place with the best of them. 

His first experience showed him wholly second in natural qualifications, in ability to learn, and in training to men subordinate in the businessworld. 

"I'm just plain dub, " he told himself. "I thought myself some pumpkinsand got all swelled up inside because good' food and leisure andheredity gave me a husky build! Football! What good does that do mehere? Four out of five of these rivermen are huskier than I am. Me abusiness man! Why I can't seem even to learn the first principles of thefirst job of the whole lot! I've _got_ to!" he admonished; himselfgrimly. "I _hate_ a fellow who doesn't make good!"' and with a verydetermined set to his handsome chin he hurled the whole force of hisyoung energies at those elusive figures that somehow _would_ lie. 

The week slipped by in this struggle. It was much worse than in theChicago office. There Bob was allowed all the time he thought he needed. Here one task followed close on the heels of another, without chance fora breathing space or room to take bearings. Bob had to do the best hecould, commit the result to a merciful providence, and seize the nextjob by the throat. 

One morning he awoke with a jump to find it was seven o'clock. He hadheard neither whistle, and must have overslept! Hastily he leaped intohis clothes, and rushed out into the dining room. There he found thechore-boy leisurely feeding a just-lighted kitchen fire. To Bob'sexclamation of astonishment he looked up. 

"Sunday, " he grinned; "breakfus' at eight. "

The week had gone without Bob's having realized the fact. 

Mrs. Hallowell came in a moment later, smiling at the winning, handsomeyoung man in her fat and good-humoured manner. Bob was seized with aninspiration. 

"Mrs. Hallowell, " he said persuasively, "just let me rummage around forfive minutes, will you?"

"You that hungry?" she chuckled. "Law! I'll have breakfast in an hour. "

"It isn't that, " said Bob; "but I want to get some air to-day. I'm notused to being in an office. I want to steal a hunk of bread, and a fewof your good doughnuts and a slice of cheese for breakfast and lunch. "

"A cup of hot coffee would do you more good, " objected Mrs. Hallowell. 

"Please, " begged Bob, "and I won't disturb a thing. "

"Oh, land! Don't worry about that, " said Mrs. Hallowell, "there'steamsters and such in here all times of the day and night. Helpyourself. "

Five minutes later, Bob, swinging a riverman's canvas lunch bag, waswalking rapidly up the River Trail. He did not know whither he wasbound; but here at last was a travelled way. It was a brilliant blue andgold morning, the air crisp, the sun warm. The trail led him firstacross a stretch of stump-dotted wet land with pools and rounded rises, green new grass, and trickling streamlets of recently melted snow. Thencame a fringe of scrub growth woven into an almost impenetrabletangle--oaks, poplars, willows, cedar, tamarack--and through it all anabattis of old slashing--with its rotting, fallen stumps, its network oftops, its soggy root-holes, its fallen, uprooted trees. Along one ofthese strutted a partridge. It clucked at Bob, but refused to movefaster, lifting its feet deliberately and spreading its fanlike tail. The River Trail here took to poles laid on rough horses. The poles wereold and slippery, and none too large. Bob had to walk circumspectly tostay on them at all. Shortly, however, he stepped off into the highercountry of the hardwoods. Here the spring had passed, scattering herfresh green. The tops of the trees were already in half-leaf; the lowerbranches just budding, so that it seemed the sowing must have been fromabove. Last year's leaves, softened and packed by the snow, covered theground with an indescribably beautiful and noiseless carpet. Through itpushed the early blossoms of the hepatica. Grackles whistled clearly. Distant redwings gave their celebrated imitation of a great multitude. Bluebirds warbled on the wing. The busier chickadees and creeperssearched the twigs and trunks, interpolating occasional remarks. The sunslanted through the forest. 

Bob strode on vigorously. His consciousness received these thingsgratefully, and yet he was more occupied with a sense of physical joyand harmony with the world of out-of-doors than with an analysis of itscomponents. At one point, however, he paused. The hardwoods had risenover a low hill. Now they opened to show a framed picture of the river, distant and below. In contrast to the modulated browns of thetree-trunks, the new green and lilac of the undergrowth and the far-offhills across the way, it showed like a patch of burnished blue steel. Logs floated across the vista, singly, in scattered groups, in masses. Again, the river was clear. While Bob watched, a man floated into view. He was standing bolt upright and at ease on a log so small that thewater lapped over its top. From this distance Bob could but just make itout. The man leaned carelessly on his peavy. Across the vista hefloated, graceful and motionless, on his way from the driving camp tothe mill. 

Bob gave a whistle of admiration, and walked on. 

"I wish some of our oarsmen could see that, " he said to himself. "They're always guying the fellows that tip over their cranky littleshells. "

He stopped short. 

"I couldn't do it, " he cried aloud; "nor I couldn't learn to do it. Isure _am_ a dub!"

He trudged on, his spirits again at the ebb. The brightness of the dayhad dimmed. Indeed, physically, a change had taken place. Over the sunbanked clouds had drawn. With the disappearance of the sunlight alittle breeze, before but a pleasant and wandering companion to thebirds, became cold and draughty. The leaf carpet proved to be soggy; andas for the birds themselves, their whistles suddenly grew plaintive asthough with the portent of late autumn. 

This sudden transformation, usual enough with every passing cloud in thechildhood of the spring, reacted still further on Bob's spirits. Hetrudged doggedly on. After a time a gleam of water caught his attentionto the left. He deserted the River Trail, descended a slope, pushed hisway through a thicket of tamaracks growing out from wire grass andpuddles, and found himself on the shores of a round lake. 

It was a small body of water, completely surrounded by tall, dead browngrasses. These were in turn fringed by melancholy tamaracks. The waterwas dark slate colour, and ruffled angrily by the breeze which here inthe open developed some slight strength. It reminded Bob of a"bottomless" lake pointed out many years before to his childishcredulity. A lonesome hell diver flipped down out of sight as Bobappeared. 

The wet ground swayed and bent alarmingly under his tread. A stubattracted him. He perched on the end of it, his feet suspended above thewet, and abandoned himself to reflection. The lonesome diver reappeared. The breeze rustled the dead grasses and the tamaracks until they seemedto be shivering in the cold. 

Bob was facing himself squarely. This was his first grapple with theworld outside. To his direct American mind the problem was simplicity inthe extreme. An idler is a contemptible being. A rich idler is almostbeneath contempt. A man's life lies in activity. Activity, outside theartistic and professional, means the world of business. All teaching athome and through the homiletic magazines, fashionable at that period, pointed out but one road to success in this world--the beginning at thebottom, as Bob was doing; close application; accuracy; frugality;honesty; fair dealing. The homiletic magazines omitted idealism andimagination; but perhaps those qualities are so common in what somepeople are pleased to call our humdrum modern business life that theywere taken for granted. If a young man could not succeed in this world, something was wrong with him. Can Bob be blamed that in this bafflingand unsuspected incapacity he found a great humility of spirit? In hisfashion he began to remember trifling significances which at the timehad meant little to him. Thus, a girl had once told him, half seriously:

"Yes, you're a nice boy, just as everybody tells you; a nice, big, blundering, stupid, Newfoundland-dog boy. "

He had laughed good-humouredly, and had forgotten. Now he caught at oneword of it. That might explain it; he was just plain stupid! And stupidboys either played polo or drove fancy horses or ran yachts--or occupiedornamental--too ornamental--desks for an hour or so a day. Bobremembered how, as a small boy, he used to hold the ends of the reinsunder the delighted belief that he was driving his father's spiritedpair. 

"I've outgrown holding the reins, thank you, " he said aloud in disgust. At the sound of his voice the diver disappeared. Bob laughed and felt atrifle better. 

He reviewed himself dispassionately. He could not but admit that he hadtried hard enough, and that he had courage. It was just a case oflimitation. Bob, for the first time, bumped against the stone wall thathems us in on all sides--save toward the sky. 

He fell into a profound discouragement; a discouragement that somehowfound its prototype in the mournful little lake with its leaden water, its cold breeze, its whispering, dried marsh grasses, its funerealtamaracks, and its lonesome diver. 

X

But Bob was no quitter. The next morning he tramped down to the office, animated by a new courage. Even stupid boys learn, he remembered. Ittakes longer, of course, and requires more application. But he wasstrong and determined. He remembered Fatty Hayes, who took four years tomake the team--Fatty, who couldn't get a signal through his head untilabout time for the next play, and whose great body moved appreciableseconds after his brain had commanded it; Fatty Hayes, the "scrub's"chopping block for trying out new men on! And yet he did make the teamin his senior year. Bob acknowledged him a very good centre, notbrilliant, but utterly sure and safe. 

Full of this dogged spirit, he tackled the day's work. It was a heavyday's work. The mill was just hitting its stride, the tall ships werebeing laden and sent away to the four winds, buyers the country overwere finishing their contracts. Collins, his coat off, his sleeveprotectors strapped closely about his thin arms, worked at an intensewhite heat. He wasted no second of time, nor did he permit discursiveinterruption. His manner to those who entered the office was civil butcurt. Time was now the essence of the contract these men had with life. 

About ten o'clock he turned from a swift contemplation of the tallyboard. 

"Orde!" said he sharply. 

Bob disentangled himself from his chair. 

"Look there, " said the bookkeeper, pointing a long and nervous finger atthree of the tags he held in his hand. 

"There's three errors. " He held out for inspection the originalsealers' report which he had dug out of the files. 

Bob looked at the discrepant figures with amazement. He had checked thetags over twice, and both times the error had escaped his notice. Hismind, self-hypnotized, had passed them over in the same old fashion. Yethe had taken especial pains with that list. 

"I happened, just happened, to check these back myself, " Collins wassaying rapidly. "If I hadn't, we'd have made that contract with Robinsonon the basis of what these tags show. We haven't got that much seasoneduppers, nor anything like it. If you've made many more breaks like this, if we'd contracted with Robinson for what we haven't got or couldn'tget, we'd be in a nice mess--and so would Robinson!"

"I'm sorry, " murmured Bob. "I'll try to do better. "

"Won't do, " said Collins briefly. "You aren't big enough for the job. Ican't get behind, checking over your work. This office is too rushed asit is. Can't fool with blundering stupidity. "

Bob flushed at the word. 

"I guess you'd better take your time, " went on Collins. "You may be allright, for all I know, but I haven't got time to find out. "

He rang a bell twice, and snatched down the telephone receiver. 

"Hullo, yards, send up Tommy Gould to the office. I want him to help me. I don't give a damn for the scaling. You'll have to get along somehow. The five of you ought to hold that down. Send up Gould, anyhow. " Heslammed up the receiver, muttering something about incompetence. Bob fora moment had a strong impulse to retort, but his anger died. He saw thatCollins was not for the moment thinking of him at all as a human being, as a personality--only as a piece of this great, swiftly moving machine, that would not run smoothly. The fact that he had come under Fox'sconvoy evidently meant nothing to the little bookkeeper, at least forthe moment. Collins was entirely accustomed to hiring and dischargingmen. When transplanted to the frontier industries, even such automaticjobs as bookkeeping take on new duties and responsibilities. 

Bob, after a moment of irresolution, reached for his hat. 

"That will be all, then?" he asked. 

Collins came out of the abstraction into which he had fallen. 

"Oh--yes, " he said. "Sorry, but of course we can't take chances on thesethings being right. "

"Of course not, " said Bob steadily. 

"You just need more training, " went on Collins with some vague idea ofbeing kind to this helpless, attractive young fellow. "I learned underHarry Thorpe that results is all a man looks at in this business. "

"I guess that's right, " said Bob. "Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " said Collins over his shoulder. Already he was lost in therapid computations and calculations that filled his hours. 

XI

Bob left the office and tramped blindly out of town. His feet naturallyled him to the River Trail. Where the path finally came out on the banksof the river, he sat down and delivered himself over to the gloomiest ofreflections. 

He was aroused finally by a hearty greeting from behind him. He turnedwithout haste, surprise or pleasure to examine the new comer. 

Bob saw surveying him a man well above sixty, heavy-bodied, burly, big, with a square face, heavy-jowled and homely, with deep blue eyes set farapart, and iron gray hair that curled at the ends. With the quick, instinctive sizing-up developed on the athletic field, Bob thought himcoarse-fibred, jolly, a little obtuse, but strong--very strong with thestrength of competent effectiveness. He was dressed in a slouch hat, aflannel shirt, a wrinkled old business suit and mud-splashed, lacedhalf-boots. 

"Well, bub, " said this man, "enjoying the scenery?"

"Yes, " said Bob with reserve. He was in no mood for casual conversation, but the stranger went on cheerfully. 

"Like it pretty well myself, hereabouts. " He filled and lighted a pipe. "This is a good time of year for the woods; no mosquitos, pretty warm, mighty nice overhead. Can't say so much for underfoot. " He lifted andsurveyed one foot comically, and Bob noticed that his shoes were notarmed with the riverman's long, sharpened spikes. "Pretty good huntinghere in the fall, and fishing later. Not much now. Up here to lookaround a little?"

"No, not quite, " said Bob vaguely. 

"This ain't much of a pleasure resort, and a stranger's a prettyunusual thing, " said the big man by way of half-apology for hiscuriosity. "Up buying, I suppose--or maybe selling?"

Bob looked up with a beginning of resentment against this apparentintrusion on his private affairs. He met the good-humoured, jolly eyes. In spite of himself he half smiled. 

"Not that either, " said he. 

"You aren't in the company's employ?" persisted the stranger with anundercurrent of huge delight in his tone, as though he were playing agame that he enjoyed. 

Bob threw back his head and laughed. It was a short laugh and a bitterone. 

"No, " said he shortly, "--not now. I've just been fired. "

The big man promptly dropped down beside him on the log. 

"Don't say!" he cried; "what's the matter?"

"The matter is that I'm no good, " said Bob evenly, and without theslightest note of complaint. 

"Tell me about it, " suggested the big man soberly after a moment. "I'mpretty close to Fox. Perhaps----. "

"It isn't a case of pull, " Bob interrupted him pleasantly. "It's a caseof total incompetence. "

"That's a rather large order for a husky boy like you, " said the olderman with a sudden return to his undertone of bantering jollity. 

"Well, I've filled it, " said Bob. "That's the one job I've done good andplenty. "

"Haven't stolen the stove, have you?"

"Might better. It couldn't be any hotter than Collins. "

The stranger chuckled. 

"He _is_ a peppery little cuss, " was his comment. "What did you do tohim?"

Bob told him, lightly, as though the affair might be consideredhumorous. The stranger became grave. 

"That all?" he inquired. 

Bob's self-disgust overpowered him. 

"No, " said he, "not by a long shot. " In brief sentences he told of hiswhole experience since entering the business world. When he hadfinished, his companion puffed away for several moments in silence. 

"Well, what you going to do about it?" he asked. 

"I don't know, " Bob confessed. "I've got to tell father I'm no good. That is the only thing I can see ahead to now. It will break him all up, and I don't blame him. Father is too good a man himself not to feel thissort of a thing. "

"I see, " said the stranger. "Well, it may come out in the wash, " heconcluded vaguely after a moment. Bob stared out at the river, lost inthe gloomy thoughts his last speech had evoked. The stranger improvedthe opportunity to look the young man over critically from head to foot. 

"I see you're a college man, " said he, indicating Bob's fraternity pin. 

"Yes, " replied the young man listlessly. "I went to the University. "

"That so!" said the stranger, "well, you're ahead of me. I never goteven to graduate at the high school. "

"Am I?" said Bob. 

"What did you do at college?" inquired the big man. 

"Oh, usual classical course, Greek, Latin, Pol Ec. ----"

"I don't mean what you learned. What did you _do?_"

Bob reflected. 

"I don't believe I did a single earthly thing except play a littlefootball, " he confessed. 

"Oh, you played football, did you? That's a great game! I'd rather see agood game of football than a snake fight. Make the 'varsity?"

"Yes. "

"Where did you play?"

"Halfback. "

"Pretty heavy for a 'half, ' ain't you?"

"Well--I train down a little--and I managed to get around. "

"Play all four years?"

"Yes. "

"Like it?"

Bob's eye lit up. "Yes!" he cried. Then his face fell. "Too much, Iguess, " he added sadly. 

For the first time the twinkle, in the stranger's eye found vocalexpression. He chuckled. It was a good, jolly, subterranean chuckle fromdeep in his throat, and it shook all his round body to its foundations. 

"Who bossed you?" he asked, "--your captain, I mean. What sort of afellow was he? Did you get along with him all right?"

"Had to, " Bob grinned wryly; "you see they happened to make me captain. "

"Oh, they happened to, did they? What is your name?"

"Orde. "

The stranger gurgled again. 

"You're just out then. You must have captained those big scoring teams. "

"They were good teams. I was lucky, " said Bob. 

"Didn't I see by the papers that you went back to coach last fall?"

"Yes. "

"I've been away and couldn't keep tab. How did you come out?"

"Pretty well. "

"Win all your games?"

"Yes. "

"That's good. Thought you were going to have a hard row to hoe. Before Iwent away the papers said most of the old men had graduated, and thematerial was very poor. How did you work it?"

"The material was all right, " Bob returned, relaxing a trifle in theinterest of this discussion. "It was only a little raw, and neededshaking into shape. "

"And you did the shaking. "

"I suppose so; but you see it didn't amount to much because I'd had alot of experience in being captain. "

The stranger chuckled one of his jolly subterranean chuckles again. Hearose to his feet. 

"Well, I've got to get along to town, " said he. 

"I'll trot along, too, " said Bob. 

They tramped back in silence by the River Trail. On the pole trailacross the swamp the stranger walked with a graceful and assured ease inspite of his apparently unwieldy build. As the two entered one of thesawdust-covered streets, they were hailed by Jim Mason. 

"Why, Mr. Welton!" he cried, "when did you get in and where did you comefrom?"

"Just now, Jim, " Welton answered. "Dropped off at the tank, and walkeddown to see how the river work was coming on. "

XII

Toward dusk Welton entered the boarding house where Bob was sittingrather gloomily by the central stove. The big man plumped himself downinto a protesting chair, and took off his slouch hat. Bob saw his low, square forehead with the peculiar hair, black and gray in streaks, curling at the ends. 

"Why don't you take a little trip with me up to the Cedar Branch?" heasked Bob without preamble. "No use your going home right now. Yourfamily's in Washington; and will be for a month or so yet. "

Bob thought it over. 

"Believe I will, " he decided at last. 

"Do so!" cried Welton heartily. "Might as well see a little of the life. Don't suppose you ever went on a drive with your dad when you were akid?"

"No, " said Bob, "I used to go up to the booms with him--I remember themvery well; but we moved up to Redding before I was old enough to getabout much. "

Welton nodded his great head. 

"Good old days, " he commented; "and let me tell you, your dad was one ofthe best of 'em. Jack Orde is a name you can scare fresh young rivermenwith yet, " he added with a laugh. "Well, pack your turkey to-night;we'll take the early train to-morrow. "

That evening Bob laid out what he intended to take with him, and wasjust about to stuff it into a pair of canvas bags when Tommy Gould, theyoungest scaler, pushed open the door. 

"Hello!" he smiled engagingly; "where are you going? Been transferredfrom the office?"

"On drive, " said Bob, diplomatically ignoring the last question. 

Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed until he was weak. Bobstared at him. 

"Is there anything funny?" he inquired at last. 

"Did you say on drive?" inquired Tommy feebly. 

"Certainly. "

"With that?" Tommy pointed a wavering finger at the pile of duffle. 

"What's the matter with it?" inquired Bob, a trifle uncertainly. 

"Oh, _it's_ all right. Only wait till Roaring Dick sees it. I'd like tosee his face. "

"Look here, Tommy, " said Bob with decision, "this isn't fair. I've neverbeen on drive before, and you know it. Now tell me what's wrong or I'llwring your fool neck. "

"You can't take all that stuff, " Tommy explained, wiping his eyes. "Why, if everybody had all that mess, how do you suppose it would be carried?"

"I've only got the barest necessities, " objected Bob. 

"Spread out your pile, " Tommy commanded. "There. Take those. Now forgetthe rest. "

Bob surveyed the single change of underwear and the extra socks withcomical dismay. Next morning when he joined Welton he discovered thatindividual carrying a tooth brush in his vest pocket and a pair ofwoolen socks stuffed in his coat. These and a sweater were his onlybaggage. Bob's "turkey, " modest as it was, seemed to represent effeteluxury in comparison. 

"How long will this take?" he asked. 

"The drive? About three weeks, " Welton told him. "You'd better stay andsee it. It isn't much of a drive compared with the old days; but in avery few years there won't be any drives at all. "

They boarded a train which at the end of twenty minutes came to a stop. Bob and Welton descended. The train moved on, leaving them standing bythe track. 

The remains of the forest, overgrown with scrub oak and popple thicketspushed down to the right of way. A road, deep with mud and water, beginning at this point, plunged into the wilderness. That was all. 

Welton thrust his hands in his pockets and splashed cheerfully into theankle-deep mud. Bob shouldered his little bag and followed. Somehow hehad vaguely expected some sort of conveyance. 

"How far is it?" he asked. 

"Oh, ten or twelve miles, " said Welton. 

Bob experienced a glow of gratitude to the blithe Tommy Gould. Whatwould he have done with that baggage out here in this lonesomewilderness of unbroken barrens and mud?

The day was beautiful, but the sun breaking through the skin of lastnight's freezing, softened the ground until the going was literallyankle-deep in slush. Welton, despite his weight, tramped alongcheerfully in the apparently careless indifference of the skilled woodswalker. Bob followed, but he used more energy. He was infinitely theolder man's superior in muscle and endurance, yet he realized, withrespect and admiration, that in a long or difficult day's tramp throughthe woods Welton would probably hold him, step for step. 

The road wound and changed direction entirely according to expedient. Itwas a "tote road" merely, cutting across these barrens by the directestpossible route. Deep mire holes, roots of trees, an infrequent boulder, puddles and cruel ruts diversified the way. Occasional teeth-rattlingstretches of "corduroy" led through a swamp. 

"I don't see how a team can haul a load over this!" Bob voiced hismarvel, after a time. 

"It don't, " said Welton. "The supplies are all hauled while the groundis frozen. A man goes by hand now. "

In the swamps and bottom lands it was a case of slip, slide and wallow. The going was trying on muscle and wind. To right and left stretchedmazes of white popples and willows tangled with old berry vines and theabattis of the slashings. Water stood everywhere. To traverse that swampa man would have to force his way by main strength through the thickgrowth, would have to balance on half-rotted trunks of trees, wade andstumble through pools of varying depths, crawl beneath or climb over allsorts of obstructions in the shape of uproots, spiky new growths, andold tree trunks. If he had a gun in his hands, he would furthermore becompelled, through all the vicissitudes of making his way, to hold italways at the balance ready for the snap shot. For a ruffed grouse iswary, and flies like a bullet for speed, and is up and gone almostbefore the roar of its wings has aroused the echoes. Through that veilof branches a man must shoot quickly, instinctively, from any one of themany positions in which the chance of the moment may have caught him. Bob knew all about this sort of country, and his pulses quickened to thecall of it. 

"Many partridge?" he asked. 

"Lots, " replied Welton; "but the country's too confounded big to huntthem in. Like to hunt?"

"Nothing better, " said Bob. 

After a time the road climbed out of the swamp into the hardwoods, fullof warmth and light and new young green, and the voices of manycreatures; with the soft, silent carpet of last autumn's brown, the tinypatches of melting snow, and the pools with dead leaves sunk in them andclear surfaces over which was mirrored the flight of birds. 

Welton puffed along steadily. He did not appear to talk much, and yetthe sum of his information was considerable. 

"That road, " he said, pointing to a dim track, "goes down to Thompson's. He's a settler. Lives on a little lake. 

"There's a deer, " he remarked, "over in that thicket against the hill. "

Bob looked closely, but could see nothing until the animal bounded away, waving the white flag of its tail. 

"Settlers up here are a confounded nuisance, " went on Welton after awhile. "They're always hollering for what they call their 'rights. ' Thatgenerally means they try to hang up our drive. The average mossback's ahard customer. I'd rather try to drive nails in a snowbank than tackledriving logs through a farm country. They never realize that we haven'tgot time to talk it all out for a few weeks. There's one old cuss nowthat's making us trouble about the water. Don't want to open up to giveus a fair run through the sluices of his dam. Don't seem to realize thatwhen we start to go out, we've got to go out in a _hurry_, spite o' helland low water. "

He went on, in his good-natured, unexcited fashion, to inveigh againstthe obstinacy of any and all mossbacks. There was no bitterness in it, merely a marvel over an inexplicable, natural phenomenon. 

"Suppose you _didn't_ get all the logs out this year, " asked Bob, atlength. "Of course it would be a nuisance; but couldn't you get themnext year?"

"That's the trouble, " Welton explained. "If you leave them over thesummer, borers get into them, and they're about a total loss. No, myson, when you start to take out logs in this country, you've got to_take them out!_"

"That's what I'm going in here for now, " he explained, after a moment. "This Cedar Branch is an odd job we had to take over from another firm. It is an unimproved river, and difficult to drive, and just lined withmossbacks. The crew is a mixed bunch--some old men, some young toughs. They're a hard crowd, and one not like the men on the main drive. Itreally needs either Tally or me up here; but we can't get away for thislittle proposition. He's got Darrell in charge. Darrell's a good man ona big job. Then he feels his responsibility, keeps sober and drives hismen well. But I'm scared he won't take this little drive serious. If hegets one drink in him, it's all off!"

"I shouldn't think it would pay to put such a man in charge, " said Bob, more as the most obvious remark than from any knowledge or conviction. 

"Wouldn't you?" Welton's eyes twinkled. "Well, son, after you've knockedaround a while you'll find that every man is good for somethingsomewhere. Only you can't put a square peg in a round hole. "

"How much longer will the high water last?" asked Bob. 

"Hard to say. "

"Well, I hope you get the logs out, " Bob ventured. 

"Sure we'll get them out!" replied Welton confidently. "We'll get themout if we have to go spit in the creek!" With which remark the subjectwas considered closed. 

About four o'clock of the afternoon they came out on a low bluffoverlooking a bottom land through which flowed a little streamtwenty-five or thirty feet across. 

"That's the Cedar Branch, " said Welton, "and I reckon that's one of thecamps up where you see that smoke. "

They deserted the road and made their way through a fringe of thin brushto the smoke. Bob saw two big tents, a smouldering fire surrounded byhigh frames on which hung a few drying clothes, a rough table, and acooking fire over which bubbled tremendous kettles and fifty-pound lardtins suspended from a rack. A man sat on a cracker box reading afragment of newspaper. A boy of sixteen squatted by the fire. 

This man looked up and nodded, as Welton and his companion approached. 

"Where's the drive, doctor?" asked the lumberman. 

"This is the jam camp, " replied the cook. "The jam's upstream a mile orso. Rear's back by Thompson's somewheres. "

"Is there a jam in the river?" asked Bob with interest. "I'd like tosee it. "

"There's a dozen a day, probably, " replied Welton; "but in this case hejust means the head of the drive. We call that the 'jam. '"

"I suppose Darrell's at the rear?" Welton asked the cook. 

"Yep, " replied that individual, rising to peer into one of his cavernouscooking utensils. 

"Who's in charge here?"

"Larsen"

"H'm, " said Welton. "Well, " he added to himself, "he's slow, safe andsure, anyway. "

He led the way to one of the tents and pulled aside the flap. The groundinside was covered by a welter of tumbled blankets and clothes. 

"Nice tidy housekeeping, " he grinned at Bob. He picked out two of thebest blankets and took them outside where he hung them on a bush andbeat them vigorously. 

"There, " he concluded, "now they're ours. "

"What about the fellows who had 'em before?" inquired Bob. 

"They probably had about eight apiece; and if they hadn't they can bunktogether. "

Bob walked to the edge of the stream. It was not very wide, yet at thispoint it carried from three to six or eight feet of water, according tothe bottom. A few logs were stranded along shore. Two or three morefloated by, the forerunners of the drive. Bob could see where thehighest water had flung debris among the bushes, and by that he knewthat the stream must be already dropping from its freshet. 

It was now late in the afternoon. The sun dipped behind a cold andaustere hill-line. Against the sky showed a fringe of delicate popples, like spray frozen in the rise. The heavens near the horizon were a cold, pale yellow of unguessed lucent depths, that shaded above into anequally cold, pale green. Bob thrust his hands in his pockets andturned back to where the drying fire, its fuel replenished, was leapingacross the gathering dusk. 

Immediately after, the driving crews came tramping in from upstream. They paid no attention to the newcomers, but dove first for the tent, then for the fire. There they began to pull off their lower garments, and Bob saw that most of them were drenched from the waist down. Thedrying racks were soon steaming with wet clothes. 

Welton fell into low conversation with an old man, straight and slenderas a Norway pine, with blue eyes, flaxen hair, eyebrows and moustache. This was Larsen, in charge of the jam, honest, capable in his way, slowof speech, almost childlike of glance. After a few minutes Weltonrejoined Bob. 

"He's a square peg, all right, " he muttered, more to himself than to hiscompanion. "He's a good riverman, but he's no river boss. Tooeasy-going. Well, all he has to do is to direct the work, luckily. Ifanything really goes wrong, Darrell would be down in two jumps. "

"Grub pile!" remarked the cook conversationally. 

The men seized the utensils from a heap of them, and began to fill theirplates from the kettles on the table. 

"Come on, bub, " said Welton, "dig in! It's a long time till breakfast!"

XIII

The cook was early a foot next morning. Bob, restless with theuneasiness of the first night out of doors, saw the flicker of the fireagainst the tent canvas long before the first signs of daylight. Infact, the gray had but faintly lightened the velvet black of the nightwhen the cook thrust his head inside the big sleeping tents to utter awild yell of reveille. 

The men stirred sleepily, stretched, yawned, finally kicked aside theirblankets. Bob stumbled into the outer air. The chill of early morningstruck into his bones. Teeth chattering, he hurried to the river bankwhere he stripped and splashed his body with the bracing water. Then herubbed down with the little towel Tommy Gould had allowed him. Thereaction in this chill air was slow in coming--Bob soon learned that theearly cold bath out of doors is a superstition--and he shivered fromtime to time as he propped up his little mirror against a stump. Then heshaved, anointing his face after the careful manner of college boys. This satisfactorily completed, he fished in his duffle bag to find histooth brush and soap. His hair he arranged painstakingly with a pair ofmilitary brushes. He further manipulated a nail-brush vigorously, andended with manicuring his nails. Then, clean, vigorous, fresh, butsomewhat chilly, he packed away his toilet things and started for camp. 

Whereupon, for the first time, he became aware of one of the rivermen, pipe clenched between his teeth, watching him sardonically. 

Bob nodded, and made as though to pass. 

"Oh, bub!" said the older man. 

Bob stopped. 

"Say, " drawled the riverman, "air you as much trouble to yourself_every_ day as this?"

Bob laughed, and dove for camp. He found it practically deserted. Themen had eaten breakfast and departed for work. Welton greeted him. 

"Well, bub, " said he, "didn't know but we'd lost you. Feed your face, and we'll go upstream. "

Bob ate rapidly. After breakfast Welton struck into a well-trodden foottrail that led by a circuitous route up the river bottom, over points ofland, around swamps. Occasionally it forked. Then, Welton explained, onefork was always a short cut across a bend, while the other followedaccurately the extreme bank of the river. They took this latter andlongest trail, always, in order more closely to examine the state of thedrive. As they proceeded upstream they came upon more and more logs, some floating free, more stranded gently along the banks. After a timethey encountered the first of the driving crew. This man was standing onan extreme point, leaning on his peavy, watching the timbers float past. Pretty soon several logs, held together by natural cohesion, floated tothe bend, hesitated, swung slowly and stopped. Other logs, following, carromed gently against them and also came to rest. 

Immediately the riverman made a flying leap to the nearest. He hit itwith a splash that threw the water high to either side, immediatelycaught his equilibrium, and set to work with his peavy. He seemed toknow just where to bend his efforts. Two, then three, logs, disentangledfrom the mass, floated away. Finally, all moved slowly forward. Theriverman intent on his work, was swept from view. 

"After he gets them to running free, he'll come ashore, " said Welton, inanswer to Bob's query. "Oh, just paddle ashore with his peavy. Thenhe'll come back up the trail. This bend is liable to jam, and so we haveto keep a man here. "

They walked on and on, up the trail. Every once in a while they cameupon other members of the jam crew, either watching, as was the firstman, at some critical point, or working in twos and threes to keep thereluctant timbers always moving. At one place six or eight were pickingaway busily at a jam that had formed bristling quite across the river. Bob would have liked to stop to watch; but Welton's practised eye sawnothing to it. 

"They're down to the key log, now, " he pronounced. "They'll have it outin a jiffy. "

Inside of two miles or so farther they left behind them the last memberof the jam crew and came upon an outlying scout of the "rear. " ThenWelton began to take the shorter trails. At the end of another half-hourthe two plumped into the full activity of the rear itself. 

Bob saw two crews of men, one on either bank, busily engaged inrestoring to the current the logs stranded along the shore. In somecases this merely meant pushing them afloat by means of the peavies. Again, when the timbers had gone hard aground, they had to be rolledover and over until the deeper water caught them. In extreme cases, whenevidently the freshet water had dropped away from them, leaving themhigh and dry, a number of men would clamp on the jaws of their peaviesand carry the logs bodily to the water. In this active work the men wereeverywhere across the surface of the river. They pushed and heaved fromthe instability of the floating logs as easily as though they hadpossessed beneath their feet the advantages of solid land. When theywanted to go from one place to another across the clear water they hadvarious methods of propelling themselves--either broad on, by rollingthe log treadwise, or endways by paddling, or by jumping strongly on oneend. The logs dipped and bobbed and rolled beneath them; the waterflowed over their feet; but always they seemed to maintain their balanceunconsciously, and to give their whole attention to the work in hand. They worked as far as possible from the decks of logs, but did nothesitate, when necessary, to plunge even waist-deep into the icycurrent. Behind them they left a clear river. 

Like most exhibitions of superlative skill, all this would have seemedto an uninitiated observer like Bob an easy task, were it not for themisfortunes of one youth. That boy was about half the time in the water. He could stand upright on a log very well as long as he tried to donothing else. This partial skill undoubtedly had lured him to the drive. But as soon as he tried to work, he was in trouble. The log commenced toroll; he to struggle for his balance. It always ended with a mightysplash and a shout of joy from every one in sight, as the unfortunateyouth soused in all over. Then, after many efforts, he dragged himselfout, his garments heavy and dripping, and cautiously tried to gain theperpendicular. This ordinarily required several attempts, each of whichmeant another ducking as the treacherous log rolled at just the wronginstant. The boy was game, though, and kept at it earnestly in spite ofrepeated failure. 

Welton watched two repetitions of this performance. 

"Dick!" he roared across the tumult of sound. 

Roaring Dick, whose light, active figure had been seen everywhere acrossthe logs, looked up, recognized Welton, and zigzagged skilfully ashore. He stamped the water from his shoes. 

"Why don't you fire that kid ashore?" demanded Welton. "Do you want todrown him? He's so cold now he don't know where's his feet?"

Roaring Dick glanced carelessly at the boy. The latter had succeeded ingaining the shallows, where he was trying to roll over a stranded log. His hands were purple and swollen; his face puffed and blue; violentshivers shook him from head to foot; his teeth actually chattered when, for a moment, he relaxed his evident intention to stick it throughwithout making a sign. All his movements were slow and awkward, and hisdripping clothes clung tight to his body. 

"Oh, him!" said Roaring Dick in reply. "I didn't pay no more attentionto him than to one of these yere hell divers. He ain't no _good_, so Iclean overlooked him. Here, you!" he cried suddenly. 

The boy looked up, Bob saw him start convulsively, and knew that he hadmet the impact of that peculiar dynamic energy in Roaring Dick's nervousface. He clambered laboriously from the shallows, the water drainingfrom the bottom of his "stagged" trousers. 

"Get to camp, " snapped Dick. "You're laid off. "

"Why did you ever take such a man on in the first place?" asked Welton. 

"He was here when I come, " replied Roaring Dick, indifferently, "and, anyway, he's bound he's goin to be a river-hog. You couldn't keep himout with a fly-screen. "

"How're things going?" inquired Welton. 

"All right, " said Roaring Dick. "This ain't no drive to have thingsgoin' wrong. A man could run a hand-organ, a quiltin' party and thisdrive all to once and never drop a stitch. "

"How about old Murdock's dam? Looks like he might make trouble. "

"Ain't got to old Murdock yet, " said Roaring Dick. "When we do, we'lltrim his whiskers to pattern. Don't you worry none about Murdock. "

"I don't, " laughed Welton. "But, Dick, what are all these deadheads Isee in the river? Our logs are all marked, aren't they?"

"They's been some jobbing done way below our rollways, " said RoaringDick, "and the mossbacks have been taking 'em out long before our drivegot this far. Them few deadheads we've picked up along the line;mossbacks left 'em stranded. They ain't very many. "

"I'll send up a marking hammer, and we'll brand them. Finders keepers. "

"Sure, " said Roaring Dick. 

He nodded and ran out over the logs. The work leaped. Wherever he wentthe men took hold as though reanimated by an electric current. 

"Dick's a driver, " said Welton, reflectively, "and he gets out the logs. But I'm scared he don't take this little job serious. "

He looked out over the animated scene for a moment in silence. Then heseemed suddenly to remember his companion. 

"Well, son, " said he, "that's called 'sacking' the river. The rear crewis the place of honour, let me tell you. The old timers used to take agreat pride in belonging to a crack rear on a big drive. When you getone side of the river working against the other, it's great fun. I'veseen some fine races in my day. "

At this moment two men swung up the river trail, bending to the broadtump lines that crossed the tops of their heads. These tump linessupported rather bulky wooden boxes running the lengths of the men'sbacks. Arrived at the rear, they deposited their burdens. One set tobuilding a fire; the other to unpacking from the boxes all the utensilsand receptacles of a hearty meal. The food was contained in big lardtins. It was only necessary to re-heat it. In ten minutes the usual callof "grub pile" rang out across the river. The men came ashore. Eachgroup of five or six built its little fire. The wind sucked aloft theseinnumerable tiny smokes, and scattered them in a thin mist through thetrees. 

Welton stayed to watch the sacking until after three o'clock. Then hetook up the river trail to the rear camp. This Bob found to be much likethe other, but larger. 

"Ordinarily on drive we have a wanigan, " said Welton. "A wanigan's a bigscow. It carries the camp and supplies to follow the drive. Here we useteams; and it's some of a job, let me tell you! The roads are bad, andsometimes it's a long ways around. Hard sledding, isn't it Billy?" heinquired of the teamster, who was warming his hands by the fire. 

"Well, I always get there, " the latter replied with some pride. "Fromthe Little Fork here I only tipped over six times, all told. "

The cook, who had been listening near by, grunted. 

"Only time I wasn't with you, Billy, " said he; "that's why you got thenerve to tell that!"

"It's a fact!" insisted the driver. 

The young fellow who had been ordered off the river sat alone by thedrying-fire. Now that he had warmed up and dried off, he was seen to bea rather good-looking boy, dark-skinned, black-eyed, with overhanging, thick, straight brows, like a line from temple to temple. These gave himeither the sullen, biding look of an Indian or an air of setdetermination, as the observer pleased. Just now he contemplated thefire rather gloomily. 

Welton sat down on the same log with him. 

"Well, bub, " said the old riverman good-naturedly, "so you thought you'dlike to be a riverman?"

"Yes, sir, " replied the boy, with a certain sullen reserve. 

"Where did you think you learned to ride a log?"

"I've been around a little at the booms. "

"I see. Well, it's a different proposition when you come to working on'em in fast water. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Where you from?"

"Down Greenville way. "

"Farm?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Back to the farm now, eh?"

"I suppose so. "

"Don't like the notion, eh?"

"No!" cried the boy, with a flash of passion. 

"Still like to tackle the river?"

"Yes, sir, " replied the young fellow, again encased in his sullenapathy. 

"If I send you back to-morrow, would you like to tackle it again?"

"Oh, yes!" said the boy eagerly. "I didn't have any sort of a show whenyou saw me to-day! I can do a heap better than that. I was froze throughand couldn't handle myself. "

Welton grinned. 

"What you so stuck on getting wet for?" he inquired. 

"I dunno, " replied the boy vaguely. "I just like the woods. "

"Well, I got no notion of drownding you off in the first white water wecome across, " said Welton; "but I tell you what to do: you wait aroundhere a few days, helping the cook or Billy there, and I'll take you downto the mill and put you on the booms where you can practise in stillwater with a pike-pole, and can go warm up in the engine room when youfall off. Suit you?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, " said the boy quietly; but there was a warm glowin his eye. 

By now it was nearly dark. 

"Guess we'll bunk here to-night, " Welton told Bob casually. 

Bob looked his dismay. 

"Why, I left everything down at the other camp, " he cried, "even mytooth brush and hair brush!"

Welton looked at him comically. 

"Me, too, " said he. "We won't neither of us be near as much trouble toourselves to-morrow, will we?"

So he had overheard the riverman's remark that morning. Bob laughed. 

"That's right, " approved Welton, "take it easy. Necessities is a greatcomfort, but you can do without even them. "

After supper all sprawled around a fire. Welton's big bulk extended inthe acme of comfort. He puffed his pipe straight up toward the stars, and swore gently from time to time when the ashes dropped back into hiseyes. 

"Now that's a good kid, " he said, waving a pipe toward the other firewhere the would-be riverman was helping wash the dishes. "He'll neverbe a first-class riverman, but he's a good kid. "

"Why won't he make a good riverman?" asked Bob. 

"Same reason you wouldn't, " said Welton bluntly. "A good white water manhas to start younger. Besides, what's the use? There won't be anyrivermen ten year from now. Say, you, " he raised his voice peremptorily, "what do you call yourself?"

The boy looked up startled, saw that he was indicated, stammered, andcaught his voice. 

"John Harvey, sir, " he replied. 

"Son of old John who used to be on the Marquette back in the seventies?"

"Yes, sir; I suppose so. "

"He ought to be a good kid: he comes of good stock, " muttered Welton;"but he'll never be a riverman. No use trying to shove that shape peg ina round hole!"

XIV

Near noon of the following day a man came upstream to report a jambeyond the powers of the outlying rivermen. Roaring Dick, after a shortabsence for examination, returned to call off the rear. All repaired tothe scene of obstruction. 

Bob noticed the slack water a mile or so above the jam. The river wasquite covered with logs pressed tight against each other by the force ofthe interrupted current, but still floating. A little farther along theincreasing pressure had lifted some of them clear of the water. Theyupended slightly, or lay in hollows between the others. Still fartherdownstream the salient features of a jam multiplied. More timbers stuckout at angles from the surface; some were even lifted bodily. An abattisformed, menacing and formidable, against which even the mighty dynamicsof the river pushed in vain. Then at last the little group arrived atthe "breast" itself--a sullen and fearful tangle like a gigantic pile ofjackstraws. Beneath it the diminished river boiled out angrily. By thevery fact of its lessened volume Bob could guess at the pressure above. Immediately the rivermen ran out on this tangle, and, after a momentdevoted to inspection, set to work with their peavies. Bob started tofollow, but Welton held him back. 

"It's dangerous for a man not used to it. The jam may go out at anytime, and when she goes, she goes sky-hooting. "

But in the event his precaution turned out useless. All day the menrolled logs into the current below the dam. The _click!_ clank! clank!of their peavies sounded like the valves of some great engine, soregular was the periodicity of their metallic recurrence. They madequite a hole in the breast; and several times the jam shrugged, creakedand settled, but always to a more solid look. Billy, the teamster, brought down his horses. By means of long blocks and tackle they set toyanking out logs from certain places specified by Roaring Dick. Stillthe jam proved obstinate. 

"I hate to do it, " said Roaring Dick to Welton; "but it's a case ofpowder. "

"Tie into it, " agreed Welton. "What's a few smashed logs compared tohanging the drive?"

Dick nodded. He picked up a little canvas lunch bag from a stump where, earlier in the day, he had hung it, and from it extracted several sticksof giant powder, a length of fuse and several caps. These he prepared. Then he and Welton walked out over the jam, examining it carefully, andconsulting together at length. Finally Roaring Dick placed his chargefar down in the interstices, lit the fuse and walked calmly ashore. Themen leisurely placed themselves out of harm's way. Welton joined Bobbehind a big burned stub. 

"Will that start her sure?" asked Bob. 

"Depends on whether we guessed right on the key log, " said Welton. 

A great roar shook the atmosphere. Straight up into the air spurted thecloud of the explosion. Through the white smoke Bob could see the flameand four or five big logs, like upleaping, dim giants. Then he dodgedback from the rain of bark and splinters. 

The immediate effect on the jam was not apparent. It fell forward intothe opening made by the explosion, and a light but perceptible movementran through the waiting timbers up the river. But the men, running outimmediately, soon made it evident that the desired result had beenattained. Their efforts now seemed to gain definite effects. Anuneasiness ran through the hitherto solid structure of the jam. Timberschanged position. Sometimes the whole river seemed to start forward afoot or so, but before the eye could catch the motion, it had againfrozen to immobility. 

"That fetched the key logs, all right, " said Welton, watching. 

Then all at once about half the breast of the jam fell forward into thestream. Bob uttered an involuntary cry. But the practised rivermen musthave foreseen this, for none were caught. At once the other logs at thebreast began to topple of their own accord into the stream. The splashesthrew the water high like the explosions of shells, and the thunderingof the falling and grinding timbers resembled the roar of artillery. Thepattern of the river changed, at first almost imperceptibly, then moreand more rapidly. The logs in the centre thrust forward, those on thewings hung back. Near the head of the jam the men worked like demons. Wherever the timbers caught or hesitated for a moment in their slowcrushing forward, there a dozen men leaped savagely, to jerk, heave andpry with their heavy peavies. Continually under them the footingshifted; sullen logs menaced them with crushing or complete engulfmentin their grinding mill. Seemingly they paid no attention to this, butgave all their energies to the work. In reality, whether fromcalculation or merely from the instinct that grows out of longexperience, they must have pre-estimated every chance. 

"What bully team work!" cried Bob, stirred to enthusiasm. 

Now the motion quickened. The centre of the river rushed forward; thewings sucked in after from either side. A roar and battling of timbers, jets of spray, the smoke of waters filled the air. Quite coolly therivermen made their way ashore, their peavies held like balancing polesacross their bodies. Under their feet the logs heaved, sank, groundtogether, tossed above the hurrying under-mass, tumultuous as aclose-packed drove of wild horses. The rivermen rode them easily. For anappreciable time one man perched on a stable timber watching keenlyahead. Then quite coolly he leaped, made a dozen rapid zigzag stepsforward, and stopped. The log he had quitted dropped sullenly fromsight, and two closed, grinding, where it had been. In twenty secondsevery man was safely ashore. 

The river caught its speed. Hurried on by the pressure of water longdammed back, the logs tumbled forward. Rank after rank they swept past, while the rivermen, leaning on the shafts of their peavies, passed themin review. 

"That was luck, " Welton's voice broke in on Bob's contemplation. "It'sjust getting dark. Couldn't have done it without the dynamite. Itsplinters up a little timber, but we save money, even at that. "

"Billy doesn't carry that with the other supplies, does he?" asked Bob. 

"Sure, " said Welton; "rolls it up in the bedding, or something. Well, John Harvey, Junior, " said he to that youth, "what do you think of it? Alittle different driving this white water than pushing logs with a pikepole down a slack-water river like the Green, hey?"

"Yes, sir, " the boy nodded out of his Indian stolidity. 

"You see now why a man has to start young to be a riverman, " Welton toldBob, as they bent their steps toward camp. "Poor little John Harvey outon that jam when she broke would have stood about as much chance as abeetle at a woodpecker prayer meeting. "

XV

Two days later Welton returned to the mill. At his suggestion Bob stayedwith the drive. He took his place quietly as a visitor, had the goodsense to be unobtrusive, and so was tolerated by the men. That is tosay, he sat at the camp fires practically unnoticed, and the rivermentalked as though he were not there. When he addressed any of them theyanswered him with entire good humour, but ordinarily they paid no moreattention to him than they did to the trees and bushes that chanced tosurround the camp. 

The drive moved forward slowly. Sometimes Billy packed up every day toset forth on one of his highly adventurous drives; again camp stayed forsome time in the same place. Bob amused himself tramping up and down theriver, reviewing the operations. Occasionally Roaring Dick, in hiscapacity of river boss, accompanied the young fellow. Why, Bob could notimagine, for the alert, self-contained little riverman trudged along inalmost entire silence, his keen chipmunk eyes spying restlessly on allthere was to be seen. When Bob ventured a remark or comment, he answeredby a grunt or a monosyllable. The grunt or the monosyllable was neversullen or hostile or contemptuous; merely indifferent. Bob learned toeconomize speech, and so got along well with his strange companion. 

By the end of the week the drive entered a cleared farm country. Thecultivation was crude and the clearing partial. Low-wooded hills dottedwith stumps of the old forest alternated with willow-grown bottom-landsand dense swamps. The farmers lived for the most part in slab or loghouses earthed against the winter cold. Fences were of split rails laid"snake fashion. " Ploughing had to be in and out between the blackenedstumps on the tops of which were piled the loose rocks picked from thesoil as the share turned them up. Long, unimproved roads wandered overthe hills, following roughly the section lines, but perfectly willing toturn aside through some man's field in order to avoid a steep grade orsoft going. These things the rivermen saw from their stream exactly as atrainman would see them from his right-of-way. The river was thehighway, and rarely was it considered worth while to climb the lowbluffs out of the bottom-land through which it flowed. 

In the long run it landed them in a town named Twin Falls. Here were awater-power dam and some small manufactories. Here, too, were saloonsand other temptations for rivermen. Camp was made above town. In theevening the men, with but few exceptions, turned in to the sleeping tentat the usual hour. Bob was much surprised at this; but later he came torecognize it as part of a riverman's peculiar code. Until the driveshould be down, he did not feel himself privileged to "blow off steam. "Even the exceptions did not get so drunk they could not show up thefollowing morning to take a share in sluicing the drive through the dam. 

All but Roaring Dick. The latter did not appear at all, and was reported"drunk a-plenty" by some one who had seen him early that morning. Evidently the river boss did not "take this drive serious. " His absenceseemed to make no difference. The sluicing went forward methodically. 

"He'll show up in a day or two, " said the cook with entire indifference, when Bob inquired of him. 

That evening, however, four or five of the men disappeared, and did notreturn. Such was the effect of an evil example on the part of theforeman. Larsen took charge. In almost unbroken series the logs shotthrough the sluiceways into the river below, where they were received bythe jam crew and started on the next stage of their long journey to themills. In a day the dam was passed. One of the younger men rode the lastlog through the sluiceway, standing upright as it darted down the chuteinto the eddy below. The crowd of townspeople cheered. The boy waved hishat and birled the log until the spray flew. 

But hardly was camp pitched two miles below town when one of the jamcrew came upstream to report a difficulty. Larsen at once made ready toaccompany him down the river trail, and Bob, out of curiosity, wentalong, too. 

"It's mossbacks, " the messenger explained, "and them deadheads we beencarrying along. They've rigged up a little sawmill down there, wherethey're cutting what the farmers haul in to 'em. And then, besides, they've planted a bunch of piles right out in the middle of the streamand boomed in their side, and they're out there with pike-poles, nailin'onto every stick of deadhead that comes along. "

"Well, that's all right, " said Larsen. "I guess they got a right to themas long as we ain't marked them. "

"They can have their deadheads, " agreed the riverman, "but their pileshave jammed our drive and hung her. "

"We'll break the jam, " said Larsen. 

Arrived at the scene of difficulty, Bob looked about him with greatinterest. The jam was apparently locked hard and fast against a clump ofpiles driven about in the centre of the stream. These had evidently beenplanted as the extreme outwork of a long shunting boom. Men workingthere could shunt into the sawmill enclosure that portion of the driveto which they could lay claim. The remainder could proceed down the openchannel to the left. That was the theory. Unfortunately, this divisionof the river's width so congested matters that the whole drive had hung. 

The jam crew were at work, but even Bob's unpractised eye saw that theirtask was stupendous. Even should they succeed in loosening the breast, there could be no reason to suppose the performance would not have to berepeated over and over again as the close-ranked drive came against theobstacle. 

Larsen took one look, then made his way across to the other side anddown to the mill. Bob followed. The little sawmill was going full blastunder the handling of three men and a boy. Everything was done in themost primitive manner, by main strength, awkwardness, and old-fashionedtools. 

"Who's boss?" yelled Larsen against the clang of the mill. 

A slow, black-bearded man stepped forward. 

"What can I do for you?" he asked. 

"Our drive's hung up against your boom, " yelled Larsen. 

The man raised his hand and the machinery was suddenly stilled. 

"So I perceive, " said he. 

"Your boom-piles are drove too far out in the stream. "

"I don't know about that, " objected the mossback. 

"I do, " insisted Larsen. "Nobody on earth could keep from jamming, theway you got things fixed. "

"That's none of my business, " said the man steadily. 

"Well, we'll have to take out that fur clump of piles to get our jambroke. "

"I don't know about that, " repeated the man. 

Larsen apparently paid no attention to this last remark, but trampedback to the jam. There he ordered a couple of men out with axes, andothers with tackle. But at that moment the three men and the boyappeared. They carried three shotguns and a rifle. 

"That's about enough of that, " said the bearded man, quietly. "You letmy property alone. I don't want any trouble with you men, but I'll blowhell out of the first man that touches those piles. I've had aboutenough of this riverhog monkey-work. "

He looked as though he meant business, as did his companions. When therivermen drew back, he took his position atop the disputed clump ofpiles, his shotgun across his knees. 

The driving crew retreated ashore. Larsen was plainly uncertain. 

"I tell you, boys, " said he, "I'll get back to town. You wait. "

"Guess I'll go along, " suggested Bob, determined to miss no phase ofthis new species of warfare. 

"What you going to do?" he asked Larsen when they were once on thetrail. 

"I don't know, " confessed the older man, rubbing his cap. "I'm justgoin' to see some lawyer, and then I'm goin' to telegraph the Company. Iwish Darrell was in charge. I don't know what to do. You can't expectthose boys to run a chance of gittin' a hole in 'em. "

"Do you believe they'd shoot?" asked Bob. 

"I believe so. It's a long chance, anyhow. "

But in Twin Falls they received scant sympathy and encouragement. Theplace was distinctly bucolic, and as such opposed instinctively tolarger mills, big millmen, lumber, lumbermen and all pertainingthereunto. They tolerated the drive because, in the first place they hadto; and in the second place there was some slight profit to be made. Butthe rough rivermen antagonized them, and they were never averse toseeing these buccaneers of the streams in difficulties. Then, too, bychance the country lawyers Larsen consulted happened to be attorneys forthe little sawmill men. Larsen tried in his blundering way to expresshis feeling that "nobody had a right to hang our drive. " Hisexplanations were so involved and futile that, without thinking, Bobstruck in. 

"Surely these men have no right to obstruct as they do. Isn't there somelaw against interfering with navigation?"

"The stream is not navigable, " returned the lawyer curtly. 

Bob's memory vouchsafed a confused recollection of something readsometime, somewhere. 

"Hasn't a stream been declared navigable when logs can be driven init?" he asked. 

"Are you in charge of this drive?" the lawyer asked, turning on himsharply. 

"Why--no, " confessed Bob. 

"Have you anything to do with this question?"

"I don't believe I have. "

"Then I fail to see why I should answer your questions, " said thelawyer, with finality. "As to your question, " he went on to Larsen withequal coldness, "if you have any doubts as to Mr. Murdock's rights inthe stream, you have the recourse of a suit at law to settle that point, and to determine the damages, if any. "

Bob found himself in the street with Larsen. 

"But they haven't got no right to stop our drive _dead_ that way, "expostulated the old man. 

Bob's temper was somewhat ruffled by his treatment at the hands of thelawyer. 

"Well, they've done it, whether they have the right to or not, " he saidshortly; "what next?"

"I guess I'll telegraph Mr. Welton, " said Larsen. 

He did so. The two returned to camp. The rivermen were loafing in campawaiting Larsen's reappearance. The jam was as before. Larsen walked outon the logs. The boy, seated on the clump of piles, gave a shrillwhistle. Immediately from the little mill appeared the brown-bearded manand his two companions. They picked their way across the jam to thepiles, where they roosted, their weapons across their knees, untilLarsen had returned to the other bank. 

"Well, Mr. Welton ought to be up in a couple of days, if he ain't up themain river somewheres, " said Larsen. 

"Aren't you going to do anything in the meantime?" asked Bob. 

"What can I do?" countered Larsen. '

The crew had nothing to say one way or the other, but watched with acynical amusement the progress of affairs. They smoked, and spat, andsquatted on their heels in the Indian taciturnity of their kind when forsome reason they withhold their approval. That evening, however, Bobhappened to be lying at the campfire next two of the older men. Asusual, he smoked in unobtrusive silence, content to be ignored if onlythe men would act in their accustomed way, and not as before a stranger. 

"Wait; hell!" said one of the men to the other. "Times is certainly gonewrong! If they had anything like an oldtime river boss in charge, they'dcome the Jack Orde on this lay-out. "

Bob pricked up his ears at this mention of his father's name. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

The riverman rolled over and examined him dispassionately for a fewmoments. 

"Jack Orde, " he deigned to explain at last, "was a riverman. He was agood one. He used to run the drive in the Redding country. When hestarted to take out logs, he took 'em out, by God! I've heard him often:'Get your logs out first, and pay the damage afterward, ' says he. He wasa holy terror. They got the state troops out after him once. It came tobe a sort of by-word. When you generally gouge, kick and sandbag a maninto bein' real _good_, why we say you come the Jack Orde on him. "

"I see, " said Bob, vastly amused at this sidelight on the familyreputation. "What would you do here?"

"I don't know, " replied the riverman, "but I wouldn't lay around andwait. "

"Why don't some of you fellows go out there and storm the fort, if youfeel that way?" asked Bob. 

"Why?" demanded the riverman, "I won't let any boss stump me; but why inhell should I go out and get my hide full of birdshot? If this outfitdon't know enough to get its drive down, that ain't my fault. "

Bob had seen enough of the breed to recognize this as an eminentlycharacteristic attitude. 

"Well, " he remarked comfortably, "somebody'll be down from the millsoon. "

The riverman turned on him almost savagely. 

"Down soon!" he snorted. "So'll the water be 'down soon. ' It's droppingevery minute. That telegraft of yours won't even start out beforeto-morrow morning. Don't you fool yourself. That Twin Falls outfit isjust too tickled to do us up. It'll be two days before anybody shows up, and then where are you at? Hell!" and the old riverman relapsed into adisgusted silence. 

Considerably perturbed, Bob hunted up Larsen. 

"Look here, Larsen, " said he, "they tell me a delay here is likely tohang up this drive. Is that right?"

The old man looked at his interlocutor, his brow wrinkled. 

"I wish Darrell was in charge, " said he. 

"What would Darrell do that you can't do?" demanded Bob bluntly. 

"That's just it; I don't know, " confessed Larsen. 

"Well, I'd get some weapons up town and drive that gang off, " said Bobheatedly. 

"They'd have a posse down and jug the lot of us, " Larsen pointed out, "before we could clear the river. " He suddenly flared up. "I ain't noriver boss, and I ain't paid as a river boss, and I never claimed to beone. Why in hell don't they keep their men in charge?"

"You're working for the company, and you ought to do your best forthem, " said Bob. 

But Larsen had abruptly fallen into Scandinavian sulks. He mutteredsomething under his breath, and quite deliberately arose and walkedaround to the other side of the fire. 

Twice during the night Bob arose from his blankets and walked down tothe riverside. In the clear moonlight he could see one or the other ofthe millmen always on watch, his shotgun across his knees. Evidentlythey did not intend to be surprised by any night work. The young fellowreturned very thoughtful to his blankets, where he lay staring upagainst the canvas of the tent. 

Next morning he was up early, and in close consultation with Billy theteamster. The latter listened attentively to what Bob had to say, nodding his head from time to time. Then the two disappeared in thedirection of the wagon, where for a long interval they busied themselvesat some mysterious operation. 

When they finally emerged from the bushes, Bob was carrying over hisshoulder a ten-foot poplar sapling around the end of which was fasteneda cylindrical bundle of considerable size. Bob paid no attention to themen about the fire, but bent his steps toward the river. Billy, however, said a few delighted words to the sprawling group. It arose withalacrity and followed the young man's lead. 

Arrived at the bank of the river, Bob swung his burden to the ground, knelt by it, and lit a match. The rivermen, gathering close, saw thatthe bundle around the end of the sapling consisted of a dozen rolls ofgiant powder from which dangled a short fuse. Bob touched his match tothe split outer end of the fuse. It spluttered viciously. He arose withgreat deliberation, picked up his strange weapon, and advanced out overthe logs. 

In the meantime the opposing army had gathered about the disputed clumpof piles, to the full strength of its three shotguns and the singlerifle. Bob paid absolutely no attention to them. When within a shortdistance he stopped and, quite oblivious to warnings and threats fromthe army, set himself to watching painstakingly the sputtering progressof the fire up the fuse, exactly as a small boy watches his giantcracker which he hopes to explode in mid-air. At what he considered theproper moment he straightened his powerful young body, and cast thesapling from him, javelin-wise. 

"Scat!" he shouted, and scrambled madly for cover. 

The army decamped in haste. Of its armament it lost near fifty percent. , for one shotgun and the rifle remained where they had fallen. Like Abou Ben Adam, Murdock led all the rest. 

Now Bob had hurled his weapon as hard as he knew how, and had scamperedfor safety without looking to see where it had fallen. As a matter offact, by one of those very lucky accidents, that often attend a star inthe ascendent, the sapling dove head on into a cavern in the jam abovethe clump of piles. The detonation of the twelve full sticks of giantpowder was terrific. Half the river leaped into the air in a beautifulcolumn of water and spray that seemed to hang motionless for appreciablemoments. Dark fragments of timbers were hurled in all directions. Whenthe row had died the clump of piles was seen to have disappeared. Bob'schance shot had actually cleared the river!

The rivermen glanced at each other amazedly. 

"Did you _mean_ to place that charge, bub?" one asked. 

Bob was too good a field general not to welcome the gifts of chance. 

"Certainly, " he snapped. "Now get out on that river, every mother's sonof you. Get that drive going and keep it going. I've cleared the riverfor you; and if you'd any one of you had the nerve of my poor old fatsub-centre, you'd have done it for yourselves. Get busy! Hop!"

The men jumped for their peavies. Bob raged up and down the bank. Forthe moment he had forgotten the husk of the situation, and saw it onlyin essential. Here was a squad to lick into shape, to fashion into ateam. It mattered little that they wore spikes in their boots instead ofcleats; that they sported little felt hats instead of head guards. Theprinciple was the same. The team had gone to pieces in the face of acrisis; discipline was relaxed; grumblers were getting noisy. Bobplunged joyously head over ears in his task. By now he knew every man byname, and he addressed each personally. He had no idea of what was to bedone to start this riverful of logs smoothly and surely on its way; hedid not need to. Afloat on the river was technical knowledge enough, andto spare. Bob threw his men at the logs as he used to throw his backs atthe opposing line. And they went. Even in the whole-souled, franticabsorption of the good coach he found time to wonder at the likeness ofall men. These rivermen differed in no essential from the members of thesquad. They responded to the same authority; they could be hurled as aunit against opposing obstacles. 

Bob felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and whirled to stare straight intothe bloodshot eyes of Roaring Dick. The man was still drunk, but onlywith the lees of the debauch. He knew perfectly what he was about, butthe bad whiskey still hummed through his head. Bob met the baleful glarefrom under his square brows, as the man teetered back and forth on hisheels. 

"You got a hell of a nerve!" said Roaring Dick, thickly. "You talk likeyou was boss of this river. "

Bob looked back at him steadily for a full half-minute. 

"I am, " said he at last. 

XVI

Roaring Dick had not been brought up in the knowledge of protocols orultimatums. Scarcely had Bob uttered the last words of his brief speechbefore he was hit twice in the face, good smashing blows that sent himstaggering. The blows were followed by a savage rush. Roaring Dick wason his man with the quickness and ferocity of a wildcat. He hit, kicked, wrestled, even bit. Bob was whirled back by the very impetuosity of theattack. Before he could collect his wits he was badly punished anddazed. He tripped and Roaring Dick, with a bellow of satisfaction, beganto kick at his body even before he reached the ground. 

But strangely enough this fall served to clear Bob's head. Thousands oftimes he had gone down just like this on the football field, and hadthen been called upon to struggle on with the ball as far as he wasable. A slight hint of the accustomed will sometimes steady us in themost difficult positions. The mind, bumping aimlessly, falls into itsgroove, and instinctively shoots forward with tremendous velocity. Bobhit the ground, half turned on his shoulder, rolled over twice with therapid, vigorous twist second-nature to a seasoned halfback, and boundedto his feet. He met Roaring Dick half way with a straight blow. Itfailed to stop, or even to shake the little riverman. The next instantthe men were wrestling fiercely. 

Bob found himself surprisingly opposed. Beneath his loose, soft clothingthe riverman seemed to be made of steel. Suddenly Bob was called upon toexert every ounce of strength in his body, and to summon all hisacquired skill to prevent himself from being ignominiously overpowered. The ferocity of the rush, and the purposeful rapidity of Roaring Dick'sattack, as well as the unexpected variety thereof, kept him fullyoccupied in defending himself. With the exception of the single blowdelivered when he had regained his feet, he had been unable even toattempt aggression. It was as though he had touched a button to releasean astonishing and bewildering erratic energy. 

Bob had done a great deal of boxing and considerable wrestling. Duringhis boyhood and youth he had even become involved in several fisticuffs. They had always been with the boys or young men of his own ideas. Thoughconducted in anger they retained still a certain remnant of convention. No matter how much you wanted to "do" the other fellow, you tried toaccomplish that result by hitting cleanly, or by wrestling him to apoint where you could "punch his face in. " The object was to hurt youropponent until he had had enough, until he was willing to quit, until hehad been thoroughly impressed with the fact that he was punished. Butthis result was to be accomplished with the fists. If your opponentseized a club, or a stone, or tried to kick, that very act indicated hisdefeat. He had had enough, and that was one way of acknowledging yoursuperiority. So strongly ingrained had this instinct of thefight-convention become that even now Bob unconsciously was playingaccording to the rules of the game. 

Roaring Dick, on the contrary, was out solely for results. He foughtwith every resource at his command. Bob was slow to realize this, slowto arouse himself beyond the point of calculated defence. His wholetraining on the field inclined him to keep cool and to play, whateverthe game, from a reasoning standpoint. He was young, strong andpractised; but he was not roused above the normal. And, as many rivermenhad good reason to know, the normal man availed little against RoaringDick's maniacal rushes. 

The men were close-locked, and tugging and straining for an advantage. Bob crouched lower and lower with a well-defined notion of getting atwist on his opponent. For an instant he partially freed one side. Likelightning Roaring Dick delivered a fierce straight kick at his groin. The blow missed its aim, but Bob felt the long, sharp spikes tearing theflesh of his thigh. Sheer surprise relaxed his muscles for the fractionof an instant. Roaring Dick lowered his head, rammed it into Bob's chin, and at the same time reached for the young man's gullet with both hands. Bob tore his head out of reach in the nick of time. As they closed againRoaring Dick's right hand was free. Bob felt the riverman's thumbfumbling for his eyeball. 

"Why, he wants to cripple me, to kill me!" the young man cried tohimself. So vivid was the astonishment of this revelation to hissportsman's soul that he believed he had said it aloud. This was no merefight, it was a combat. In modern civilized conditions combats arenotably few and far between. It is difficult for the average man to cometo a realization that he must in any circumstances depend on himself forthe preservation of his life. Even to the last moment the victim of thereal melodrama that occasionally breaks out in the most unlikely placesis likely to be more concerned with his outraged dignity than with hisperil. That thumb, feeling eagerly for his eye-socket, woke Bob to a newworld. A swift anger rushed over him like a hot wave. 

This man was trying to injure him. Either the kick or the gouge wouldhave left him maimed for life. A sudden fierce desire to beat hisopponent into the earth seized Bob. With a single effort he wrenched hisarms free. 

Now this fact has been noted again and again: mere size has often littleto do with a man's physical prowess. The list of anecdotes wherein thelittle fellow "puts it all over" the big bully is exceptionally long. Nor are more than a bare majority of the anecdotes baseless. In our ownlumber woods a one-hundred-and-thirty-pound man with no other weaponthan his two hands once nearly killed a two-hundred-pound blacksmith forpushing him off a bench. This phenomenon arises from the fact that thelittle man seems capable often of releasing at will a greater flood ofdynamic energy than a big man. We express this by saying that it is thespirit that counts. As a matter of truth the big man may have as muchcourage as the little man. It is simply that he cannot, at will, tap asquickly the vast reservoir of nervous energy that lies beneath all humaneffort of any kind whatsoever. He cannot arouse himself as can thelittle man. 

It was for the foregoing reason that Roaring Dick had acquired hisascendancy. He possessed the temperament that fuses. When he fought, hefought with the ferocity and concentration of a wild beast. Thisconcentration, this power of fusing to white heat all the powers of aman's being down to the uttermost, this instinctive ability to tap theextra-human stores of dynamics is what constitutes the temperament ofgenius, whether it be applied to invention, to artistic creation, toruling, to finance, or merely to beating down personal opposition bybeating in the opponent's face. Unfortunately for him, Bob Orde happenedalso to possess the temperament of genius. The two foul blows arousedhim. All at once he became blind to everything but an unreasoning desireto hurt this man who had tried to hurt him. On the side of dynamics thecombat suddenly equalized. It became a question merely of relativepower, and Bob was the bigger man. 

Bob threw his man from him by main strength. Roaring Dick staggeredback, only to carrom against a tree. A dozen swift, straight blows inthe face drove him by the sheer force of them. He was smothered, overwhelmed, by the young man's superior size. Bob fell upon himsavagely. In less than a minute the fight was over as far as RoaringDick was concerned. Blinded, utterly winded, his whiskey-drivenenergies drained away, he fell like a log. Bob, still blazing, foundhimself without an opponent. 

He glared about him. The rivermen were gathered in a silent ring. Justbeyond stood a side-bar buggy in which a burly, sodden red-faced manstood up the better to see. Bob recognized him as one of the saloonkeepers at Twin Falls, and his white-hot brain jumped to the correctconclusion that Roaring Dick, driven by some vague conscience-stirringin regard to his work, had insisted on going down river; and that thisdive-keeper, loth to lose a profitable customer in the dull season, hadoffered transportation in the hopeful probability that he could inducethe riverman to return with him. Bob stooped, lifted his unconsciousopponent, strode to the side-bar buggy and unceremoniously dumped hisburden therein. 

"Now, " said he roughly, "get out of here! When this man comes to, youtell him he's fired! He's not to show his face on this river again!"

The saloon-keeper demurred, blustering slightly after the time-triedmanner of his sort. 

"Look here, young fellow, you can't talk that way to me. "

"Can't I!" snapped Bob; "well, you turn around and get out of here. "

The man met full the blaze of the extra-normal powers not yet fallenbelow the barrier in the young fellow's personality. He gathered up thereins and drove away. 

Bob watched him out of sight, his chest rising and falling with thereceding waves of his passion. He was a strange young figure with historn garments, his tossed hair, the streak of blood beneath his eye, andthe inner fading glow of his face. At last he drew a long, shudderingbreath, and turned to the expectant and silent group of rivermen. 

"Boys, " said he pleasantly, "I don't know one damn thing aboutriver-driving, but I do know when a man's doing his best work. I shallexpect you fellows to get in and rustle down those logs. Any man whothinks he's going to soldier on me is going to get fooled, and he'sgoing to get his time handed out to him on the spot. As near as I canmake out, unless we get an everlasting wiggle on us--every one ofus--this drive'll hang up; and I'd just as soon hang it by laying offthose who try to shirk as by letting you hang it by not working yourbest. So get busy. If anybody wants to quit, let 'em step up right now. Any remarks?" He looked from one to another. 

"Nary remark, " said one man at last. 

"All right. Now get your backs into this. It's _team work_ that counts. You've each got your choice; either you can lie like the devil to hidethe fact that you were a member of the Cedar Branch crew in 1899, or youcan go away and brag about it. It's up to you. Get busy. "

XVII

Two days later Welton swung from the train at Twin Falls. His red, jollyface was as quizzical as ever, but one who knew him might have noticedthat his usual leisurely movements had quickened. He walked rapidly tothe livery stable where he ordered a rig. 

"Where's the drive, Hank?" he asked the liveryman. 

"Search me!" was his reply; "somewhere down river. Old Murdock is uptalkin' wild about damage suits, and there's evidently been one hell ofa row, but I just got back myself from drivin' a drummer over toWatsonville. "

"Know if Darrell is in town?"

"Oh, _he's_ in town; there ain't no manner of doubt as to that. "

"Drunk, eh?"

"Spifflicated, pie-eyed, loaded, soshed, " agreed the liverymansuccinctly. 

Welton shook his head humorously and ruefully. 

"Say, Welton, " demanded the liveryman with the easy familiarity of hisclass, "why in blazes do you put a plain drunk like that in charge?"

"Darrell is a good man on a big job, " said Welton; "you can't beat him, and you can't get him to take a drink. But it takes a big job to steadyhim. "

"Well, I'd fire him, " stated Hank positively. 

"He's already fired, " spoke up a hostler, "they laid him off two daysago when he went down drunk and tried to take charge. "

"Well, now, " chuckled Welton, as he gathered up the reins, "who'd havethought old Larsen could scare up the spunk!"

He drove down the river road. When he came to a point opposite Murdock'she drew up. 

"That wire said that Murdock had the river blocked, " he mused, "butshe's certainly flowing free enough now. The river's sacked clean now. "

His presence on the bank had attracted the attention of a man in themill. After a long scrutiny, this individual launched a skiff and pulledacross the stream. 

"I thought it was you, " he cried as soon as he had stepped ashore. "Well, let me tell you I'm going to sue you for damages, big damages!"

Welton looked him over quizzically, and the laughing lines deepenedaround the corners of his eyes. 

"Lay on, MacDuff, " said he, "nobody's sued me yet this year, and itdidn't seem natural. "

"And for assault with deadly weapons, and malicious destruction ofproperty, and seizure and----"

"You must have been talking to a country lawyer, " interrupted Welton, with one of his subterranean chuckles. "Don't do it. They got nothing_but_ time, and you know what your copy book says about idle hands. " Hecrossed one leg and leaned back as though for a comfortable chat. "No, you come and see me, Murdock, and state how much you've been damaged, and we'll see what we can do. Why, these little lawyers love to namethings big. They'd call a sewing circle a riot if one of the membersdropped a stitch. "

But Murdock was in deadly earnest. 

"Perhaps throwin' dynamite on the end of a pole, and mighty nigh killin'us, and just blowin' the whole river up in the air is your idea ofsomethin' little, " he stormed; "well, you'll find it'll look big enoughin court. "

"So that's what they did to clear the river, " said Welton, more thanhalf to himself. "Well, Murdock, suit yourself; you can see me or thatintellectual giant of a lawyer of yours. You'll find me cheaper. Solong. "

He drove on, chuckling. 

"I didn't think old Larsen had the spunk, " he repeated after a time. "Guess I ought to have put him in charge in the beginning. "

He drove to a point where the erratic road turned inland. There he tiedhis horse to a tree and tramped on afoot. After a little he came insight of the rear--and stopped. 

The men were working hard; a burst of hearty laughter saluted Welton'sears. He could hardly believe them. Nobody had heard this sullen crew ofnondescript rivermen from everywhere exhibit the faintest symptoms ofgood-humour or interest before. Another burst of laughter came up thebreeze. A dozen men ran out over the logs as though skylarking, insertedtheir peavies in a threatened lock, and pried it loose. 

"Pretty work, " said the expert in Welton. 

He drew nearer through the low growth until he stood well within hearingand seeing distance. Then he stopped again. 

Bob Orde was walking up and down the bank talking to the men. They werelaughing back at him. His manner was half fun, half earnest, partrueful, part impatient, wholly affectionate. 

"You, Jim, " said he, "go out and get busy. You're loafing, you know youare; I don't give a damn what you're to do. Do something! Don't give animitation of a cast-iron hero. No, I won't either tell you what to do. Idon't know. But do it, even if you have to make it up out of your ownhead. Consider the festive water-beetle, and the ant and otherindustrious doodle-bugs. Get a wiggle on you, fellows. We'll never getout at this rate. If this drive gets hung up, I'm going to murder everylast one of you. Come on now, all together; if I could walk out on thoselogs I'd build a fire under you; but you've got me tied to the bank andyou know it, you big fat loafers, you!"

"Keep your hair on, bub; we'll make it, all right"

"Well, we'd just better make it, " warned Bob. "Now I'm going down to thejam to see whether their alarm clock went off this morning. --Now, don'tslumber!"

After he had disappeared down the trail, Welton stepped into view. 

"Oh, Charley!" he called. 

One of the rivermen sprang ashore. 

"When did the rear leave Murdock's?" he asked without preliminary. 

"Thursday. "

"You've made good time. "

"Bet we have, " replied Charley with pride. 

"Who's jam boss?"

"Larsen. "

"Who's in charge of the river, then?" demanded Welton sharply. 

"Why, young Orde!" replied the riverman, surprised. 

"Since when?"

"Since he blew up Murdock's piles. "

"Oh, he did that, did he? I suppose he fired Darrell, too?"

"Sure. It was a peach of a scrap. "

"Scrap?"

"Yep. That Orde boy is a wonder. He just _ruined_ Roaring Dick. "

"He did, did he?" commented Welton. "Well, so long. "

He followed Bob down the river trail. At the end of a half-mile heovertook the young fellow kneeling on a point gazing at a peeled stakeplanted at the edge of the river. 

"Wish I knew how long this water was going to hold out, " he murmured, ashe heard a man pause behind him. "She's dropped two inches by my patentself-adjusting gauge. "

"Young man, " said Welton, "are you on the payrolls of this company?"

Bob turned around, then instantly came to his feet. 

"Oh, you're here at last, Mr. Welton, " he cried in tones of vast relief. 

"Answer my question, please. "

"What?" asked Bob with an expression of bewilderment. 

"Are you on the payrolls of this company?"

"No, sir, of course not. You know that. "

"Then what are you doing in charge of this river?"

"Why, don't you see--"

"I see you've destroyed property and let us in for a big damage suit. Isee you've discharged our employees without authority to do so. I seeyou're bossing my men and running my drive without the shadow of aright. "

"But something had to be done, " expostulated Bob. 

"What do you know about river-driving?" broke in Welton. "Not a thing. "

"Men who told me did--"

"A bunch of river-hogs, " broke in Welton contemptuously. "It strikes me, young man, that you have the most colossal cheek I've ever heard of. "

But Bob faced him squarely. 

"Look here, " he said decidedly, "I'm technically wrong, and I know it. But good men told me your measly old drive would hang if it stayed theretwo days longer; and I believed them, and I believe them yet. I don'tclaim to know anything about river-driving, but here your confoundeddrive is well on its way. I kicked that drunk off the river because hewas no good. I took hold here to help you out of a hole, and you'reout. "

"But, " said Welton, carefully, "don't you see that you took chances onlosing me a lot of property?"

Bob looked up at him a moment wearily. 

"From my point of view I have nothing to regret, " said he stiffly, andturned away. 

The humorous lines about Welton's eyes had been deepening throughoutthis interview. 

"That tops it off, " said he. "First you get me into trouble; then youfire my head man; then you run off with my property; finally you tell meto go to hell! Son, you are a great man! Shake!"

Bob whirled in surprise to search Welton's good-natured jolly face. Thelatter was smiling. 

"Shake, " he repeated, relapsing, as was his habit when much in earnest, into his more careless speech; "you done just right. Son, rememberthis:--it's true--it ain't _doing_ things that makes a man so much as_deciding_ things. "

One of his great chuckles bubbled up. 

"It took some nerve to jump in the way you did; and some sand to handlethe flea-bitten bunch of river-hogs----"

"You're mistaken about them, " Bob broke in earnestly. "They've beenmaligned. They're as good and willing a squad as I ever want to see----"

"Oh, sure, " laughed Welton; "they're a nice little job lot of tinangels. However, don't worry. You sure saved the day, for I believe wewould have hung if we hadn't got over the riffles before this last dropof the water. "

He began to laugh, at first, gently, then more and more heartily, untilBob stared at him with considerable curiosity and inquiry. Welton caughthis look. 

"I was just thinking of Harvey and Collins, " he remarked enigmaticallyas he wiped his eyes. "Oh, Bobby, my son, you sure do please me. Only Iwas afraid for a minute it might be a flash in the pan and you weren'tgoing to tell me to go to hell. "

They turned back toward the rear. 

"By the way, " Welton remarked, "you made one bad break just now. "

"What was that?" asked Bob. 

"You told me you were not on the payrolls of this company. You are. "

XVIII

For a year Bob worked hard at all sorts of jobs. He saw the woods work, the river work, the mill work. From the stump to the barges he followedthe timbers. Being naturally of a good intelligence, he learned veryfast how things were done, so that at the end of the time mentioned hehad acquired a fair working knowledge of how affairs were accomplishedin this business he had adopted. That does not mean he had become acapable lumberman. One of the strangest fallacies long prevalent in thepublic mind is that lumbering is always a sure road to wealth. Themargin of profit seems very large. As a matter of fact, the industry isso swiftly conducted, on so large a scale, along such varied lines; theexpenditures must be made so lavishly, and yet so carefully; theconsequences of a niggardly policy are so quickly apparent in decreasedefficiency, and yet the possible leaks are so many, quickly draining themost abundant resources, that few not brought up through a longapprenticeship avoid a loss. A great deal of money has been and is madein timber. A great deal has been lost, simply because, while thepossibilities are alluring, the complexity of the numerous problems isunseen. 

At first Bob saw only the results. You went into the woods with a crewof men, felled trees, cut them into lengths, dragged them to the roadsalready prepared, piled them on sleighs, hauled them to the river, andstacked them there. In the spring you floated the logs to the mill wherethey were sawed into boards, laden into sailing vessels or steam barges, and taken to market. There was the whole process in a nutshell. Ofcourse, there would be details and obstructions to cope with. Butbetween the eighty thousand dollars or so worth of trees standing in theforest and the quarter-million dollars or so they represented at themarket seemed space enough to allow for many reverses. 

As time went on, however, the young man came more justly to realize theminuteness of the bits comprising this complicated mosaic. From keepingmen to the point of returning, in work, the worth of their wages; fromso correlating and arranging that work that all might be busy and notsome waiting for others; up through the anxieties of weather and thesullen or active opposition of natural forces, to the higher levels ofcompetition and contracts, his awakened attention taught him thatlegitimate profits could attend only on vigilant and minute attention, on comprehensive knowledge of detail, on experience, and on naturalgift. The feeding of men abundantly at a small price involved questionsof buying, transportation and forethought, not to speak of concreteknowledge of how much such things should ideally be worth. Tools by thethousand were needed at certain places and at certain times. They mustbe cared for and accounted for. Horses, and their feed, equipment andcare, made another not inconsiderable item both of expense andattention. And so with a thousand and one details which it would besuperfluous to enumerate here. Each cost money, and some one's time. Relaxed attention might make each cost a few pennies more. What do a fewpennies amount to? Two things: a lowering of the standard of efficiency, and, in the long run, many dollars. If incompetence, or inexperienceshould be added to relaxed attention, so that the various activities donot mortise exactly one with another, and the legitimate results to beexpected from the pennies do not arrive, then the sum total is very aptto be failure. Where organized and settled industries, howevercomplicated in detail, are in a manner played by score, these frontieractivities are vast improvisations following only the generalunchangeable laws of commerce. 

Therefore, Bob was very much surprised and not a little dismayed atwhat Mr. Welton had to say to him one evening early in the spring. 

It was in the "van" of Camp Thirty-nine. Over in the corner under thelamp the sealer and bookkeeper was epitomizing the results of his day. Welton and Bob sat close to the round stove in the middle, smoking theirpipes. The three or four bunks belonging to Bob, the scaler, and thecamp boss were dim in another corner; the shelves of goods for tradewith the men occupied a third. A rude door and a pair of tiny windowscommunicated with the world outside. Flickers of light from the cracksin the stove played over the massive logs of the little building, overthe rough floor and the weapons and snowshoes on the wall. Both Bob andWelton were dressed in flannel and kersey, with the heavy German socksand lumberman's rubbers on their feet. Their bright-checked Mackinawjackets lay where they had been flung on the beds. Costume andsurroundings both were a thousand miles from civilization; yetcivilization was knocking at the door. Welton gave expression to thisthought. 

"Two seasons more'll finish us, Bob, " said he. "I've logged the Michiganwoods for thirty-five years, but now I'm about done here. "

"Yes, I guess they're all about done, " agreed Bob. 

"The big men have gone West; lots of the old lumber jacks are out therenow. It's our turn. I suppose you know we've got timber in California?"

"Yes, " said Bob, with a wry grin, as he thought of the columns of"descriptions" he had copied; "I know that. "

"There's about half a billion feet of it. We'll begin to manufacturewhen we get through here. I'm going out next month, as soon as the snowis out of the mountains, to see about the plant and the general lay-out. I'm going to leave you in charge here. "

Bob almost dropped his pipe as his jaws fell apart. 

"Me!" he cried. 

"Yes, you. "

"But I can't; I don't know enough! I'd make a mess of the wholebusiness, " Bob expostulated. 

"You've been around here for a year, " said Welton, "and things arerunning all right. I want somebody to see that things move along, andyou're the one. Are you going to refuse?"

"No; I suppose I can't refuse, " said Bob miserably, and fell silent. 

XIX

To Bob's father Welton expressed himself in somewhat different terms. The two men met at the Auditorium Annex, where they promptly adjournedto the Palm Room and a little table. 

"Now, Jack, " the lumberman replied to his friend's expostulation, "Iknow just as well as you do that the kid isn't capable yet of handling aproposition on his own hook. It's just for that reason that I put him incharge. "

"And Welton isn't an Irish name, either, " murmured Jack Orde. 

"What? Oh, I see. No; and that isn't an Irish bull, either. I put him incharge so he'd have to learn something. He's a good kid, and he'll takehimself dead serious. He'll be deciding everything that comes up all forhimself, and he'll lie awake nights doing it. And all the time thingswill be going on almost like he wasn't there!"

Welton paused to chuckle in his hearty manner. 

"You see, I've brought that crew up in the business. Mason is as good amill man as they make; and Tally's all right in the woods and on theriver; and I reckon it would be difficult to take a nick out of Collinsin office work. "

"In other words, Bob is to hold the ends of the reins while these othermen drive, " said his father, vastly amused. "That's more like it. I'dhate to bury a green man under too much responsibility. "

"No, " denied Welton, "it isn't that exactly. Somebody's got to boss therest of 'em. And Bob certainly is a wonder at getting the men to likehim and to work for him. That's his strong point. He gets on with them, and he isn't afraid to tell 'em when he thinks they're 'sojering' onhim. That makes me think: I wonder what kind of ornaments these waitersare supposed to be. " He rapped sharply on the little table with hispocket-knife. 

"It's up to him, " he went on, after the waiter had departed. "If he'stoo touchy to acknowledge his ignorance on different points that comeup, and if he's too proud to ask questions when he's stumped, why, he'sgoing to get in a lot of trouble. If he's willing to rely on his men forknowledge, and will just see that everybody keeps busy and sees thatthey bunch their hits, why, he'll get on well enough. "

"It takes a pretty wise head to make them bunch their hits, " Ordepointed out, "and a heap of figuring. "

"It'll keep him mighty busy, even at best, " acknowledged Welton, "andhe's going to make some bad breaks. I know that. "

"Bad breaks cost money, " Orde reminded him. 

"So does any education. Even at its worst this can't cost much money. Hecan't wreck things--the organization is too good--he'll just make 'emwobble a little. And this is a mighty small and incidental proposition, while this California lay-out is a big project. No, by my figuring Bobwon't actually do much, but he'll lie awake nights to do a hell of a lotof deciding, and----. "

"Oh, I know, " broke in Orde with a laugh; "you haven't changed an inchin twenty years--and 'it's not doing but deciding that makes a man, '" hequoted. 

"Well, isn't it?" demanded Welton insistently. 

"Of course, " agreed Orde with another laugh. "I was just tickled to seeyou hadn't changed a hair. Now if you'd only moralize on square pegs inround holes, I'd hear again the birds singing in the elms by the dearold churchyard. "

Welton grinned, a trifle shamefacedly. Nevertheless he went on with thedevelopment of his philosophy. 

"Well, " he asserted stoutly, "that's just what Bob was when I got there. He can't handle figures any better than I can, and Collins had beenputting him through a course of sprouts. " He paused and sipped at hisglass. "Of course, if I wasn't absolutely certain of the men under him, it would be a fool proposition. Bob isn't the kind to get onto treacheryor double-dealing very quick. He likes people too well. But as it is, he'll get a lot of training cheap. "

Orde ruminated over this for some time, sipping slowly between puffs athis cigar. 

"Why wouldn't it be better to take him out to California now?" he askedat length. "You'll be building your roads and flumes and railroad, getting your mill up, buying your machinery and all the rest of it. Thatought to be good experience for him--to see the thing right from thebeginning. "

"Bob is going to be a lumberman, and that isn't lumbering; it'sconstruction. Once it's up, it will never have to be done again. TheCalifornia timber will last out Bob's lifetime, and you know it. He'dbetter learn lumbering, which he'll do for the next fifty years, than tobuild a mill, which he'll never have to do again--unless it burns up, "he added as a half-humorous afterthought. 

"Correct, " Orde agreed promptly to this. "You're a wonder. When I founda university with my ill-gotten gains, I'll give you a job as professorof--well, of Common Sense, by jiminy!"

XX

Bob managed to lose some money in his two years of apprenticeship. Thatis to say, the net income from the small operations under his charge wassomewhat less than it would have been under Welton's supervision. Evenat that, the balance sheet showed a profit. This was probably due moreto the perfection of the organization than to any great ability on Bob'spart. Nevertheless, he exercised a real control over the firm'sdestinies, and in one or two instances of sudden crisis threw itsenergies definitely into channels of his own choosing. Especially wasthis true in dealing with the riverman's arch-enemy, the mossback. 

The mossback follows the axe. When the timber is cut, naturally the landremains. Either the company must pay taxes on it, sell it, or allow itto revert to the state. It may be very good land, but it is encumberedwith old slashing, probably much of it needs drainage, a stubbornsecond-growth of scrub oak or red willows has already usurped the soil, and above all it is isolated. Far from the cities, far from therailroad, far even from the crossroad's general store, it is further cutoff by the necessity of traversing atrocious and--in the wetseason--bottomless roads to even the nearest neighbour. Naturally, then, in seeking purchasers for this cut-over land, the Company must addressitself to a certain limited class. For, if a man has money, he will buyhim a cleared farm in a settled country. The mossback pays in penniesand gives a mortgage. Then he addresses himself to clearing the land. Itfollows that he is poverty-stricken, lives frugally and is verytenacious of what property rights he may be able to coax or wring froma hard wilderness. He dwells in a shack, works in a swamp, and sees nofarther than the rail fence he has split out to surround his farm. 

Thus, while he possesses many of the sturdy pioneer virtues, he becomesby necessity the direct antithesis to the riverman. The purchase of abit of harness, a vehicle, a necessary tool or implement is a matter ofclose economy, long figuring, and much work. Interest on the mortgagemust be paid. And what can a backwoods farm produce worth money? Andwhere can it find a market? Very little; and very far. A man must "playclose to his chest" in order to accomplish that plain, primary, simpleduty of making both ends meet. The extreme of this virtue means adefect, of course; it means narrowness of vision, conservatism thatcomes close to suspicion, illiberality. When these qualities meet thesometimes foolishly generous and lavish ideas of men trained in thereckless life of the river, almost inevitably are aroused suspicion onone side, contempt on the other and antagonism on both. 

This is true even in casual and chance intercourse. But when, as oftenhappens, the mossback's farm extends to the very river bank itself; whenthe legal rights of property clash with the vaguer but no less certainrights of custom, then there is room for endless bickering. When theriver boss steps between his men and the backwoods farmer, he must, onthe merits of the case and with due regard to the sort of man he has todeal with, decide at once whether he will persuade, argue, coerce, orfight. It may come to be a definite choice between present delay or afuture lawsuit. 

This kind of decision Bob was most frequently called upon to make. Heknew little about law, but he had a very good feeling for the humanside. Whatever mistakes he made, the series of squabbles nourished hissense of loyalty to the company. His woods training was graduallybringing him to the lumberman's point of view; and the lumberman's pointof view means, primarily, timber and loyalty. 

"By Jove, what a fine bunch of timber!" was his first thought onentering a particularly imposing grove. 

Where another man would catch merely a general effect, his morepractised eye would estimate heights, diameters, the growth of thelimbs, the probable straightness of the grain. His eye almostunconsciously sought the possibilities of location--whether a road couldbe brought in easily, whether the grades could run right. A fine treegave him the complicated pleasure that comes to any expert on analyticalcontemplation of any object. It meant timber, good or bad, as well asbeauty. 

Just so opposition meant antagonism. Bob was naturally of a partisantemperament. He played the game fairly, but he played it hard. Gamesimply rules, and any infraction of the rules is unfair and to bepunished. Bob could not be expected to reflect that while rules aregenerally imposed by a third party on both contestants alike, in thisgame the rules with which he was acquainted had been made by his side;that perhaps the other fellow might have another set of rules. All hesaw was that the antagonists were perpetrating a series of contemptible, petty, mean tricks or a succession of dastardly outrages. His loyaltyand anger were both thoroughly aroused, and he plunged into his littlefights with entire whole-heartedness. As his side of the question meantgetting out the logs, the combination went far toward efficiency. Whenthe drive was down in the spring, Bob looked back on his mossbackcampaign with a little grieved surprise that men could think it worththeir self-respect to try to take such contemptible advantage ofquibbles for the purpose of defeating what was certainly customary andfair, even if it might not be technically legal. What the mossbacksthought about it we can safely leave to the crossroad stores. 

In other respects Bob had the good sense to depend absolutely on hissubordinates. 

"How long do you think it ought to take to cut the rest of Eight?" hewould ask Tally. 

"About two weeks. "

Bob said nothing more, but next day he ruminated long in the snow-stillforest at Eight, trying to apportion in his own mind the twelve days'work. If it did not go at a two weeks' gait, he speedily wanted to knowwhy. 

When the sleighs failed to return up the ice road with expectedregularity, Bob tramped down to the "banks" to see what the trouble was. When he returned, he remarked casually to Jim Tally:

"I fired Powell off the job as foreman, and put in Downy. "

"Why?" asked Tally. "I put Powell in there because I thought he was analmighty good worker. "

"He is, " said Bob; "too good. I found them a little short-handed downthere, and getting discouraged. The sleighs were coming in on themfaster than they could unload. The men couldn't see how they were goingto catch up, so they'd slacked down a little, which made it worse. Powell had his jacket off and was working like the devil with acanthook. He does about the quickest and hardest yank with a canthook Iever saw, " mused Bob. 

"Well?" demanded Tally. 

"Oh, " said Bob, "I told him if that was the kind of a job he wanted, hecould have it. And I told Downy to take charge. I don't pay a foreman'swages for canthook work; I hire him to keep the men busy, and he surecan't do it if he occupies his time and attention rolling logs. "

"He was doing his best to straighten things out, " said Tally. 

"Well, I'm now paying him for his best, " replied Bob, philosophically. 

But if it had been a question of how most quickly to skid the logsbrought in by the sleighs, Bob would never have dreamed of questioningPowell's opinion, although he might later have demanded expertcorroboration from Tally. 

The outdoor life, too, interested him and kept him in training, bothphysically and spiritually. He realized his mistakes, but they were nowmistakes of judgment rather than of mechanical accuracy, and he did notworry over them once they were behind him. 

When Welton returned from California toward the close of the season, hefound the young man buoyant and happy, deeply absorbed, well liked, andin a fair way to learn something about the business. 

Almost immediately after his return, the mill was closed down. Theremaining lumber in the yards was shipped out as rapidly as possible. Bythe end of September the work was over. 

Bob perforce accepted a vacation of some months while affairs were inpreparation for the westward exodus. 

Then he answered a summons to meet Mr. Welton at the Chicago offices. 

He entered the little outer office he had left so down-heartedly threeyears before. Harvey and his two assistants sat on the high stools infront of the shelf-like desk. The same pictures of record loads, largetrees, mill crews and logging camps hung on the walls. The sameatmosphere of peace and immemorial quiet brooded over the place. Throughthe half-open door Bob could see Mr. Fox, his leg swung over the arm ofhis revolving chair, chatting in a leisurely fashion with some visitor. 

No one had heard him enter. He stood for a moment staring at the threebent backs before him. He remembered the infinite details of the work hehad left, the purchasings of innumerable little things, the regulationof outlays, the balancings of expenditures, the constantly shiftingproperty values, the cost of tools, food, implements, wages, machinery, transportation, operation. And in addition he brought to mind the minuteand vexatious mortgage and sale and rental business having to do withthe old cut-over lands; the legal complications; the questions ofarbitration and privilege. And beyond that his mind glimpsed dimly theextent of other interests, concerning which he knew little--investmentinterests, and silent interests in various manufacturing enterpriseswhere the Company had occasionally invested a surplus by way of a flyer. In this quiet place all these things were correlated, compared, docketed, and filed away. In the brains of the four men before him allthese infinite details were laid out in order. He knew that Harvey couldanswer specific questions as to any feature of any one of theseactivities. All the turmoil, the rush and roar of the river, the mills, the open lakes, the great wildernesses passed through this silent, dustyroom. The problems that kept a dozen men busy in the solving came herealso, together with a hundred others. Bob recalled his sight of thehurried, wholesale shipping clerk he had admired when, discouraged anddiscredited, he had left the office three years before. He had thoughtthat individual busy, and had contrasted his activity with thesomnolence of this office. Busy! Why, he, Bob, had over and over againbeen ten times as busy. At the thought he chuckled aloud. Harvey and hisassistants turned to the sound. 

"Hullo, Harvey; hullo Archie!" cried the young man. "I'm certainly gladto see you. You're the only men I ever saw who could be really bang-uprushed and never show it. "

PART TWO

I

On a wintry and blustering evening in the latter part of February, 1902, Welton and Bob boarded the Union Pacific train en route for California. They distributed their hand baggage, then promptly took their wayforward to the buffet car, where they disposed themselves in theleather-and-wicker armchairs for a smoke. At this time of year thetravel had fallen off somewhat in volume. The westward tourist rush hadslackened, and the train was occupied only by those who had definitebusiness in the Land of Promise, and by that class of wise ones whorealize that an Eastern March and April are more to be avoided than theregulation winter months. The smoking car contained then but ahalf-dozen men. 

Welton and Bob took their places and lit their cigars. The train swayedgently along, its rattle muffled by the storm. Polished black squaresrepresented the windows across which drifted hazy lights and ghostlikesuggestions of snowflakes. Bob watched this ebony nothingness in greatidleness of spirit. Presently one of the half-dozen men arose from hisplace, walked the length of the car, and dropped into the next chair. 

"You're Bob Orde, aren't you?" he remarked without preliminary. 

Bob looked up. He saw before him a very heavy-set young man, of mediumheight, possessed of a full moon of a face, and alert brown eyes. 

"I thought so, " went on this young man in answer to Bob's assent. "I'mBaker of '93. You wouldn't know me; I was before your time. But I knowyou. Seen you play. Headed for the Sunshine and Flowers?"

"Yes, " said Bob. 

"Ever been there before?"

"No. "

"Great country! If you listen to all the come-on stuff you may bedisappointed--at first. "

"How's that?" asked Bob, highly amused. "Isn't the place what it'scracked up to be?"

"It's more, " asserted Baker, "but not the same stuff. The climate'sbully--best little old climate they've made, up to date--but it's got torain once in a while; and the wind's got to blow; and all that. If youbelieve the Weather in the Old Home column, you'll be sore. In two yearsyou'll be sore, anyway, whenever it does anything but stand 55 at night, 72 at noon and shine like the spotlight on the illustrated songster. Ifa Californian sees a little white cloud about as big as a toy balloondown in the southeast corner he gets morose as a badger. If it starts todrizzle what you'd call a light fog he holes up. When it rains hehibernates like a bear, and the streets look like one of these populousand thriving Aztec metropoli you see down Sonora way. I guess every manis privileged to get just about so sore on the weather wherever heis--and does so. "

"You been out there long?" asked Bob. 

"Ever since I graduated, " returned Baker promptly, "and I wouldn't liveanywhere else. They're doing real things. Don't you run away with anynotions of _dolce far nientes_ or tropical languor. This California gangis strictly on the job. The bunch seated under the spreading banana treearen't waiting for the ripe fruit to drop in their mouths. That's in theFirst Reader and maybe somewhere down among the Black and Tans--"

"Black and Tans?" interrupted Bob with a note of query. 

"Yep. Oilers--greasers--Mexicans--hidalgos of all kinds from here to theequator, " explained Baker. "No, sir, that gang under the banana tree areeither waiting there to sandbag the next tourist and sell him some realestate before he comes to, or else they're figuring on uprooting saidpiffling shrub and putting up an office building. Which part of thecountry are you going to?"

"Near White Oaks, " said Bob. 

"No abalone shells for yours, eh?" remarked Baker cryptically. Heglanced at Welton. "Where's your timber located?" he asked. 

"Near Granite, " replied Bob;--"why, how the devil did you know we wereout for timber?"

"'How did the Master Mind solve that problem?'" asked Baker. "Ah, that'smy secret!"

"No, that doesn't go, " said Bob. "I insist on knowing; and what was thatabalone shell remark?"

"Abalone shells--tourists, " capitulated Baker; "also Mexican drawn work, bead belts, burned leather, fake turquoise and ostrich eggs. Sabe?"

"Sure. But why not a tourist?"

"Tourist--in White Oaks!" cried Baker. "Son, White Oaks raises raisinsand peaches and apricots and figs and such things in quantities tostagger you. It is a nice, well-built city, and well conducted, and fullof real estate boards and chambers of commerce. But it is not framed upfor tourists, and it knows it. Not at 100 degrees Fahrenheit 'most allsummer, and a chill and solemn land fog 'most all winter. "

"Well, why timber?" demanded Bob. 

"My dear Watson, " said Baker, indicating Mr. Welton, who grinned. "Doesyour side partner resemble a raisin raiser? Has he the ear marks of agentle agriculturist? Would you describe him as a typical sheepman, oras a daring and resolute bee-keeper?"

Bob shook his head, still unconvinced. 

"Well, if you will uncover my dark methods, " sighed Baker. He leanedover and deftly abstracted from the breast pocket of Bob's coat a long, narrow document. "You see the top of this stuck out in plain sight. Tothe intelligent eye instructed beyond the second grade of our excellentschool system the inscription cannot be mistaken. " He held it around forBob to see. In plain typing the document was endorsed as follows:

"Granite County Timber Lands. "

"My methods are very subtle, " said Baker, laughing. "I find it difficultto explain them. Come around sometime and I'll pick it out for you onthe piano. "

"Where are you going?" asked Bob in his turn. 

"Los Angeles, on business. "

"On business?--or just buying abalone shells?"

"It takes a millionaire or an Iowa farmer to be a tourist, " repliedBaker. 

"What are you doing?"

"Supporting an extravagant wife, I tell Mrs. Baker. You want to get downthat way. The town's a marvel. It's grown from thirty thousand to twohundred thousand in twenty years; it has enough real estate subdivisionsto accommodate eight million; it has invented the come-on house built bythe real estate agents to show how building is looking up atLonesomehurst; it has two thousand kinds of architecture--all different;it has more good stuff and more fake stuff than any place on earth--it'sa wonder. Come on down and I'll show you the high buildings. "

He chatted for a few moments, then rose abruptly and disappeared downthe aisle toward the sleeping cars without the formality of a farewell. 

Welton had been listening amusedly, and puffing away at his cigar insilence. 

"Well, " said he when Baker had gone. "How do you like your friend?"

"He's certainly amusing, " laughed Bob, "and mighty good company. Thatsort of a fellow is lots of fun. I've seen them many times coming backat initiation or Commencement. They are great heroes to the kids. "

"But not to any one else?" inquired Welton. 

"Well--that's about it, " Bob hesitated. "They're awfully good fellows, and see the joke, and jolly things up; but they somehow don't amount tomuch. "

"Wouldn't think much of the scheme of trying Baker as woods foreman upin our timber, then?" suggested Welton. 

"Him? Lord, no!" said Bob, surprised. 

Welton threw back his head and laughed heartily, in great salvos. 

"Ho! ho! ho!" he shouted. "Oh, Bobby, I wish any old Native Son could behere to enjoy this joke with me. Ho! ho! ho! ho!"

The coloured porter stuck his head in to see what this tremendousrolling noise might be, grinned sympathetically, and withdrew. 

"What's the matter with you!" cried Bob, exasperated. "Shut up, and besensible. "

Welton wiped his eyes. 

"That, son, is Carleton P. Baker. Just say Carleton P. Baker to aCalifornian. "

"Well, I can't, for four days, anyway. Who is he?"

"Didn't find out from him, for all his talk, did you?" said Weltonshrewdly. "Well, Baker, as he told you, graduated from college in '93. He came to California with about two thousand dollars of capital and noexperience. He had the sense to go in for water rights, and here he is!"

"Marvellous!" cried Bob sarcastically. "But what is he now that he ishere?"

"Head of three of the biggest power projects in California, " said Weltonimpressively, "and controller of more potential water power than anyother man or corporation in the state. "

Welton enjoyed his joke hugely. After Bob had turned in, the big manparted the curtains to his berth. 

"Oh, Bob, " he called guardedly. 

"What!" grunted the young man, half-asleep. 

"Who do you think we'd better get for woods foreman just _in case_Baker shouldn't take the job?"

II

All next day the train puffed over the snow-blown plains. There waslittle in the prospect, save an inspiration to thankfulness that thecars were warm and comfortable. Bob and Welton spent the morning goingover their plans for the new country. After lunch, which in the mannerof trans-continental travellers they stretched over as long a period aspossible, they again repaired to the smoking car. Baker hailed themjovially, waving a stubby forefinger at vacant seats. 

"Say, do Populists grow whiskers, or do whiskers make Populists?" hedemanded. 

"Give it up, " replied Welton promptly. "Why?"

"Because if whiskers make Populists, I don't blame this state for goingPop. A fellow'd have to grow some kind of natural chest protector inself-defence. Look at that snow! And thirty dollars will take you outwhere there's none of it, and the soil's better, and you can seesomething around you besides fresh air. Why, any one of these poorpinhead farmers could come out our way, get twenty acres of irrigatedland, and in five years--"

"Hold on!" cried Bob, "you haven't by any chance some of that realestate for sale--or a sandbag?"

Baker laughed. 

"Everybody gets that way, " said he. "I'll bet the first five men youmeet will fill you up on statistics. "

He knew the country well, and pointed out in turn the first low rises ofthe prairie swell, and the distant Rockies like a faint blue and whitecloud close down along the horizon. Bob had never seen any realmountains before, and so was much interested. The train laboured up thegrades, steep to the engine, but insignificant to the eye; it passedthrough the caņons to the broad central plateau. The country was brokenand strange, with its wide, free sweeps, its sage brush, its stuntedtrees, but it was not mountainous as Bob had conceived mountains. Bakergrinned at him. 

"Snowclad peaks not up to specifications?" he inquired. "Chromos muchbetter? Mountain grandeur somewhat on the blink? Where'd you expect themto put a railroad--out where the scenery is? Never mind. Wait till youslide off 'Cape Horn' into California. "

The cold weather followed them to the top of the Sierras. Snow, dullclouds, mists and cold enveloped the train. Miles of snowshedsnecessitated keeping the artificial light burning even at midday. Winterheld them in its grip. 

Then one morning they rounded the bold corner of a high mountain. Farbelow them dropped away the lesser peaks, down a breathless descent. Andfrom beneath, so distant as to draw over themselves a tender veil ofpearl gray, flowed out foothills and green plains. The engine coughed, shut off the roar of her exhaust. The train glided silently forward. 

"Now come to the rear platform, " Baker advised. 

They sat in the open air while the train rushed downward. From the greatdrifts they ran to the soft, melting snow, then to the mud and freshnessof early spring. Small boys crowded early wild-flowers on them wheneverthey stopped at the small towns built on the red clay. The air becameindescribably soft and balmy, full of a gentle caress. At the nextstation the children brought oranges. A little farther the foothillranches began to show the brightness of flowers. The most dilapidatedhovel was glorified by splendid sprays of red roses big as cabbages. Dooryards of the tiniest shacks blazed with red and yellow. Trees andplants new to Bob's experience and strangely and delightfully exotic insuggestion began to usurp the landscape. To the far Northerner, broughtup in only a common-school knowledge of olive trees, palms, eucalyptus, oranges, banana trees, pomegranates and the ordinary semi-tropicalfruits, there is something delightful and wonderful in the first sightof them living and flourishing in the open. When closer investigationreveals a whole series of which he probably does not remember ever tohave heard, he feels indeed an explorer in a new and wonderful land. After a few months these things become old stories. They take theirplaces in his cosmos as accustomed things. He is then at some pains tounderstand his visitor's extravagant interest and delight over loquats, chiramoyas, alligator pears, tamarinds, guavas, the blooming of centuryplants, the fruits of chollas and the like. Baker pointed out some ofthese things to Bob. 

"Winter to summer in two jumps and a hop, " said he. "The come-on stuffrings the bell in this respect, anyway. Smell the air: it's real air. 'Listen to the mocking bird. '"

"Seriously or figuratively?" asked Bob. "I mean, is that a real mockingbird?"

"Surest thing you know, " replied Baker as the train moved on, leavingthe songster to his ecstasies. "They sing all night out here. Soundsfine when you haven't a grouch. Then you want to collect a brick anddrive the darn fowl off the reservation. "

"I never saw one before outside a cage, " said Bob. 

"There's lots of things you haven't seen that you're going to see, nowyou've got out to the Real Thing, " said Baker. "Why, right in your ownline: you don't know what big pine is. Wait till you see the woods outhere. We've got the biggest trees, and the biggest mountains, and thebiggest crops and the biggest--. "

"Liars, " broke in Bob, laughing. "Don't forget them. "

"Yes, the biggest liars, too, " agreed Baker. "A man's got to lie big outhere to keep in practice so he can tell the plain truth withoutstraining himself. "

Before they changed cars to the Valley line, Baker had a suggestion tomake. 

"Look here, " said he, "why _don't_ you come and look at the tallbuildings? You can't do anything in the mountains yet, and when you getgoing you'll be too busy to see California. Come, make a pasear. Glad toshow you the sights. Get reckless. Take a chance. Peruse carefully yourcopy of Rules for Rubes and try it on. "

"Go ahead, " said Welton, unexpectedly. 

III

Bob went on to Los Angeles with the sprightly Baker. At first glance thecity seemed to him like any other. Then, as he wandered its streets, themarvel and vigour and humour of the place seized on him. 

"Don't you suppose I see the joke?" complained Baker at the end of oneof their long trolley rides. "Just get onto that house; it looks like amission-style switch engine. And the one next to it, built to shed snow. Funny! sure it's funny. But you ain't talking to me! It's alive! Thosefellows wanted something different from anybody else--so does everybody. After they'd used up the regular styles, they had to make 'em up out ofthe fresh air. But anyway, they weren't satisfied just to copy SiGolosh's idea of a Noah's Ark chicken coop. "

They stopped opposite very elaborate and impressive iron gates openingacross a graded street. These gates were supported by a pair of stonetowers crowned with tiles. A smaller pair of towers and gates guardedthe concrete sidewalk. As a matter of fact, all these barriers enclosednothing, for even in the remote possibility that the inquiring visitorshould find them shut, an insignificant detour would circumvent theirfenceless flanks. 

"Maudsley Court, " Bob read sculptured on one of the towers. 

"That makes this particular subdivision mighty exclusive, " grinnedBaker. "Now if you were a homeseeker wouldn't you love to bring yourdinner pail back to the cawstle every night?"

Bob peered down the single street. It was graded, guttered andsidewalked. A small sentry box labelled "office, " and inscribed withglowing eulogiums, occupied a strategic position near the gates. Fromthis house Bob immediately became aware of close scrutiny by a man halfconcealed by the indoor dimness. 

"The spider, " said Baker. "He's onto us big as a house. He can spot ayap at four hundred yards' range, and you bet they don't get much nearerthan that alone. "

A huge sign shrieked of Maudsley Court. "Get a grin!" was its firstadvice. 

"They all try for a catchword--every one of 'em, " explained Baker. "You'll see all kinds in the ads; some pretty good, most of 'em rotten. "

"They seem to have made a start, anyway, " observed Bob, indicating a newcottage half way down the street. It was a super-artistic structure, exhibiting the ends of huge brown beams at all points. Baker laughed. 

"That's what it's intended to seem, " said he. "That's the come-on house. It's built by the spider. It's stick-um for the flies. 'This is going tobe a high-brow proposition, ' says the intending purchaser; 'look at thebeautiful house already up. I must join this young and thriving colony. 'Hence this settled look. "

He waved his hand abroad. Dotted over the low, rounded hills of thecharming landscapes were new and modern bungalows. They were spacedwidely, and each was flanked by an advertising board and guarded by apair of gates shutting their private thoroughfares from the countryhighways. Between them showed green the new crops. 

"Nine out of ten come-on houses, " said Baker, "and all exclusive. If youcan't afford iron gates, you can at least put up a pair of shingledpillars. It's the game. "

"Will these lots ever be sold?" asked Bob. 

"Out here, yes, " replied Baker. "That's part of the joke. The methodsare on the blink, but the goods insist on delivering themselves. Most ofthese fellows are just bunks or optimists. All hands are surprised whenthings turn out right. But if _all_ the lots are ever sold, Los Angeleswill have a population of five million. "

They boarded an inward-bound trolley. Bob read the devices as theyflashed past. "Hill-top Acres, " he read near a street plastered againstan apparently perpendicular hill. "Buy before the rise!" advised thisman's rival at its foot. The true suburbs strung by in a panorama ofstrange little houses--imitation Swiss chalets jostling bastard Moorish, cobblestones elbowing plaster--a bewildering succession of forcedeffects. Baker caught Bob's expression. 

"These are workingmen's and small clerks' houses, " he said quietly. "Pretty bad, eh? But they're trying. Remember what they lived in backEast. "

Bob recalled the square, painted, ugly, featureless boxes built allafter the same pattern of dreariness. He looked on this gay bewildermentof bad taste with more interest. 

"At least they're taking notice, " said Baker, lighting his pipe. "Andevery fellow raises _some_ kind of posies. "

A few moments later they plunged into the vortex of the city and thesmiling country, the far plains toward the sea, and the circle of themountains were lost. Only remained overhead the blue of the Californiasky. 

Baker led the way toward a blaring basement restaurant. 

"I'm beginning to feel that I'll have to find some monkey-foodsomewhere, or cash in, " said he. 

They found a table and sat down. 

"This is the place to see all the sights, " proffered Baker, his broadface radiating satisfaction. "When they strike it rich on the desert, they hike right in here. That fat lady thug yonder is worth betweenthree and four millions. Eight months ago she did washing at two bits ashirt while her husband drove a one-man prospect shaft. The other dayshe blew into the big jewelry store and wanted a thirty-thousand-dollardiamond necklace. The boss rolled over twice and wagged his tail. 'Yes, madam, ' said he; 'what kind?' 'I dunno; just a thirty-thousand-dollarone. ' That's all he could get out of her. 'But tell me how you want 'emset, ' he begged. She looked bewildered. _'Oh, set 'em so they'lljingle, '_ says she. "

After the meal they walked down the principal streets, watching thecrowd. It was a large crowd, as though at busy midday, and variouslyapparelled, from fur coat to straw hat. Each extreme of costume seemedjustified, either by the balmy summer-night effect of the Californiaopen air, or by the hint of chill that crept from the distant mountains. Either aspect could be welcomed or ignored by a very slight effort ofthe will. Electric signs blazed everywhere. Bob was struck by thenumbers of clairvoyants, palm readers, Hindu frauds, crazy cults, fakehealers, Chinese doctors, and the like thus lavishly advertised. Theclass that elsewhere is pressed by necessity to the inexpensivedinginess of back streets, here blossomed forth in truly tropicalluxuriance. Street vendors with all sorts of things, from mechanicaltoys to spot eradicators, spread their portable lay-outs at everycorner. Vacant lots were crowded with spielers of all sorts--religiousor political fanatics, vendors of cure-alls, of universal tools, ofmarvelous axle grease, of anything and everything to catch the idledollar. Brilliantly lighted shops called the passer-by to contemplatethe latest wavemotor, flying machine, door check, or what-not. Stock inthese enterprises was for sale--and was being sold! Other sidewalkbooths, like those ordinarily used as dispensaries of hot doughnuts andcoffee, offered wild-cat mining shares, oil stock and real estate insome highly speculative suburb. Great stores of curios lay open to thetourist trade. Here one could buy sheepskin Indian moccasins made inMassachusetts, or abalone shells, or burnt-leather pillows, or a wholecollection of photographic views so minute that they could all be packedin a single walnut shell. Next door were shops of Japanese and Chinesegoods presided over by suave, sleepy-eyed Orientals, in wonderfulbrocade, wearing the close cap with the red coral button atop. Shootinggalleries spit spitefully. Gasolene torches flared. 

Baker strolled along, his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back ofhis head. From time to time he cast an amused glance at his companion. 

"Come in here, " he said abruptly. 

Bob found himself comfortably seated in a commodious open-air theatre, watching an excellent vaudeville performance. He enjoyed it thoroughly, for it was above the average. In fifteen minutes, however, the lastsoubrette disappeared in the wings to the accompaniment of a swirl ofmusic. Her place was taken by a tall, facetious-looking, baldindividual, clad in a loose frock coat. He held up his hand for silence. 

"Ladies 'n' gentlemen, " he drawled, "we hope you have enjoyedyourselves. If you find a better show than this in any theatre in town, barring the Orpheum, come and tell us about it and we will see what wecan do to brace ours up. I don't believe you can. This show will berepeated every afternoon and evening, with complete change of programmetwice a week. Go away and tell your friends about the great free showdown on Spring Street. Just tell them about it. "

Bob glanced startled at his companion. Baker was grinning. 

"This show has cost us up to date, " went on the leisurely drawl, "justtwenty-eight hundred dollars. Go and tell your friends that. _But_"--hesuddenly straightened his figure and his voice became moreincisive--"that is not enough. We have decided to give you something_real_ to talk about. We have decided to give every man, woman and childin this vast audience a first-night present of Two Silver Dollars!"

Bob could feel an electric thrill run through the crowd, and every onesat up a little straighter in his chair. 

"Let me see, " the orator went on, running his eye over the audience. Hehad resumed his quieter manner. "There are perhaps seven hundred peoplepresent. That would make fourteen hundred dollars. By the way, John, "he addressed some one briskly. "Close the gates and lock them. We don'twant anybody in on this who didn't have interest enough in our show tocome in the first place. " He winked humorously at the crowd, and severallaughed. 

"Pretty rotten, eh?" whispered Baker admiringly. "Fixed 'em so theywon't bolt when the show's over and before he works off his dope. "

"These Two Silver Dollars, which I want you all to get, are in thesehampers. Six little boys will distribute them. Come up, boys, and geteach a hatful of dollars. " The six solemnly marched up on the stage andbusied themselves with the hampers. "While we are waiting, " went on theorator, "I will seize the opportunity to present to you the world-fameddiscoverer of that wonderful anaesthetic, Oxodyne, Painless Porter. "

At the words a dapper little man in immaculately correct evening dress, and carrying a crush hat under his arm, stepped briskly from the wings. He was greeted by wild but presumably manufactured applause. He bowedrigidly from the hips, and at once began to speak in a high and nasalbut extremely penetrating voice. 

"As far as advertising is concerned, " he began without preamble, "it isentirely unnecessary that I give this show. There is no man, woman orchild in this marvellous commonwealth of ours who is not familiar withthe name of Painless Porter, whether from the daily papers, theadvertising boards, the street cars, or the elegant red brougham inwhich I traverse your streets. My work for you is my best advertisement. It is unnecessary from that point of view that I spend this money forthis show, or that this extra money should be distributed among you bymy colleague, Wizard Walker, the Medical Marvel of Modern Times. "

The tall man paused from his business with the hampers and the six boysto bow in acknowledgment. 

"No, ladies 'n' gentlemen, my purpose is higher. In the breast of eachhuman being is implanted an instinctive fear of Pain. It sits on us likea nightmare, from the time we first come to consciousness of oursurroundings. It is a curse of humanity, like drink, and he who canlighten that curse is as much of a philanthropist as George W. Childs orAndrew Carnegie. I want you to go away and talk about me. It don'tmatter what you say, just so you say something. You can call me quack, you may call me fakir, you may call me charlatan--but be sure to call meSOMETHING! Then slowly the news will spread abroad that Pain isbanished, and I can smile in peace, knowing that my vast expenditures oftime and money have not been in vain, and that I have been a benefit tohumanity. Wizard Walker, the Medical Marvel of Modern Times, will nowattend to the distribution, after which I will pull a few teeth gratisin order to demonstrate to you the wonderful merits of Oxodyne. "

"A dentist!" gasped Bob. 

"Yup, " said Baker. "Not much gasoline-torch-on-the-back-lot in his, isthere?"

Bob was hardly surprised, after much preamble and heightening ofsuspense, to find that the Two Silver Dollars turned out finally to be apink ticket and a blue ticket, "good respectively at the luxuriousoffices for one dollar's worth of dental and medical attention FREE. "

Nor was he more than slightly astounded when the back drop rose to showthe stage set glitteringly with nickel-mounted dentist chairs and theirappurtenances, with shining glass, white linen, and with a chorus offascinating damsels dressed as trained nurses and standing rigidly atattention. Then entered Painless himself, in snowy shirt-sleeves andserious professional preoccupation. Volunteers came up two by two. Painless explained obscurely the scientific principles on which themarvelous Oxodyne worked--by severing temporarily but entirely allcommunication between the nerves and the brain. Then much business witha very glittering syringe. 

"My lord, " chuckled Baker, "if he fills that thing up, it'll drownher!"

In an impressive silence Painless flourished the forceps, plantedhimself square in front of his patient, heaved a moment, andtriumphantly held up in full view an undoubted tooth. The trained nursesoffered rinses. After a moment the patient, a roughly dressed countrywoman, arose to her feet. She was smiling broadly, and said something, which the audience could not hear. Painless smiled indulgently. 

"Speak up so they can all hear you, " he encouraged her. 

"Never hurt a bit, " the woman stammered. 

Three more operations were conducted as expeditiously and assuccessfully. The audience was evidently impressed. 

"How does he do it?" whispered Bob. 

"Cappers, " explained Baker briefly. "He only fakes pulling a tooth. Watch him next time and you'll see that he doesn't actually pull anounce. "

"Suppose a real toothache comes up?"

"I think that is one now. Watch him. "

A young ranchman was making his way up the steps that led to the stage. His skin was tanned by long exposure to the California sun, and hischeek rounded into an unmistakable swelling. 

"No fake about him, " commented Baker. 

He seated himself in the chair. Painless examined his jaw carefully. Hestarted back, both hands spread in expostulation. 

"My _dear_ friend!" he cried, "you can save that tooth! It would be acrime to pull that tooth! Come to my office at ten to-morrow morning andI will see what can be done. " He turned to the audience and for tenminutes expounded the doctrine of modern dentistry as it stands forsaving a tooth whenever possible. Incidentally he had much to say as tohis skill in filling and bridge work and the marvellous painlessnessthereof. The meeting broke up finally to the inspiring strains of areally good band. Bob and his friend, standing near the door, watchedthe audience file out. Some threw away their pink and blue tickets, butmost stowed them carefully away. 

"And every one that goes to the 'luxurious offices' for the freedollar's worth will leave ten round iron ones, " said Baker. 

After a moment the Painless One and the Wizard marched smartly out, serenely oblivious of the crowd. They stepped into a resplendent redbrougham and were whisked rapidly away. 

"It pays to advertise, " quoted Baker philosophically. 

They moved on up the street. 

"There's the inventor of the Unlimited Life, " said Baker suddenly, indicating a slender figure approaching. "I haven't seen him in threeyears--not since he got into this graft, anyway. "

"Unlimited Life, " echoed Bob, "what's that? A medicine?"

"No. A cult. Hullo, Sunny!"

The approaching figure swerved and stopped. Bob saw a very slenderfigure clad in a close-fitting, gray frock suit. To his surprise, frombeneath the wide, black felt hat there peered at him the keenly nervousface of the more intelligent mulatto. The man's eyes were very brightand shrewd. His hair surrounded his face as an aureole of darkness, andswept low to his coat collar. 

"Mr. Baker, " he said, simply, his eyes inscrutable. 

"Well, Sunny, this is my old friend Bob Orde. Bob, this is theworld-famous Sunny Larue, apostle of the Unlimited Life of whom you'veheard so much. " He winked at Bob. "How's the Colony flourishing, Sunny?"

"More and more our people are growing to see the light, " said themulatto in low, musical tones. "The mighty but simple principles ofAzamud are coming into their own. The poor and lowly, the humble andoppressed are learning that in me is their salvation--. " He went on inhis beautiful voice explaining the Colony of the Unlimited Life, addressing always Bob directly and paying little attention to Baker, whostood aside, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his fat, good-naturedface. It seemed that the Colony lived in tents in a caņon of thefoothills. It paid Larue fifty dollars a head, and in return wassupported for six months and instructed in the mysteries of the cult. Ithad its regimen. "At three we arise and break our fast, quite simply, with three or four dry prunes, " breathed Larue, "and then, going forthto the high places for one hour, we hold steadfast the thought of Love. "

"Say, Sunny, " broke in Baker, "how many you got rounded up now?"

"There are at present twenty-one earnest proselytes. "

"At fifty a head--and you've got to feed and keep 'em somehow--eventhree dried prunes cost you something in the long run"--ruminated Baker. He turned briskly to the mulatto: "Sunny, on the dead, where does thegraft come in?"

The mulatto drew himself up in swift offence, scrutinized Bob closelyfor a moment, met Baker's grin. Abruptly his impressive manner droppedfrom him. He leaned toward them with a captivating flash of white teeth. 

"_You just leave that to me_, " he murmured, and glided away into thecrowd. 

Baker laughed and drew Bob's arm within his own. 

"Out of twenty of the faithful there's sure to be one or two with lifesavings stowed away in a sock, and Sunny's the boy to make them producethe sock. "

"What's his cult, anyway?" asked Bob. "I mean, what do they pretend tobelieve? I couldn't make out. "

"A nigger's idea of Buddhism, " replied Baker briefly. "But you can getany brand of psychic damfoolishness you think you need in your business. They do it all, here, from going barefoot, eating nuts, swilling oliveoil, rolling down hill, adoring the Limitless Whichness, and all theworks. It is now, " he concluded, looking at his watch, "about teno'clock. We will finish the evening by dropping in on the Fuzzies. "

Together they boarded a street car, which shortly deposited them at anuptown corner. Large houses and spacious grounds indicated a district ofsome wealth. To one of these houses, brilliantly lighted, Baker directedhis steps. 

"But I don't know these people, and I'm not properly dressed, " objectedBob. 

"They know me. And as for dress, if you'd arrange to wear a chastefeather duster only, you'd make a hit. "

A roomful of people were buzzing like a hive. Most were in conventionalevening dress. Here and there, however, Bob caught hints of masculinelong hair, of feminine psyche knots, bandeaux and other extremelyartistic but unusual departures. One man with his dinner jacket wore asoft linen shirt perforated by a Mexican drawn-work pattern beneathwhich glowed a bright red silk undergarment. Women's gowns on theflowing and Grecian order were not uncommon. These were usually coupledwith the incongruity of parted hair brought low and madonna-wise overthe ears. As the two entered, a very powerful blond man was justfinishing the declamation of a French poem. He was addressing itdirectly at two women seated on a sofa. 

"_Un r-r-reve d'amour!_"

He concluded with much passion and clasped hands. 

In the rustle ensuing after this effort, Baker led his friend down theroom to a very fat woman upholstered in pink satin, to whom heintroduced Bob. Mrs. Annis, for such proved to be her name, welcomed himeffusively. 

"I've heard so much about you!" she cried vivaciously, to Bob's vastastonishment. She tapped him on the arm with her fan. "I'm going to makea confession to you; I know it may be foolish, but I do like music somuch better than I do pictures. "

Bob, his brain whirling, muttered something. 

"But I'm going to confess to you again, I like artists so much betterthan I do musicians. "

A light dawned on Bob. "But I'm not an artist nor a musician, " heblurted out. 

The pink-upholstered lady, starting back with an agility remarkable inone of her size, clasped her hands. 

"Don't _tell_ me you write!" she cried dramatically. 

"All right, I won't, " protested poor Bob, "for I don't. "

A slow expression of bewilderment overspread Mrs. Annis's face, and sheglanced toward Baker with an arched brow of interrogation. 

"I merely wanted Mr. Orde to meet you, Mrs. Annis, " he saidimpressively, "and to feel that another time, when he is less exhaustedby the strain of a long day, he may have the privilege of explaining toyou the details of the great Psychic Movement he is inaugurating. "

Mrs. Annis smiled on him graciously. "I am home every Sunday to my_intimes_, " she murmured. "I should be so pleased. "

Bob bowed mechanically. 

"You infernal idiot!" he ground out savagely to Baker, as they movedaway. "What do you mean? I'll punch your fool head when I get you out ofhere!"

But the plump young man merely smiled. 

Halfway down the room a group of attractive-looking young men hailedthem. 

"Join in, Baker, " said they. "Bring your friend along. We're just goingto raid the commissary. "

But Baker shook his head. 

"I'm showing him life, " he replied. "None but Fuzzies in his to-night!"

He grasped Bob firmly by the arm and led him away. 

"That, " he said, indicating a very pale young man, surrounded by women, "is Pickering, the celebrated submarine painter. "

"The what?" demanded Bob. 

"Submarine painter. He paints fish and green water and lobsters, and thebottom of the sea generally. He paints them on the skins of kind-facedlittle calves. "

"What does he do that for?"

"He says it's the only surface that will express what he wants to. Hehas also invented a waterproof paint that he can use under water. He hasa coral throne down on the bottom which he sits in, and paints as longas he can hold his breath. "

"Oh, he does!" said Bob. 

"Yes, " said Baker. 

"But a man can't see three feet in front of his face under water!" criedBob. 

"Pickering says he can. He paints submarinescapes, and knows all thefishes. He says fishes have individual expressions. He claims he cantell by a fish's expression whether he is polygamous or monogamous. "

"Do you mean to tell me anybody swallows that rot!" demanded Bobindignantly. 

"The women do--and a lot more I can't remember. The market forcalf-skins with green swirls on them is booming. Also the women clubbedtogether and gave him money enough to build a house. "

Bob surveyed the little white-faced man with a strong expression ofdisgust. 

"The natural man never sits in chairs, " the artist was expounding. "Whenhumanity shall have come into its own we shall assume the graceful andhygienic postures of the oriental peoples. In society one must, to acertain extent, follow convention, but in my own house, the HouseBeautiful of my dreams, are no chairs. And even now a small group of thefreer spirits are following my example. In time----"

"If you don't take me away, I'll run in circles!" whispered Bob fiercelyto his friend. 

They escaped into the open air. 

"Phew!" said Bob, straightening his long form. "Is that what you callthe good society here?"

"Good society is there, " amended Baker. "That's the joke. There are lotsof nice people in this little old town, people who lisp our languagefluently. They are all mixed in with the Fuzzies. "

They decided to walk home. Bob marvelled at the impressive andsubstantial buildings, at the atrocious streets. He spoke of thebeautiful method of illuminating one of the thoroughfares--by globes oflight gracefully supported in clusters on branched arms either side theroadway. 

"They were originally bronze--and they went and painted them a mail-boxgreen, " commented Baker drily. 

At the hotel the night clerk, a young man, quietly dressed and with anengaging air, greeted them with just the right amount of cordiality ashe handed them their keys. Bob paused to look about him. 

"This is a good hotel, " he remarked. 

"It's one of the best-managed, the best-conducted, and thebest-appointed hotels in the United States, " said Baker with conviction. 

The next morning Bob bought all the papers and glanced through them withconsiderable wonder and amusement. They were decidedly metropolitan insize, and carried a tremendous amount of advertising. Early in hisperusal he caught the personal bias of the news. Without distortion tothe point of literal inaccuracy, nevertheless by skilful use ofheadlines and by manipulation of the point of view, all items were madeto subserve a purpose. In local affairs the most vulgar nicknaming, themost savage irony, vituperation, scorn and contempt were poured out fullmeasure on certain individuals unpopular with the papers. Such epithetsas "lickspittle, " "toad, " "carcass blown with the putrefying gas of itsown importance, " were read in the body of narration. 

"These are the best-edited, most influential and powerful journals inthe West, " commented Baker. "They possess an influence inconceivable toan Easterner. "

The advertising columns were filled to bursting with advertisements ofpatent medicines, sex remedies, quack doctors, miraculous healers, clairvoyants, palm readers, "philanthropists" with something "free" tobestow, cleverly worded offers of abortion; with full-page prospectusesof mines; of mushroom industrial concerns having to do with wave motors, water motors, solar motors, patent couplers, improved telephones and thelike, all of whose stock now stood at $1. 10, but which on April 10th, at8. 02 P. M. , would go up to $1. 15; with blaring, shrieking offers of realestate in this, that or the other addition, consisting, as Bob knew fromyesterday, of farm acreage at front-foot figures. The proportion of thisfake advertising was astounding. One in particular seemed incredible--afull page of the exponent of some Oriental method of healing andprophecy. 

"Of course, a full-page costs money, " replied Baker. "But this is theplace to get it. " He pushed back his chair. "Well, what do you think ofour fair young city?" he grinned. 

"It's got me going, " admitted Bob. 

"Took me some time to find out where to get off at, " said Baker. "When Ifound it out, I didn't dare tell anybody. They mob you here and stringyou up by your pigtail, if you try to hint that this isn't the one bestbet on terrestrial habitations. They like their little place, and theybelieve in it a whole lot, and they're dead right about it! They'd standright up on their hind legs and paw the atmosphere if anybody were totell them what they really are, but it's a fact. Same joyous slambang, same line of sharps hanging on the outskirts, same row, racket, and joyin life, same struggle; yes, and by golly! the same big hopes and bigenterprises and big optimism and big energies! Wouldn't you like to behelping them do it?"

"What's the answer?" asked Bob, amused. 

"Well, for all its big buildings and its electric lights, and trolleys, and police and size, it's nothing more nor less than a frontier town. "

"A frontier town!" echoed Bob. 

"You think it over, " said Baker. 

IV

But if Bob imagined for one moment that he had acquired even a notion ofCalifornia in his experiences and observations down the San Joaquin andin Los Angeles, the next few stages of his Sentimental Journey very soonundeceived him. Baker's business interests soon took him away. Bob, armed with letters of introduction from his friend, visited in turn suchplaces as Santa Barbara, Riverside, San Diego, Redlands and Pasadena. Hecould not but be struck by the absolute differences that existed, notonly in the physical aspects but in the spirit and aims of the peoples. If these communities had been separated by thousands of miles ofdistance they could not have been more unlike. 

At one place he found the semi-tropical luxuriance of flowers and treesand fruits, the soft, warm sunshine, the tepid, langourous, musicalnights, the mellow haze of romance over mountain and velvet hill andsoft sea, the low-shaded cottages, the leisurely attractive people oneassociates with the story-book conception of California. The place wascharming in its surroundings and in its graces of life, but it was acheerful, happy, out-at-the-heels, raggedy little town, whose brightgardens adorned its abyssmal streets, whose beautiful mountainspalliated the naiveté of its natural and atrocious roads. Bob mingledwith its people with the pardonable amusement of a man fresh from thedoing of big things. There seemed to be such long, grave and futilediscussions over the undertaking of that which a more energeticcommunity would do as a matter of course in the day's work. Theliveryman from whom Bob hired his saddle horse proved to be a person ofa leisurely and sardonic humour. 

"Their chief asset here is tourists, " said he. "That's the leadingindustry. They can't see it, and they don't want to. They have just oneroad through the county. It's a bum one. You'd think it was a dozen, tohear them talk about the immense undertaking of making it halfwaydecent. Any other place would do these things they've been talking aboutfor ten years just on the side, as part of the get-ready. Lucky theydidn't have to do anything in the way of getting those mountains setproper, or there'd be a hole there yet. "

"Why don't you go East?" asked Bob. 

"I did once. Didn't like it. "

"What's the matter?"

"Well, I'll tell you. Back East when you don't do nothing, you feel kindof guilty. Out here when you don't do nothing, _you don't give a damn!_"

Nevertheless, Bob was very sorry when he had to leave this quiet andbeautiful little town, with its happy, careless, charming people. 

Thence he went directly to a town built in a half-circle of themountains. The sunshine here was warm and grateful, but when its rayswere withdrawn a stinging chill crept down from the snow. No sitting outon the verandah after dinner, but often a most grateful fire in theClub's fireplace. The mornings were crisp and enlivening. And again bythe middle of the day the soft California warmth laid the land under itsspell. 

This was a place of orange-growers, young fellows from the East. ItsUniversity Club was large and prosperous. Its streets were wide. Flowerslined the curbs. There were few fences. The houses were in good taste. Even the telephone poles were painted green so as to be unobtrusive. Bobthought it one of the most attractive places he had ever seen, as indeedit should be, for it was built practically to order by people ofintelligence. 

Thence he drove through miles and miles of orange groves, so large thatthe numerous workmen go about their work on bicycles. Even here in thecountry, the roadsides were planted with palms and other ornamentaltrees, and gay with flowers. Abruptly he came upon a squalid village ofthe old regime, with ugly frame houses, littered streets, saggingsidewalks foul with puddles, old tin cans, rubbish; populous withchildren and women in back-yard dressing sacks--a distressing reminderof the worst from the older-established countries. And again, at the endof the week, he most unexpectedly found himself seated on a country-clubverandah, having a very good time, indeed, with some charming specimensof the idle rich. He talked polo, golf, tennis and horses; he dined atseveral most elaborate "cottages"; he rode forth on glossy, bang-tailedhorses, perfectly appointed; he drove in marvellously conceived traps incompany with most engaging damsels. When, finally, he reached LosAngeles again he carried with him, as standing for California, not eventhe heterogeneous but fairly coherent idea one usually gains of a singlecommonwealth, but an impression of many climes and many peoples. 

"Yes, " said Baker, "and if you'd gone North to where I live, you'd havestruck a different layout entirely. "

V

There remained in Bob's initial Southern California experience one moreepisode that brought him an acquaintance, apparently casual, but whichlater was to influence him. 

Of an afternoon he walked up Main Street idly and alone. The exhibit ofa real estate office attracted him. Over the door, in place of a sign, hung a huge stretched canvas depicting not too rudely a widecountry-side dotted with model farms of astounding prosperity. Thewindow was filled with pumpkins, apples, oranges, sheaves of wheat, bottles full of soft fruits preserved in alcohol, and the like. Asbackground was an oil painting in which the Lucky Lands occupied aspacious pervading foreground, while in clever perspectives the CoastRange, the foothills, and the other cities of the San Fernando Valleysupplied a modest setting. This was usual enough. 

At the door stood a very alert man with glasses. He scrutinized closelyevery passerby. Occasionally he hailed one or the other, conversedearnestly a brief instant, and passed them inside. Gradually it dawnedon Bob that this man was acting in the capacity of "barker"--that withquite admirable perspicacity and accuracy, he was engaged in selectingfrom the countless throngs the few possible purchasers for Lucky Lands. Curious to see what attraction was offered to induce this unanimity ofacquiescence to the barker's invitation, the young man approached. 

"What's going on?" he asked. 

The barker appraised him with one sweeping glance. 

"Stereopticon lecture inside, " he snapped, and turned his back. 

Bob made his way into a dimly lighted hall. At one end was a slightlyelevated platform above which the white screen was suspended. Moreagricultural products supplied the decorations. The body of the hall wasfilled with folding chairs, about half of which were occupied. Perhaps adozen attendants tiptoed here and there. A successful attempt waseverywhere made to endow with high importance all the proceedings andappurtenances of the Lucky Land Co. 

Bob slipped into a chair. Immediately a small pasteboard ticket and afountain pen were thrust into his hand. 

"Sign your name and address on this, " the man whispered. 

Bob held it up, the better to see what it was. 

"All these tickets are placed in a hat, " explained the man, "and one isdrawn. The lucky ticket gets a free ride to Lucky on one of our weeklyhomeseekers' excursions. Others pay one fare for round trip. "

"I see, " said Bob, signing, "and in return you get the names andaddresses of every one here. "

He glanced up at his interlocutor with a quizzical expression thatchanged at once to one of puzzlement. Where had he seen the man before?He was, perhaps, fifty-five years old, tall and slender, slightlystooped, slightly awry. His lean gray face was deeply lined, hisclose-clipped moustache and hair were gray, and his eyes twinkled behindhis glasses with a cold gray light. Something about these glasses struckfaintly a chord of memory in Bob's experience, but he could not catchits modulations. The man, on his side, stared at Bob a trifleuncertainly. Then he held the card up to the dim light. 

"You are interested in Lucky Lands--Mr. John Smith, of Reno?" he asked, stooping low to be heard. 

"Sure!" grinned Bob. 

The man said nothing more, but glided away, and in a moment the flare oflight on the screen announced that the lecture was to begin. 

The lecturer, was a glib, self-possessed youth, filled to the brim withstatistics, with which he literally overwhelmed his auditors. Hisremarks were accompanied by a rapid-fire snapping of fingers to the timeof which the operator changed his slides. A bewildering succession ofcoloured views flashed on the screen. They showed Lucky in all itsglories--the blacksmith shop, the main street, the new hotel, thegrocery, Brown's walnut ranch, the ditch, the Southern Pacific Depot, the Methodist Church and a hundred others. So quickly did they succeedeach other that no one had time to reduce to the terms of experience thescenes depicted on these slides--for with the glamour of exaggeratedcolour, of unaccustomed presentation, and of skillful posing the mostcommonplace village street seems wonderful and attractive for themoment. The lecturer concluded by an alarming statement as to therapidity with which this desirable ranching property was being snappedup. He urged early decisions as the only safe course; and, as usual withall real estate men, called attention to the contrast between theRiverside of twenty years ago and the Riverside of to-day. 

The daylight was then admitted. 

"Now, gentlemen, " concluded the lecturer, still in his brisk, time-saving style, "the weekly excursion to Lucky will take placeto-morrow. One fare both ways to homeseekers. Free carriages to theLands. Grand free open-air lunch under the spreading sycamores and bythe babbling brook. Train leaves at seven-thirty. "

In full sight of all he threw the packet of tickets into a hat and drewone. 

"Mr. John Smith, of Reno, " he read. "Who is Mr. Smith?"

"Here, " said Bob. 

"Would you like to go to Lucky to-morrow?"

"Sure, " said Bob. 

One of the attendants immediately handed Bob a railroad ticket. Thelecturer had already disappeared. 

To his surprise Bob found the street door locked. 

"This way, " urged one of the salesmen. "You go out this way. "

He and the rest of the audience were passed out another door in therear, where they were forced to go through the main offices of theCompany. Here were stationed the gray man and all his youngerassistants. Bob paused by the door. He could not but admire the acumenof the barker in selecting his men. The audience was made up of just thetype of those who come to California with agricultural desires and a fewhundred dollars--slow plodders from Eastern farms, Italians with savingsand ambitions, half invalids--all the element that crowds the touristsleepers day in and day out, the people who are filling the odd cornersof the greater valleys. As these debouched into the glare of the outeroffices, they hesitated, making up their slow minds which way to turn. In that instant or so the gray man, like a captain, assigned hissalesmen. The latter were of all sorts--fat and joking, thin and veryserious-minded, intense, enthusiastic, cold and haughty. The gray mansized up his prospective customers and to each assigned a salesman tosuit. Bob had no means of guessing how accurate these estimates mightbe, but they were evidently made intelligently, with some systemcompounded of theory or experience. After a moment Bob became consciousthat he himself was being sharply scrutinized by the gray man, and inreturn watched covertly. He saw the gray man shake his head slightly. Bob passed out the door unaccosted by any of the salesmen. 

At half-past seven the following morning he boarded the local train. Inone car he found a score of "prospects" already seated, accompanied byhalf their number of the young men of the real estate office. The utmostjocularity and humour prevailed, except in one corner where a veryearnest young man drove home the points of his argument with animpressive forefinger. Bob dropped unobtrusively into a seat, andprepared to enjoy his never-failing interest in the California landscapewith its changing wonderful mountains; its alternations of sage brushand wide cultivation; its vineyards as far as the eye could distinguishthe vines; its grainfields seeming to fill the whole cup of the valleys;its orchards wide as forests; and its desert stretches, bigger than themall, awaiting but the vivifying touch of water to burst intoproductiveness. He heard one of the salesmen expressing this. 

"'Water is King, '" he was saying, quoting thus the catchword of thisparticular concern. He was talking in a half-joking way, asking one orthe other how many inches of rainfall could be expected per annum backwhere they came from. 

"Don't know, do you?" he answered himself. "Nobody pays any great andparticular amount of attention to that--you get water enough, except inexceptional years. Out here it's different. Every one knows to thehundredth of an inch just how much rain has fallen, and how much oughtto have fallen. It's vital. Water is King. "

He gathered close the attention of his auditors. 

"We have the water in California, " he went on; "but it isn't always inthe right place nor does it come at the right time. You can't grow cropsin the high mountains where most of the precipitation occurs. But youcan bring that water down to the plains. That's your answer:irrigation. "

He looked from one to the other. Several nodded. 

"But a man can't irrigate by himself. He can't build reservoirs, ditchesall alone. That's where a concern like the Lucky Company makes good. We've brought the water to where you can use it. Under the influence ofcultivation that apparently worthless land can produce--" he went on atgreat length detailing statistics of production. Even to Bob, who had novital nor practical interest, it was all most novel and convincing. 

So absorbed did he become that he was somewhat startled when a man satdown beside him. He looked, up to meet the steel gray eyes andglittering glasses of the chief. Again there swept over him a sense offamiliarity, the feeling that somewhere, at some time, he had met thisman before. It passed almost as quickly as it came, but left himpuzzled. 

"Of course your name is not Smith, nor do you come from Reno, " said theman in gray abruptly. "I've seen you somewhere before, but I can't placeyou. Are you a newspaperman?"

"I've been thinking the same of you, " returned Bob. "No, I'm just plaintourist. "

"I don't imagine you're particularly interested in Lucky, " said the grayman. "Why did you come?"

"Just idleness and curiosity, " replied Bob frankly. 

"Of course we try to get the most value in return for our expenditureson these excursions by taking men who are at least interested in thecountry, " suggested the gray man. 

"By Jove, I never thought of that!" cried Bob. "Of course, I'd nobusiness to take that free ticket. I'll pay you my fare. "

The gray man had been scrutinizing him intensely and keenly. At Bob'scomically contrite expression, his own face cleared. 

"No, you misunderstand me, " he replied in his crisp fashion. "We givethese excursions as an advertisement of what we have. The more people toknow about Lucky, the better our chances. We made an offer of which youhave taken advantage. You're perfectly welcome, and I hope you'll enjoyyourself. Here, Selwyn, " he called to one of the salesman, "this isMr. --what did you say your name is?"

"Orde, " replied Bob. 

The gray man seemed for an almost imperceptible instant to stiffen inhis seat. The gray eyes glazed over; the gray lined face froze. 

"Orde, " he repeated harshly; "where from?"

"Michigan, " Bob replied. 

The gray man rose stiffly. "Well, Selwyn, " said he, "this is Mr. Orde--of Michigan--and I want you to show him around. "

He moved down the aisle to take a seat, distant, but facing the twoyoung men. Bob felt himself the object of a furtive but minute scrutinywhich lasted until the train slowed down at the outskirts of Lucky. 

Selwyn proved to be an agreeable young man, keen-faced, clean-cut, fullof energy and enthusiasm. He soon discovered that Bob did notcontemplate going into ranching, and at once admitted that young man tohis confidence. 

"You just nail a seat in that surrey over there, while I chase out mytwo 'prospects. ' We sell on commission and I've got to rustle. "

They drove out of the sleepy little village on which had been graftedshowy samples of the Company's progress. The day was beautiful withsunshine, with the mellow calls of meadow larks, with warmth and sweetodours. As the surrey took its zigzag way through the brush, as thequail paced away to right and left, as the delicate aroma of the sagerose to his nostrils, Bob began to be very glad he had come. Here andthere the brush had been cleared, small shacks built, fences of wirestrung, and the land ploughed over. At such places the surrey pausedwhile Selwyn held forth to his two stolid "prospects" on how long thesenewcomers had been there and how well they were getting on. The countryrose in a gradual slope to the slate-blue mountains. Ditches ran hereand there. Everywhere were small square stakes painted white, indicatingthe boundaries of tracts yet unsold. 

They visited the reservoir, which looked to Bob uncommonly like a muddyduck pond, but whose value Selwyn soon made very clear. They wanderedthrough the Chiquito ranch, whence came the exhibition fruit and otherproducts, and which formed the basis of most Lucky arguments. The ownerhad taken many medals for his fruit, and had spent twenty-five years inmaking the Chiquito a model. 

"Any man can do likewise in this land of promise, " said Selwyn. 

They ended finally in a beautiful little caņon among the foothills. Itwas grown thick with twisted, mottled sycamores just budding into leaf, with vines and greenery of the luxurious California varieties. Birdssang everywhere and a brook babbled and bubbled down a stony bed. 

Under the largest of the sycamores a tent had been pitched and a tablespread. Affairs seemed to be in charge of a very competent countrywomanwhose fuzzy horse and ramshackle buggy stood securely tethered below. The surries drove up and deposited their burdens. Bob took his place attable to be served with an abundant, hot and well-cooked meal. 

The ice had been broken. Everybody laughed and joked. Some of the menremoved their coats in order to be more comfortable. The young salesmenhad laboured successfully to bring these strangers to a feeling ofpartnership in at least the aims of the Company, of partisanship againstthe claims of other less-favoured valleys than Lucky. During a pause inthe fun, one of the "prospects, " an elderly, white-whiskered farmer ofthe more prosperous type, nodded toward the brook. 

"That sounds good, " said he. 

"It's the supply for the Lucky Lands, " replied Selwyn. "It ought tosound good. "

"There's mighty few flowing creeks in California this far out from themountains, " interposed another salesman. "You know out here, except inthe rainy season, the rivers all flow bottom-up. "

They all guffawed at this ancient and mild joke. The old farmer waggedhis head. 

"Water is King, " said he solemnly, as though voicing an original andprofound thought. 

A look of satisfaction overspread the countenance of the particularsalesman who had the old farmer in charge. When you can get your"prospect" to adopt your catchword and enunciate it with conviction, heis yours!

After the meal Bob, unnoticed, wandered off up the caņon. He hadascertained that the excursionists would not leave the spot for twohours yet, and he welcomed the chance for exercise. Accordingly he sethimself to follow the creek, the one stream of pure and limpid waterthat did not flow bottom-up. At first this was easy enough, but after awhile the caņon narrowed, and Bob found himself compelled to clamberover rocks and boulders, to push his way through thickets of brush andclinging vines, finally even to scale a precipitous and tangled sidehill over which the stream fell in a series of waterfalls. Once pastthis obstruction, however, the country widened again. Bob stood in thebed of a broad, flat wash flanked by low hills. Before him, and stillsome miles distant, rose the mountains in which the stream found itssource. 

Bob stood still for a moment, his hat in his hand, enjoying the tepidodours, the warm sun and the calls of innumerable birds. Then he becameaware of a faint and intermittent throb--_put-put_ (pause) _put_(pause), _put-put-put!_

"Gasoline engine, " said he to himself. 

He tramped a few hundred yards up the dry wash, rounded a bend, and cameto a small wooden shack from which emanated the sound of the gasexplosions. A steady stream of water gushed from a pump operated by thegasoline engine. Above, the stream bed was dry. Here was the origin ofthe "beautiful mountain stream. "

Chair-tilted in front of the shack sat a man smoking a pipe. He lookedup as Bob approached. 

"Hullo, " said he; "show over?"

He disappeared inside and shut off the gasoline engine. Immediately theflow ceased; the stream dried up as though scorched. Presently the manemerged, thrusting his hands into the armholes of an old coat. Shruggingthe garment into place, he snapped shut the padlock on the door. 

"Come on, " said he. "My rig's over behind that grease-wood. You're anew one, ain't ye?"

Bob nodded. 

"That horse is branded pretty thick, " he said by way of diversion. 

The man chuckled. 

"Have to turn his skin other side out to get another one on, " he agreed. 

They drove down an old dim road that avoided the difficulties of thecaņon. At camp they found the surries just loading up. Bob took hisplace. Before the rigs started back, the gray man, catching sight of thepump man, drew him aside and said several things very vigorously. Thepump man answered with some indignation, pointing finally to Bob. Instantly the gray man whirled to inspect the young fellow. Then he shota last remark, turned and climbed grumpily into his vehicle. 

At the station Bob tried to draw Selwyn aside for a conversation. 

"I'll be with you when the train starts, old man, " replied Selwyn, "butI've got to stick close to these prospects. There's a gang of knockershanging around here always, just waiting for a chance to lip in. "

When the train started, however, Selwyn came back to drop into Bob'sseat with a wearied sigh. 

"Gosh! I get sick of handing out dope to these yaps, " said he. "I wasafraid for a while it was going to blow. Looked like it. "

"What of it?" asked Bob. 

"When it blows up here, it'd lift the feathers off a chicken and thechicken off the earth, " explained Selwyn. "I've seen more than one goodprospect ruined by a bad day. "

"How'd you come out?" inquired Bob. 

"Got one. He handed over his first payment on the spot. Funny how theseyahoos almost always bring their cash right with 'em. Other's no good. Iget so I can spot that kind the first three words. They're always tooblame enthusiastic about the country and the Company. Seems like theytry to pay for their entertainment by jollying us along. Don't fool meany. When a man begins to object to things, you know he's thinking ofbuying. "

Bob listened to this wisdom with some amusement. "How'd you explain whenthe stream stopped?" he asked. 

"Why, " said Selwyn, looking straight ahead, "didn't you hear Mr. Oldham?They turned the water into the Upper Ditch to irrigate the FoothillTracts. "

Bob laughed. "You're not much of a liar, Selwyn, " he said pleasantly. "Failure of gasoline would hit it nearer. "

"Oh, that's where you went, " said Selwyn. "I ought to have kept my eyeon you closer. "

He fell silent, and Bob eyed him speculatively. He liked the youngfellow's clear, frank cast of countenance. 

"Look here, Selwyn, " he broke out, "do you like this bunco game?"

"I don't like the methods, " replied Selwyn promptly; "but you aremistaken when you think it's a bunco game. The land is good; there'splenty of artesian water to be had; and we don't sell at a fancy price. We've located over eight hundred families up there at Lucky Lands, andthree out of four are making good. The fourth simply hadn't the capitalto hold out until returns came in. It's as good a small-ranchproposition as they could find. If I didn't think so, I wouldn't be init for a minute. "

"How about that stream?"

"Nobody said the stream was a natural one. And the water exists, nomatter where it comes from. You can't impress an Eastern farmer with apump proposition: that's a matter of education. They come to see itsvalue after they've tried it. "

"But your--". 

"I told you I didn't like the methods. I won't have anything to do withthe dirty work, and Oldham knows it. "

"Why all the bluff, then?" asked Bob. 

"There are thousands of real estate firms in Los Angeles trying to sellmillions of acres, " said Selwyn, "and this is about the only concernthat succeeds in colonizing on a large scale. Oldham developed thissystem, and it seems to work. "

"The law'll get him some day. "

"I think not, " replied Selwyn. "You may find him close to the edge ofthe law, but he never steps over. He's a mighty bright business man, andhe's made a heap of money. "

When nearing the Arcade depot, Oldham himself stepped forward. 

"Stopping in California long?" he asked, with some approach togeniality. 

"Permanently, I think, " replied Bob. 

"You are going to manufacture your timber?"

Bob looked up astonished. 

"You're the Orde interested in Granite County timber, aren't you?"

"I'm employed by Welton, that's all, " said Bob. "He owns the timber. Buthow did you know I am with Welton?" he asked. 

"With Welton!" echoed Oldham. "Oh, yes--well, I heard from Michiganbusiness acquaintances you were with him. Welton's lands are in GraniteCounty?"

"Yes, " said Bob. 

"Well, " said Oldham vaguely, "I hope you have enjoyed your littleouting. " He turned away. 

"Now, how the deuce should anybody know about me, or that I am withWelton, or take the trouble to write about it?"

He mulled over this for some time. For lack of a better reason, heascribed to his former football prominence the fact that Oldham'sMichigan correspondent had thought him worth mention. Yet that seemedabsurdly inadequate. 

PART THREE

I

Two weeks later a light buckboard bearing Welton and Bob dashed in theearly morning across the plains, wormed its way ingeniously through gapsin the foothills, and slowed to a walk as it felt the grades of thefirst long low slopes. The air was warm with the sun imprisoned in thepockets of the hills. High chaparral, scrub oaks, and scattered, unkemptdigger pines threw their thicket up to the very right of way. It was ingeneral dense, almost impenetrable, yet it had a way of breakingunexpectedly into spacious parks, into broad natural pastures, intobold, rocky points prophetic of the mountains yet to come. Every once ina while the road drew one side to pause at a cabin nestling among fruittrees, bowered beneath vines, bright with the most vivid of the commonerflowers. They were crazily picturesque with their rough stone chimneys, their roofs of shakes, their broad low verandahs, and their split-picketfences. On these verandahs sat patriarchal-looking men with sweepingwhite beards, who smoked pipes and gazed across with dim eyes toward thedistant blue mountains. When Welton, casually and by the way, mentionedtopographical names, Bob realized to what placid and contentedretirement these men had turned, and who they were. Nugget Creek, FlourGold, Bear Gulch--these spoke of the strong, red-shirted Argonauts ofthe El Dorado. Among these scarred but peaceful foothills had beenplayed and applauded the great, wonderful, sordid, inspired drama of theearly days, the traces of which had almost vanished from the land. 

Occasionally also the buckboard paused for water at a more pretentiousplace set in a natural opening. There a low, rambling, white ranch-housebeneath trees was segregated by a picket fence enclosing blossoms like abasket. At a greater or lesser distance were corrals of all sizesarranged in a complicated pattern. They resembled a huge puzzle. Thebarns were large; a forge stood under an open shed indescribablylittered with scrap iron and fragments of all sorts; saddles hungsuspended by the horn or one stirrup; bright milk pails sunned bottom-upon fence posts; a dozen horses cropped in a small enclosed pasture ordozed beneath one or another of the magnificent and spreading live-oaktrees. Children of all sizes and states of repair clambered to the fencetops or gazed solemnly between the rails. Sometimes women stood in thedoorways to nod cheerfully at the travellers. They seemed to Bob acomely, healthy-looking lot, competent and good-natured. Beyond anoccasional small field and an invariable kitchen garden there appearedto be no evidences of cultivation. Around the edges of the naturalopening stretched immediately the open jungle of the chaparral or thepark-like forests of oaks. 

"These are the typical mountain people of California, " said Welton. "It's only taken us a few hours to come up this far, but we've struckamong a different breed of cats. They're born, live and die in thehills, and they might as well be a thousand miles away as forty orfifty. As soon as the snow is out, they hike for the big mountains. "

"What do they do?" inquired Bob. 

"Cattle, " replied Welton. "Nothing else. "

"I haven't seen any men. "

"No, and you won't, except the old ones. They've taken their cattle backto the summer ranges in the high mountains. By and by the women and kidswill go into the summer camps with the horses. "

On a steep and narrow grade they encountered a girl of twenty riding aspirited pinto. She bestrode a cowboy's stock saddle on which was coiledthe usual rope, wore a broad felt hat, and smiled at the two men quitefrankly in spite of the fact that she wore no habit and had beencompelled to arrange her light calico skirts as best she could. Thepinto threw his head and snorted, dancing sideways at sight of thebuckboard. So occupied was he with the strange vehicle that he paidscant attention to the edge of the road. Bob saw that the passage alongthe narrow outside strip was going to be precarious. He prepared todescend, but at that moment the girl faced her pony squarely at the edgeof the road, dug her little heels into his flanks, and flicked himsharply with the _morale_ or elongated lash of the reins. Withouthesitation the pony stepped off the grade, bunched his hoofs and sliddown the precipitous slope. So steep was the hill that a man would havehad to climb it on all fours. 

Bob gasped and rose to his feet. The pony, leaving a long furrow in theside of the mountain, caught himself on the narrow ledge of a cattletrail, turned to the left, and disappeared at a little fox trot. 

Bob looked at this companion. Welton laughed. 

"There's hardly a woman in the country that doesn't help round up stock. How'd you like to chase a cow full speed over this country, hey?"

As they progressed, mounting slowly, but steadily, the character of thecountry changed. The caņons through which flowed the streams becamedeeper and more precipitous; the divides between them higher. At onepoint where the road emerged on a bold, clear point, Bob looked back tothe shimmering plain, and was astonished to see how high they hadclimbed. To the eastward and only a few miles distant rose the dark massof a pine-covered ridge, austere and solemn, the first rampart of theSierras. Welton pointed to it with his whip. 

"There's our timber, " said he simply. 

A little farther along the buckboard drew rein at the top of a longdeclivity that led down to a broad wooded valley. Among the trees Bobcaught a glimpse of the roofs of scattered houses, and the gleam of ariver. From the opposite edge of the valley rose the mountain-ridge, sheer and noble. The light of afternoon tinted it with lilac and purple. 

"That's the celebrated town of Sycamore Flats, " said Welton. "Just atpresent we're the most important citizens. This fellow here's the firstyellow pine on the road. "

Bob looked upon what he then considered a rather large tree. Later hechanged his mind. The buckboard rattled down the grade, swung over abridge, and so into the little town. Welton drew up at a low, broadstructure set back from the street among some trees. 

"We'll tackle the mountain to-morrow, " said he. 

Bob descended with a distinct feeling of pleasure at being able to usehis legs again. He and Welton and the baggage and everything about thebuckboard were powdered thick with the fine, white California dust. Atevery movement he shook loose a choking cloud. Welton's face was a dullgray, ludicrously streaked, and he suspected himself of being in thesame predicament. A boy took the horses, and the travellers entered thepicketed enclosure. Welton lifted up his great rumbling voice. 

"O Auntie Belle!" he roared. 

Within the dark depths of the house life stirred. In a moment a capableand motherly woman had taken them in charge. Amid a rapid-fire ofgreetings, solicitudes, jokes, questions, commands and admonitions Bobwas dusted vigorously and led to ice-cold water and clean towels. Tenminutes later, much refreshed, he stood on the low verandah looking outwith pleasure on the little there was to see. Eight dogs squattedthemselves in front of him, ears slightly uplifted, in expectancy ofsomething Bob could not guess. Probably the dogs could not guess either. Within the house two or three young girls were moving about, singing andclattering dishes in a delightfully promising manner. Down the windinghill, for Sycamore Flats proved after all to be built irregularly on aslope, he could make out several other scattered houses, each with itsdooryard, and the larger structures of several stores. Over all loomedthe dark mountain. The sun had just dropped below the ridge down whichthe road had led them, but still shone clear and golden as an overlay ofcolour laid against the sombre pines on the higher slopes. 

After an excellent chicken supper, Bob lit his pipe and wandered downthe street. The larger structures, three in number, now turned out to bea store and two saloons. A dozen saddle horses dozed patiently. On theplatform outside the store a dozen Indian women dressed in bright calicohuddled beneath their shawls. After squatting thus in brute immobilityfor a half-hour, one of them would purchase a few pounds of flour or ahalf-pound of tea. Then she would take her place again with the others. At the end of another half-hour another, moved by some sudden andmysterious impulse, would in turn make her purchases. The interior ofthe store proved to be no different from the general country storeanywhere. The proprietor was very busy and occupied and important andinterested in selling a two-dollar bill of goods to a chance prospector, which was well, for this was the storekeeper's whole life, and he had indefence of his soul to make his occupations filling. Bob bought a cigarand went out. 

Next he looked in at one of the saloons. It was an ill-smelling, cheapbox, whose sole ornaments were advertising lithographs. Four men playedcards. They hardly glanced at the newcomer. Bob deciphered ForestReserve badges on three of them. 

As he emerged from this joint, his eyes a trifle dazzled by the light, he made out drawn up next the elevated platform a buckboard containing asingle man. As his pupils contracted he distinguished such details as awiry, smart little team, a man so fat as almost to fill the seat, amoon-like, good-natured face, a vest open to disclose a vast whiteshirt, "Hullo!" the stranger rumbled in a great voice. "Any of my boysin there?"

"Don't believe I know your boys, " replied Bob pleasantly. 

The fat man heaved his bulk forward to peer at Bob. 

"Consarn your hide!" he roared with the utmost good humour; "stand outof the light so I can see your fool face. You lie like a hound!Everybody knows my boys!"

There was no offence in the words. 

Bob laughed and obligingly stepped one side the lighted doorway. 

"A towerist!" wheezed the fat man. "Say, you're too early. Nothing doingin the mountains yet. Who sent you this early, anyway?"

"No tourist; permanent inhabitant, " said Bob. "I'm with Welton. "

"Timber, by God!" exploded the fat man. "Well, you and I are like tohave friendly doings. Your road goes through us, and you got to toe themark, young fellow, let me tell you! I'm a hell of a hard man to get onwith!"

"You look it, " said Bob. "You own some timber?"

The fat man exploded again. 

"Hell, no!" he roared. "Why, you don't even know me, do you? I'm Plant, Henry Plant. I'm Forest Supervisor. "

"My name's Orde, " said Bob. "If you're after Forest Rangers, there'sthree in there. "

"The rascals!" cried Plant. He raised his voice to a bellow. "Oh, youJim!"

The door was darkened. 

"Say, Jim, " said Plant. "They tell me there's a fire over Stone Creekway. Somebody's got to take a look at it. You and Joe better ride overin the morning and see what she looks like. "

The man stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "Oh, hell!" said hewith deep feeling. "Ain't you got any of those suckers that _like_ toride? I've had a headache for three days. "

"Yes, it's hard luck you got to do anything, ain't it, " said Plant. "Well, I'll see if I can find old John, and if you don't hear from me, you got to go. "

The Supervisor gathered up his reins and was about to proceed when downthrough the fading twilight rode a singular figure. It was a thin, wiry, tall man, with a face like tanned leather, a clear, blue eye and adrooping white moustache. He wore a flopping old felt hat, a fadedcotton shirt and an ancient pair of copper-riveted blue-jeans overallstucked into a pair of cowboy's boots. A time-discoloured cartridge beltencircled his hips, supporting a holster from which protruded the shinybutt of an old-fashioned Colt's 45. But if the man was thus nondescriptand shabby, his mount and its caparisons were magnificent. The horse wasa glossy, clean-limbed sorrel with a quick, intelligent eye. The bridlewas of braided rawhide, the broad spade-bit heavily inlaid with silver, the reins of braided and knotted rawhide. Across the animal's brow ranthree plates of silver linked together. Below its ears were wide silver_conchas_. The saddle was carved elaborately, and likewise ornamentedwith silver. The whole outfit shone--new-polished and well kept. 

"Oh, you John!" called Plant. 

The old man moved his left hand slightly. The proud-stepping sorrelinstantly turned to the left, and, on a signal Bob could notdistinguish, stopped to statue-like immobility. Then Bob could see theForest Ranger badge pinned to one strap of the old man's suspender. 

"John, " said Plant, "they tell me there's a fire over at Stone Creek. Ride over and see what it amounts to. "

"All right, " replied the Ranger. "What help do I get?"

"Oh, you just ride over and see what it amounts to, " repeated Plant. 

"I can't do nothing alone fighting fire. "

"Well I can't spare anybody now, " said Plant, "and it may not amount tonothing. You go see. "

"All right, " said John. "But if it does amount to something, it'll getan awful start on us. "

He rode away. 

"Old California John, " said Plant to Bob with a slight laugh. "Crazy oldfool. " He raised his voice. "Oh, you Jim! John, he's going to ride over. You needn't go. "

Bob nodded a good night, and walked back up the street. At the store hefound the sorrel horse standing untethered in the road. He stopped toexamine more closely the very ornate outfit. California John came outcarrying a grain sack half full of provisions. This he proceeded to tieon behind the saddle, paying no attention to the young man. 

"Well, Star, you got a long ways to go, " muttered the old man. 

"You aren't going over those mountains to-night, are you?" cried Bob. 

The old man turned quite deliberately and inspected his questioner in amanner to imply that he had committed an indiscretion. But the answerwas in a tone that implied he had not. 

"Certain sure, " he replied. "The only way to handle a fire is to stickto it like death to a dead nigger. "

Bob returned to the hotel very thoughtful. There he found Mr. Weltonseated comfortably on the verandah, his feet up and a cigar alight. 

"This is pretty good medicine, " he called to Bob. "Get your feet up, youlong-legged stork, and enjoy yourself. Been exploring?"

"Listening to the band on the plaza, " laughed Bob. He drew up a chair. At that moment the dim figure of California John jingled by. "I wouldn'tlike that old fellow's job. He's a ranger, and he's got to go and lookup a forest fire. "

"Alone?" asked Welton. "Couldn't they scare up any more? Or are theyover there already?"

"There's three playing poker at the saloon. Looked to me like a foolway to do. He's just going to take a look and then come back andreport. "

"Oh, they're heavy on reports!" said Welton. "Where is the fire; did youhear?"

"Stone Creek--wherever that is. "

"Stone Creek!" yelled Welton, dropping the front legs of his chair tothe verandah with a thump. "Why, our timber adjoins Stone Creek! Youcome with me!"

II

Welton strode away into the darkness, followed closely by Bob. He madehis way as rapidly as he could through the village to an attractivehouse at the farther outskirts. Here he turned through the picket gate, and thundered on the door. 

It was almost immediately opened by a meek-looking woman of thirty. 

"Plant in?" demanded Welton. 

The meek woman had no opportunity to reply. 

"Sure! Sure! Come in!" roared the Supervisor's great voice. 

They entered to find the fat man, his coat off, leaning luxuriously backin an office chair, his feet up on another, a cigar in his mouth. Hewaved a hospitable hand. 

"Sit down! Sit down!" he wheezed. "Glad to see you. "

"They tell me there's a fire over in the Stone Creek country, " saidWelton. 

"So it's reported, " said Plant comfortably. "I've sent a man overalready to investigate. "

"That timber adjoins ours, " went on Welton. "Sending one ranger toinvestigate don't seem to help the old man a great deal. "

"Oh, it may not amount to much, " disclaimed Plant vaguely. 

"But if it does amount to much, it'll be getting one devil of a start, "persisted Welton. "Why don't you send over enough men to give it afight?"

"Haven't got 'em, " replied Plant briefly. 

"There's three playing poker now, down in the first saloon, " broke inBob. 

Plant looked at him coldly for ten seconds. 

"Those men are waiting to tally Wright's cattle, " he condescended, naming one of the most powerful of the valley ranch kings. 

But Welton caught at Bob's statement. 

"All you need is one man to count cattle, " he pointed out. "Can't you dothat yourself, and send over your men?"

"Are you trying to tell me my business, Mr. Welton?" asked theSupervisor formally. 

Welton laughed one of his inexpressible chuckles. 

"Lord love you, no!" he cried. "I have all I can handle. I'm merelytrying to protect my own. Can't you hire some men, then?"

"My appropriation won't stand it, " said Plant, a gleam coming into hiseye. "I simply haven't the money to pay them with. " He pausedsignificantly. 

"How much would it take?" inquired Welton. 

Plant cast his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Of course, I couldn't tell, because I don't know how much of a fire itis, or how long it would take to corral it. But I'll tell you what I'lldo: suppose you leave me a lump sum, and I'll look after such mattershereafter without having to bother you with them. Of course, when I haverangers available I'll use 'em; but any time you need protection, I canrush in enough men to handle the situation without having to wait forauthorizations and all that. It might not take anything extra, ofcourse. "

"How much do you suppose it would require to be sure we don't runshort?" asked Welton. 

"Oh, a thousand dollars ought to last indefinitely, " replied Plant. 

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then Welton laughed. 

"I can hire a heap of men for a thousand dollars, " said he, rising. "Goodnight. "

Plant rumbled something. The two went out, leaving the fat man chewinghis cigar and scowling angrily after them. 

Once clear of the premises Welton laughed loudly. 

"Well, my son, that's your first shy at the government official, isn'tit? They're not all as bad as that. At first I couldn't make out whetherhe was just fat and lazy. Now I know he's a grafter. He ought to get anice neat 'For Sale' sign painted. Did you hear the nerve of him? Wanteda thousand dollars bribe to do his plain duty. "

"Oh, that was what he was driving at!" cried Bob. 

"Yes, Baby Blue-eyes, didn't you tumble to that? Well, I don't see athousand in it whether he's for us or against us. "

"Was that the reason he didn't send over all his men to the fire?" askedBob. 

"Partly. Principally because he wanted to help old Simeon Wright's menin with the cattle. Simeon probably has a ninety-nine year lease on hisfat carcass--with the soul thrown in for a trading stamp. It don't takebut one man to count cattle, but three extra cowboys comes mighty handyin the timber. "

"Would Wright bribe him, do you suppose?"

Welton stopped short. 

"Let me tell you one thing about old Simeon, Bob, " said he. "He ownsmore land than any other man in California. He got it all from thegovernment. Eight sections on one of his ranches he took up under theSwamp Act by swearing he had been all over them in a boat. He had. Theboat was drawn by eight mules. That's just a sample. You bet Simeon ownsa Supervisor, if he thinks he needs one; and that's why the cattlebusiness takes precedence over the fire business. "

"It's an outrage!" cried Bob. "We ought to report him for neglect ofduty. "

Welton chuckled. 

"I didn't tell you this to get you mad, Bobby, " he drawled with hisindescribable air of good humour; "only to show you the situation. Whatdifference does it make? As for reporting to Washington! Look here, Idon't know what Plant's political backing is, but it must be 99. 84 percent. Pure. Otherwise, how would a man as fat as that get a job ofForest Supervisor? Why, he can't ride a horse, and it's absurd tosuppose he ever saw any of the Reserve he's in charge of. "

Welton bestirred himself to good purpose. Inside of two hours ahalf-dozen men, well-mounted and provisioned, bearing the usual tools ofthe fire-fighter, had ridden off into the growing brightness of themoon. 

"There, " said the lumberman with satisfaction. "That isn't going to costmuch, and we'll feel safe. Now let's turn in. "

III

The next morning Bob was awakened to a cold dawn that became still moreshivery when he had dressed and stepped outside. Even a hot breakfasthelped little; and when the buckboard was brought around, he mounted tohis seat without any great enthusiasm. The mountain rose dark andforbidding, high against the eastern sky, and a cold wind breathed downits defiles. When the wiry little ponies slowed to the first stretchesof the tiresome climb, Bob was glad to walk alongside. 

Almost immediately the pines began. They were short and scrubby as yet, but beautiful in the velvet of their dark green needles. Bob glanced atthem critically. They were perhaps eighty to a hundred feet high andfrom a foot to thirty inches in diameter. 

"Fair timber, " he commented to his companion. 

Welton snorted. "Timber!" he cried. "That isn't timber; it's weeds. There's no _timber_ on this slope of the mountain. "

Slowly the ponies toiled up the steep grade, pausing often for breath. Among the pines grew many oaks, buckthorns, tall manzaņitas and thelike. As the valley dropped beneath, they came upon an occasionalbudding dogwood. Over the slopes of some of the hills spread a mantle ofvelvety vivid green, fair as the grass of a lawn, but indescribably softand mobile. It lent those declivities on which it grew a spacious, well-kept, park appearance, on which Bob exclaimed with delight. 

But Welton would have none of it. 

"Bear clover, " said he, "full of pitch as an old jack-pine. Burns likecoal oil, and you can't hardly cut it with a hoe. Worst stuff to carryfire and to fight fire in you ever saw. Pick a piece and smell it. "

Bob broke off one of the tough, woody stems. A pungent odour exactlylike that of extract of hamamelis met his nostrils. Then he realizedthat all the time he had been aware of this perfume faintly disengagingitself from the hills. In spite of Mr. Welton's disgust, Bob liked itsclean, pungent suggestion. 

The road mounted always, following the contour of the mountains. Thus italternately emerged and crept on around bold points, and bent back intothe recesses of ravines. Clear, beautiful streams dashed and sang downthe latter; from the former, often, Bob could look out over the valleyfrom which they had mounted, across the foothills, to the distant, yellowing plains far on the horizon, lost finally in brown heat waves. Sycamore Flats lay almost directly below. Always it became smaller, andmore and more like a coloured relief-map with tiny, Noah's-ark houses. The forest grew sturdily on the steep mountain. Bob's eyes were on alevel with the tops of trees growing but a few hundred feet away. Thehorizon line was almost at eleven o'clock above him. 

"How'd you handle this kind of a proposition?" he inquired. "Looks to melike hard sledding. "

"This stuff is no good, " said Welton. "These little, yellow pines ain'tworth cutting. This is all Forest Reserve stuff. "

Bob glanced again down the aisles of what looked to him like a nobleforest, but said nothing. He was learning, in this land of surprises, tokeep his mouth shut. 

At the end of two hours Welton drew up beside a new water trough towater the ponies. 

"There, " he remarked casually, "is the first sugar pine. "

Bob's eye followed the indication of his whip to the spreading, gracefularms of a free so far up the bed of the stream that he could make outonly its top. The ponies, refreshed, resumed their methodical plodding. 

Insensibly, as they mounted, the season had changed. The oaks that, atthe level of Sycamore Flats, had been in full leaf, here showed but thetender pinks and russets of the first foliage. The dogwoods were quitedormant. Rivulets of seepage and surface water trickled in the mostunexpected places as though from snow recently melted. 

Of climbing there seemed no end. False skylines recurrently deceived Bobinto a belief that the buckboard was about to surmount the top. Alwaysthe rise proved to be preliminary to another. The road dipped behindlittle spurs, climbed ravines, lost itself between deep cuts. Onlyrarely did the forest growths permit a view, and then only in glimpsesbetween the tops of trees. In the valley and against the foothills nowintervened the peaceful and calm blue atmosphere of distance. 

"I'd no idea from looking at it this mountain was so high, " he toldWelton. 

"You never do, " said Welton. "They always fool you. We're pretty nighthe top now. "

Indeed, for a little space the forest had perforce to thin because oflack of footing. The slope became almost a precipice, ending in a boldcomb above which once more could be glimpsed the tops of trees. Quiteingeniously the road discovered a cleft up which it laboured mightily, to land breathless after a heart-breaking pull. Just over the top Weltondrew rein to breathe his horses--and to hear what Bob had to say aboutit. 

The buckboard stood at the head of a long, gentle slope descending, perhaps fifty feet, to a plateau; which, in turn, rose to another crestsome miles distant. The level of this plateau, which comprised, perhaps, thirty thousand acres all told, supported a noble and unbroken forest. 

Mere statistics are singularly unavailing to convey even an idea of aCalifornia woodland at its best. We are not here dealing with theso-called "Big Trees, " but with the ordinary--or extraordinary--pinesand spruces. The forest is free from dense undergrowths; the individualtrees are enormous, yet so symmetrical that the eye can realize theirsize only when it catches sight of some usual and accustomed object, such as men or horses or the buildings in which they live. Even then itis quite as likely that the measures will appear to have been strucksmall, as that the measured will show in their true grandeur ofproportion. The eye refuses to be convinced off-hand that its educationhas been faulty. 

"Now, " said Welton decidedly. "We may as well have it over with rightnow. How big is that young tree over there?"

He pointed out a half-grown specimen of sugar pine. 

"About twenty inches in diameter, " replied Bob promptly. 

Welton silently handed him a tape line. Bob descended. 

"Thirty-seven!" he cried with vast astonishment, when his measurementswere taken and his computations made. 

"Now that one, " commanded Welton, indicating a larger tree. 

Bob sized it up. 

"No fair looking at the other for comparison, " warned the older man. 

"Forty, " hesitated Bob, "and I don't believe it's that!" he added. "Fourfeet, " he amended when he had measured. 

"Climb in, " said Welton; "now you're in a proper frame of mind to listento me with respect. The usual run of tree you see down through here isfrom five to eight feet in diameter. They are about all over two hundredfeet tall, and some run close to three hundred. "

Bob sighed. "All right. Drive on. I'll get used to it in time. " His facelighted up with a grin. "Say, wouldn't you like to see Roaring Dicktrying to handle one of those logs with a peavie? As for driving astream full of them! Oh, Lord! You'd have to send 'em down one at atime, fitted out with staterooms for the crew, a rudder and a gasolineengine!"

The ponies jogged cheerfully along the winding road. Water raneverywhere, or stood in pools. Under the young spruces were the lastsnowbanks. Pushing up through the wet soil, already showed earlysnowplants, those strange, waxlike towers of crimson. After a time theycame to a sidehill where the woods thinned. There still stood manytrees, but as the buckboard approached, Bob could see that they werecedars, or spruce, or smaller specimens of the pines. Prone upon theground, like naked giants, gleamed white and monstrous the peeled bodiesof great trees. A litter of "slash, " beaten down by the winter, cumberedthe ground, and retained beneath its faded boughs soggy and meltingdrifts. 

"Had some 'fallers' in here last year, " explained Welton briefly. "Thought we'd have some logs on hand when it came time to start up. "

"Wait a minute, " requested Bob. He sprang lightly from the vehicle, andscrambled over to stand alongside the nearest of the fallen monsters. Hecould just see over it comfortably. "My good heavens!" said he soberly, resuming his seat. "How in blazes do you handle them?"

Welton drove on a few paces, then pointed with his whip. A narrow troughmade of small peeled logs laid parallel and pegged and mortised togetherat the ends, ran straight over the next hill. 

"That's a chute, " he explained briefly. "We hitch a wire cable to thelog and just naturally yank it over to the chute. "

"How yank it?" demanded Bob. 

"By a good, husky donkey engine. Then the chute poles are slushed, wehitch cables on four or five logs, and just tow them over the hill tothe mill. "

Bob's enthusiasm, as always, was growing with the presentation of thisnew and mighty problem of engineering so succinctly presented. Itsounded simple; but from his two years' experience he knew better. Hewas becoming accustomed to filling in the outlines of pure theory. At aglance he realized the importance of such things as adequate anchors forthe donkey engines; of figuring on straight pulls, horse power and thebreaking strain of steel cables; of arranging curves in such manner asto obviate ditching the logs, of selecting grades and routes in suchwise as to avoid the lift of the stretched cable; and more dimly heguessed at other accidents, problems and necessities which only theemergency could fully disclose. All he said was:

"So that's why you bark them all--so they'll slide. I wondered. "

But now the ponies, who had often made this same trip, pricked up theirears and accelerated their pace. In a moment they had rounded a hill andbrought their masters into full view of the mill itself. 

The site was in a wide, natural clearing occupied originally by a greenmeadow perhaps a dozen acres in extent. From the borders of this parkthe forest had drawn back to a dark fringe. Now among the trees at theupper end gleamed the yellow of new, unpainted shanties. Square againstthe prospect was the mill, a huge structure, built of axe-hewn timbers, rough boards, and the hand-rived shingles known as shakes. Piece bypiece the machinery had been hauled up the mountain road until enoughhad been assembled on the space provided for it by the axe men to beginsawing. Then, like some strange monster, it had eaten out for itself atonce a space in the forest and the materials for its shell and for theconstruction of its lesser dependents, the shanties, the cook-houses, the offices and the shops. Welton pointed out with pride the variousarrangements; here the flats and the trestles for the yards where thenew-sawn lumber was to be stacked; there the dump for the sawdust andslabs; yonder the banking ground constructed of great logs laid closetogether, wherein the timber-logs would be deposited to await the saw. 

From the lower end of the yard a trestle supporting a V-shaped troughdisappeared over the edge of a hill. Near its head a clear streamcascaded down the slope. 

"That's the flume, " explained the lumberman. "Brought the stream aroundfrom the head of the meadow in a ditch. We'll flume the sawn lumber downthe mountain. For the present we'll have to team it out to the railroad. Your friend Baker's figuring on an electric road to meet us, though, andI guess we'll fix it up with him inside a few years, anyway. "

"Where's Stone Creek from here?" asked Bob. 

"Over the farther ridge. The mountain drops off again there to StoneCreek three or four thousand feet. "

"We ought to hear from the fire, soon. "

"If we don't, we'll ride over that way and take a look down, " repliedWelton. 

They drove down the empty yards to a stable where already wasestablished their old barn-boss of the Michigan woods. Four or five bigfreight wagons stood outside, and a score of powerful mules rolled andsunned themselves in the largest corral. Welton nodded toward severalhorses in another enclosure. 

"Pick your saddle horse, Bob, " said he. "Straw boss has to ride in thiscountry. "

"Make it the oldest, then, " said Bob. 

At the cookhouse they were just in time for the noon meal. The long, narrow room, fresh with new wood, new tables and new benches inpreparation for the crew to come, looked bare and empty with its handfulof guests huddled at one end. These were the teamsters, the stablemen, the caretakers and a few early arrivals. The remainder of the crew wasexpected two days later. 

After lunch Bob wandered out into the dazzling sunlight. The sky waswonderfully blue, the trees softly green, the new boards and the tinypile of sawdust vividly yellow. These primary colours made all theworld. The air breathed crisp and bracing, with just a dash of cold inthe nostrils that contrasted paradoxically with the warm balminess ofthe sunlight. It was as though these two opposed qualities, warmth andcold, were here held suspended in the same medium and at the same time. Birds flashed like spangles against the blue. Others sang and darted andscratched and chirped everywhere. Tiny chipmunks no bigger thanhalf-grown rats scampered fearlessly about. What Bob took for largerchipmunks--the Douglas Squirrels--perched on the new fence posts. Theworld seemed alive--alive through its creatures, through the solemn, uplifting vitality of its forests, through the sprouting, budding springgrowths just bursting into green, through the wine-draught of its veryair, through the hurrying, busy preoccupied murmur of its streams. Bobbreathed his lungs full again and again, and tingled from head to foot. 

"How high are we here?" he called to Welton. 

"About six thousand. Why? Getting short-winded?"

"I could run ten miles, " replied Bob. "Come on. I'm going to look at thestream. "

"Not at a run, " protested Welton. "No, sir! At a nice, middle-aged, dignified, fat _walk_!"

They sauntered down the length of the trestle, with its miniature steeltracks, to where the flume began. It proved to be a very solidly builtV-trough, alongside which ran a footboard. Welton pointed to thetelephone wire that paralleled it. 

"When we get going, " said he, "we just turn the stream in here, clampour sawn lumber into bundles of the right size, and 'let her went!'There'll be three stations along the line, connected by 'phone, to seethat things go all right. That flume's six mile long. "

Bob strode to the gate, and after some heaving and hauling succeeded inthrowing water into the flume. 

"I wanted to see her go, " he explained. 

"Now if you want some real fun, " said Welton, gazing after the foamingadvance wave as it ripped its way down the chute. "You make you a sortof three-cornered boat just to fit the angle of the flume; and then youlie down in it and go to Sycamore Flats, in about six minutes more orless. "

"You mean to say that's done?" cried Bob. 

"Often. It only means knocking together a plank or so. "

"Doesn't the lumber ever jump the flume?"

"Once in a great while. "

"Suppose the boat should do it?"

"Then, " said Welton drily, "it's probable you'd have to begin learningto tune a harp. "

"Not for mine, " said Bob with fervour. "Any time I yearn for SycamoreFlats real hard, I'll go by hand. "

He shut off the water, and the two walked a little farther to a boldpoint that pressed itself beyond the trees. 

Below them the cliff dropped away so steeply that they looked out abovethe treetops as from the summit of a true precipice. Almost directlybelow them lay the wooded valley of Sycamore Flats, maplike, tiny. Itwas just possible to make out the roofs of houses, like gray dots. Roadsshowed as white filaments threading the irregular patches of green andbrown. From beneath flowed the wide oak and brush-clad foothills, risingalways with the apparent cup of the earth until almost at the height ofthe eye the shimmering, dim plains substituted their brown for the darkgreen of the hills. The country that yesterday had seemed mountainous, full of caņons, ridges and ranges, now showed gently undulating, flattened, like a carpet spread before the feet of the Sierras. To thenorth were tumbled, blue, pine-clad mountains as far as the eye couldsee, receding into the dimness of great distance. At one point, but sofar away as to be distinguishable only by a slight effort of theimagination, hovered like soap-bubbles against an ethereal sky the formsof snow mountains. Welton pointed out the approximate position ofYosemite. 

They returned to camp where Welton showed the clean and painted littlehouse built for Bob and himself. It was quite simply a row of rooms witha verandah in front of them all. But the interiors were furnished withmatting for the floors, curtains to the windows, white iron bedsteads, running water and open fireplaces. 

"I'm sick of camping, " said Welton. "This is our summer quarters forsome time. I'm going to be comfortable. "

Bob sighed. 

"This is the bulliest place I ever saw!" he cried boyishly. 

"Well, you're going to have time enough to get used to it, " said Weltondrily. 

IV

The Stone Creek fire indeed proved not to amount to much, whereby sheerchance upheld Henry Plant. The following morning the fire fightersreturned; leaving, however, two of their number to "guard the line"until the danger should be over. Welton explained to Bob that only thefact that Stone Creek bottom was at a low elevation, filled with brushand tarweed, and grown thick with young trees rendered the forest eveninflammable at this time of year. 

"Anywhere else in this country at this time of year it wouldn't do anyharm, " he told Bob, "and Plant knew it couldn't get out of the basin. Hedidn't give a cuss how much it did there. But we've got some young stuffthat would easy carry a top fire. Later in the season you may see sometall rustling on the fire lines. "

But before noon of that day a new complication arose. Up the road came ashort, hairy man on a mule. His beard grew to his high cheek bones, hiseyebrows bristled and jutted out over his black eyes, and a thick shockof hair pushed beneath the rim of his hat to meet the eyebrows. The hatwas an old black slouch, misshapen, stained and dusty. His faded shirtopened to display a hairy throat and chest. As for the rest he wasshort-limbed, thick and powerful. 

This nondescript individual rode up to the verandah on which sat Weltonand Bob, awaiting the lunch bell. He bowed gravely, and dismounted. 

"Dis ees Meestair Welton?" he inquired with a courtesy at strangevariance with his uncouth appearance. 

Welton nodded. 

"I am Peter Lejeune, " said the newcomer, announcing one of those hybridnames so common among the transplanted French and Basques of California. "I have de ship. "

"Oh, yes, " said Welton rising and going forward to offer his hand. "Comeup and sit down, Mr. Leejune. "

The hairy man "tied his mule to the ground" by dropping the end of thereins, and mounted the two steps to the verandah. 

"This is my assistant, Mr. Orde, " said Welton. "How are the sheep comingon? Mr. Leejune, " he told Bob, "rents the grazing in our timber. "

"Et is not coming, " stated Lejeune with a studied calm. "Plant heriffuse permit to cross. "

"Permit to what?" asked Welton. 

"To cross hees fores', gov'ment fores'. I can' get in here widout crossgov'ment land. I got to get permit from Plant. Plant he riffuse. "

Welton rose, staring at his visitor. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " he cried at last, "that a man hasn't got aright to get into his own land? That they can keep a man out of his own_land_?"

"Da's right, " nodded the Frenchman. 

"But you've been in here for ten years or so to my knowledge. "

Abruptly the sheepman's calm fell from him. He became wildly excited. His black eyes snapped, his hair bristled, he arose from his chair andgesticulated. 

"Every year I geev heem three ship! Three ship!" he repeated, thrustingthree stubby fingers at Welton's face. "Three little ship! I stay allsummer! He never say permit. Thees year he kip me out. "

"Give any reason?" asked Welton. 

"He say my ship feed over the line in gov'ment land. "

"Did they?"

"Mebbe so, little bit. Mebbe not. Nobody show me line. Nobody pay no'tention. I feed thees range ten year. "

"Did you give him three sheep this year?"

"Sure. "

Welton sighed. 

"I can't go down and tend to this, " said he. "My foremen are here to beconsulted, and the crews will begin to come in to-morrow. You'll have togo and see what's eating this tender Plant, Bob. Saddle up and ride downwith Mr. Leejune. "

Bob took his first lesson in Western riding behind Lejeune and hisstolid mule. He had ridden casually in the East, as had most young menof his way of life, but only enough to make a fair showing on a gentleand easy horse. His present mount was gentle and easy enough, but Bobwas called upon to admire feats of which a Harlem goat might have beenproud. Lejeune soon turned off the wagon road to make his way directlydown the side of the mountain. Bob possessed his full share of personalcourage, but in this unaccustomed skirting of precipices, hopping downledges, and sliding down inclines too steep to afford a foothold hefound himself leaning inward, sitting very light in the saddle, orholding his breath until a passage perilous was safely passed. In thenext few years he had occasion to drop down the mountainside a greatmany times. After the first few trips he became so thoroughly accustomedthat he often wondered how he had ever thought this scary riding. Now, however, he was so busily occupied that he was caught by surprise whenLejeune's mule turned off through a patch of breast-high manzaņita andhe found himself traversing the gentler slope at the foot of themountain. Ten minutes later they entered Sycamore Flats. 

Then Bob had leisure to notice an astonishing change of temperature. Atthe mill the air had been almost cold--entirely so out of the directrays of the sun. Here it was as hot as though from a furnace. Passingthe store, Bob saw that the tall thermometer there stood at 96 degrees. The day was unseasonable, but later, in the August heats, Bob had often, to his sorrow, to test the difference between six thousand and twothousand feet of elevation. From a clear, crisp late-spring climate hewould descend in two hours to a temperature of 105 degrees. 

Henry Plant was discovered sprawled out in an armchair beneath aspreading tree in the front yard. His coat was off and his vestunbuttoned to display a vast and billowing expanse of soiled whiteshirt. In his hand was a palm-leaf fan, at his elbow swung an _olla_, newspapers littered the ground or lay across his fat knees. When Bob andLejeune entered, he merely nodded surlily, and went on with his reading. 

"Can I speak to you a moment on business?" asked Bob. 

By way of answer the fat man dropped his paper, and mopped his brow. 

"We've rented our sheep grazing to Mr. Lejeune, here, as I understandwe've been doing for some years. He tells me you have refused himpermission to cross the Forest Reserve with his flocks. "

"That's right, " grunted Plant. 

"What for?"

"I believe, young man, granting permits is discretionary with theSupervisor, " stated that individual. 

"I suppose so, " agreed Bob. "But Mr. Lejeune has always had permissionbefore. What reason do you assign for refusing it?"

"Wilful trespass, " wheezed Plant. "That's what, young man. His sheepgrazed over our line. He's lucky that I don't have him up before theUnited States courts for damages as well. "

Lejeune started to speak, but Bob motioned him to silence. 

"I'm sure we could arrange for past damages, and guarantee against anyfuture trespass, " said he. 

"Well, I'm sure you can't, " stated Plant positively. "Good day. "

But Bob was not willing to give up thus easily. He gave his best effortseither to arguing Plant into a better frame of mind, or to discoveringsome tangible reason for his sudden change of front in regard to thesheep. 

"It's no use, " he told Lejeune, later, as they walked down the streettogether. "He's undoubtedly the right to refuse permits for cause; andtechnically he has cause if your sheep got over the line. "

"But what shall I do!" cried Lejeune. "My ship mus' have feed!"

"You pasture them or feed them somewhere for a week or so, and I'll letyou know, " said Bob. "We'll get you on the land or see you throughsomewhere else. "

He mounted his horse stiffly and rode back up the street. Plant stillsat in his armchair like a bloated spider. On catching sight of Bob, however, he heaved himself to his feet and waddled to the gate. 

"Here!" he called. Bob drew rein. "It has been reported to me that yourfirm has constructed a flume across 36, and a wagon road across 14, 22, 28, and 32. Those are government sections. I suppose, of course, yourfirm has permits from Washington to build said improvements?"

"Naturally, " said Bob, who, however, knew nothing whatever of thosedetails. 

"Well, I'll send a man up to examine them to-morrow, " said Plant, andturned his back. 

V

Bob took supper at Auntie Belle's, and rode up the mountain after dark. He did not attempt short cuts, but allowed his horse to follow the plaingrade of the road. After a time the moon crept over the zenith, and atonce the forest took on a fairylike strangeness, as though at the touchof night new worlds had taken the place of the vanished old. Somewherenear midnight, his body shivering with the mountain cold, his legs stiffand chafed from the long, unaccustomed riding, but his mind filled withthe wonder and beauty of the mountain night, Bob drew rein beside thecorrals. After turning in his horse, he walked through the brightmoonlight to Welton's door, on which he hammered. 

"Hey!" called the lumberman from within. 

"It's I, Bob. "

Welton scratched a match. 

"Why in blazes didn't you come up in the morning?" he inquired. 

"I've found out another and perhaps important hole we're in. "

"Can we do anything to help ourselves out before morning?" demandedWelton. "No? Well, sleep tight! I'll see you at six. "

Next morning Welton rolled out, as good-humoured and deliberate as ever. 

"My boy, " said he. "When you get to be as old as I am, you'll never stirup trouble at night unless you can fix it then. What is it?"

Bob detailed his conversation with Plant. 

"Do you mean to tell me that that old, fat _skunk_ had the nerve totell you he was going to send a ranger to look at our permit?" hedemanded. 

"Yes. That's what he said. "

"The miserable hound! Why I went to see him a year ago about crossingthis strip with our road--we had to haul a lot of stuff in. He told meto go ahead and haul, and that he'd fix it up when the time came. Sincethen I've tackled him two or three times about it, but he's always toldme to go ahead; that it was all right. So we went ahead. It's alwaysbeen a matter of form, this crossing permit business. It's _meant_ to bea matter of form!"

After breakfast Welton ordered his buckboard and, in company with Bob, drove down the mountain again. Plant was discovered directing theactivities of several men, who were loading a light wagon withprovisions and living utensils. 

"Moving up to our summer camp, " one of them told Bob. "Getting too hotdown here. "

Plant received them, his fat face expressionless, and led them into thestuffy little office. 

"Look here, Plant, " said Welton, without a trace of irritation on hisweatherbeaten, round countenance. "What's all this about seeing a permitto cross those government sections? You know very well I haven't anypermit. "

"I have been informed by my men that you have constructed or caused tobe constructed a water flume through section 36, and a road throughsections 14, 22, 28 and 32. If this has been done without dueauthorization you are liable for trespass. Fine of not less than $200 orimprisonment for not less than twelve months--or both. " He deliveredthis in a voice absolutely devoid of expression. 

"But you told me to go ahead, and that you'd attend to the details, andit would be all right, " said Welton. 

"You must have misunderstood me, " replied Plant blandly. "It is againstmy sworn duty to permit such occupation of public land without dueconformity to law. It is within my discretion whether to report thetrespass for legal action. I am willing to believe that you have actedin this matter without malicious intent. But the trespass must cease. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked Welton. 

"You must not use that road as a highway, nor the flume, and you mustremove the flume within a reasonable time. Or else you may still get apermit. "

"How long would that take?" asked Welton. "Could it be done by wire?"

Plant lifted a glazed and fishy eye to survey him. 

"You would be required to submit in writing specifications of the lengthand location of said road and flume. This must be accompanied by atopographical map and details of construction. I shall then send outfield men to investigate, after which, endorsed with my approval, itgoes for final decision to the Secretary of the Interior. "

"Good Lord, man!" cried Welton, aghast. "That would take all summer! Andbesides, I made out all that tomfoolery last summer. I supposed you musthave unwound all that red tape long ago!"

Plant for the first time looked his interlocutor square in the eye. 

"I find among my records no such application, " he said deliberately. 

Welton stared at him a moment, then laughed. 

"All right, Mr. Plant, I'll see what's to be done, " said he, and wentout. 

In silence the two walked down the street until out of earshot. Then Bobbroke out. 

"I'd like to punch his fat carcass!" he cried. "The old liar!"

Welton laughed. 

"It all goes to show that a man's never too old to learn. He's got usplain enough just because this old man was too busy to wake up to thefact that these government grafters are so strong out here. Back ourway when you needed a logging road, you just built it, and paid for theunavoidable damage, and that's all there was to it. "

"You take it cool, " spluttered Bob. 

"No use taking it any other way, " replied Welton. "But the situation isserious. We've got our plant in shape, and our supplies in, and our menengaged. It would be bad enough to shut down with all that expense. Butthe main trouble is, we're under contract to deliver our mill run toMarshall & Harding. We can't forfeit that contract and stay inbusiness. "

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Bob. 

"Get on the wires to your father in Washington, " replied Welton. "Lucky, your friend Baker's power project is only four miles away; we can usehis 'phone. "

But at the edge of town they met Lejeune. 

"I got de ship in pasture, " he told Bob. "But hees good for not more danone wik. "

"Look here, Leejune, " said Welton. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to lookup another range for this summer. Of course, we'll pay any loss ordamage in the matter. It looks impossible to do anything with Plant. "

The Frenchman threw up both hands and broke into voluble explanations. From them the listeners gathered more knowledge in regard to the sheepbusiness than they could have learned by observation in a year. Briefly, it was necessary that the sheep have high-country feed, at once; thesheepmen apportioned the mountains among themselves, so that each hadhis understood range; it would now be impossible to find anywhereanother range; only sometimes could one trade localities with another, but that must be arranged earlier in the season before the flocks are inthe hills--in short, affairs were at a critical point, where Lejeunemust have feed, and no other feed was to be had except that for which hehad in all confidence contracted. Welton listened thoughtfully, his eyesbetween his horses. 

"Can you run those sheep in, at night, or somehow?"

The Frenchman's eyes sparkled. 

"I run ship two year in Yosemite Park, " he bragged. "No soldier fin'me. "

"That's no great shakes, " said Welton drily, "from what I've seen ofPark soldiers. If you can sneak these sheep across without gettingcaught, you do it. "

"I snik ship across all right, " said Lejeune. "But I can' stop heestrack. The ranger he know I cross all right. "

"What's the penalty?" asked Welton. 

"Mos'ly 'bout one hundred dollars, " replied Lejeune promptly. "Mebbefive hundred. "

Welton sighed. "Is that the limit?" he asked. "Not more than fivehundred?"

"No. Dat all. "

"Well, it'll take a good half of the rent to get you in, if they soak usthe limit; but you're up against it, and we'll stand back of you. If weagreed to give you that grazing, by God, _you'll get it_, as long asthat land is ours. "

He nodded and drove on, while Lejeune, the true sheepman's delight indodging the officers burning strong within his breast, turned his mule'shead to the lower country. 

VI

The full situation, as far as the wires could tell it, was laid beforeJack Orde in Washington. A detailed letter followed. Toward evening ofthat day the mill crews began to come in with the four and six-horseteams provided for their transportation. They were a dusty but hilariouslot. The teams drew up underneath the solitary sycamore tree that gavethe place its name, and at once went into camp. Bob strolled down tolook them over. 

They proved to be fresh-faced, strong farm boys, for the most part, witha fair sprinkling of older mountaineers, and quite a contingent of halfand quarter-bred Indians. All these people worked on ranches or in thetowns during the off season when the Sierras were buried under wintersnows. Their skill at woodsmanship might be undoubted, but theintermittent character of their work precluded any development ofindividual type, like the rivermen and shanty boys of the vanishedNorth. For a moment Bob experienced a twinge of regret that the old, hard, picturesque days of his Northern logging were indeed gone. Thenthe interest of this great new country with its surging life and its newproblems gripped him hard. He left these decent, hard-working, self-respecting ranch boys, these quiet mountaineers, these stolid, inscrutable breeds to their flickering camp fire. Next morning themany-seated vehicles filled early and started up the road. But within amile Welton and Bob in their buckboard came upon old California Johnsquare in the middle of the way. Star stood like a magnificent statueexcept that slowly over and over, with relish, he turned the wheel ofthe silver-mounted spade-bit under his tongue. As the ranger showed noindication of getting out of the way, Welton perforce came to a halt. 

"Road closed to trespass by the Wolverine Company, " the ranger statedimpassively. 

Welton whistled. 

"That mean I can't get to my own property?" he asked. 

"My orders are to close this road to the Wolverine Company. "

"Well, you've obeyed orders. Now get out the way. Tell your chief he cango ahead on a trespass suit. "

But the old man shook his head. 

"No, you don't understand, " he repeated patiently. "My orders were to_close_ the road to the Company, not just to give notice. "

Without replying Welton picked up his reins and started his horses. Theman seemed barely to shift his position, but from some concealment heproduced a worn and shiny Colt's. This he laid across the horn of hissaddle. 

"Stop, " he commanded, and this time his voice had a bite to it. 

"Millions for defence, " chuckled Welton, who recognized perfectly thetone, "and how much did you say for tribute?"

"What say?" inquired the old man. 

"What sort of a hold-up is this? We certainly can't do this road anydamage driving over it once. How much of an inducement does Plant want, anyway?"

"This department is only doing its sworn duty, " replied the old man. Hisblue eyes met Welton's steadily; not a line of his weatherbeaten facechanged. For twenty seconds the lumberman tried to read his opponent'smind. 

"Well, " he said at last. "You can tell your chief that if he thinks hecan annoy and harass me into bribing him to be decent, he's left. "

By this time the dust and creek of the first heavily laden vehicle hadlaboured up to within a few hundred yards. 

"I have over a hundred men there, " said Welton, "that I've hired towork for me at the top of that mountain. It's damn foolishness thatanybody should stop their going there; and I'll bet they won't losetheir jobs. My advice to you is to stand one side. You can't stop ahundred men alone. "

"Yes, I can, " replied the old man calmly. "I'm not alone. "

"No?" said Welton, looking about him. 

"No; there's eighty million people behind that, " said California John, touching lightly the shield of his Ranger badge. The simplicity of theact robbed it of all mock-heroics. 

Welton paused, a frown of perplexity between his brows. California Johnwas watching him calmly. 

"Of course, the _public_ has a right to camp in all ForestReserves--subject to reg'lation, " he proffered. 

Welton caught at this. 

"You mean--"

"No, you got to turn back, and your Company's rigs have got to turnback, " said California John. "But I sure ain't no orders to stop nocampers. "

Welton nodded briefly; and, after some difficulty, succeeding in turningaround, he drove back down the grade. After he had bunched the wagons headdressed the assembled men. 

"Boys, " said he, "there's been some sort of a row with the Government, and they've closed this road to us temporarily. I guess you'll have tohoof it the rest of the way. "

This was no great and unaccustomed hardship, and no one objected. 

"How about our beds?" inquired some one. 

This presented a difficulty. No Western camp of any description--lumber, mining, railroad, cow--supplies the bedding for its men. Camp blanketsas dealt out in our old-time Northern logging camp are unknown. Each manbrings his own blankets, which he further augments with a pair ofquilts, a pillow and a heavy canvas. All his clothing and personalbelongings he tucks inside; the canvas he firmly lashes outside. Thusinstead of his "turkey"--or duffle-bag--he speaks of his "bed roll, "and by that term means not only his sleeping equipment but often all hisworldly goods. 

"Can't you unhitch your horses and pack them?" asked Bob. 

"Sure, " cried several mountaineers at once. 

Welton chuckled. 

"That sounds like it, " he approved; "and remember, boys, you're allinnocent campers out to enjoy the wonders and beauties of nature. "

The men made short work of the job. In a twinkling the horses wereunhitched from the vehicles. Six out of ten of these men were more orless practised at throwing packing hitches, for your Californian broughtup in sight of mountains is often among them. Bob admired the dexteritywith which some of the mountaineers improvised slings and drew tight thebulky and cumbersome packs. Within half an hour the long procession wasunder way, a hundred men and fifty horses. They filed past CaliforniaJohn, who had drawn one side. 

"Camping, boys?" he asked the leader. 

The man nodded and passed on. California John sat at ease, his elbow onthe pommel, his hand on his chin, his blue eyes staring vacantly at thesilent procession filing before him. Star stood motionless, his headhigh, his small ears pricked forward. The light dust peculiar to themountain soils of California, stirred by many feet, billowed and rolledupward through the pines. Long rays of sunlight cut through it likeswords. 

"Now did you ever see such utter damn foolishness?" growled Welton. "Make that bunch walk all the way up that mountain! What on earth is thedifference whether they walk or ride?"

But Bob, examining closely the faded, old figure on the magnificenthorse, felt his mind vaguely troubled by another notion. He could notseize the thought, but its influence was there. Somehow the irritationand exasperation had gone from the episode. 

"I know that sort of crazy old mossback, " muttered Welton as he turneddown the mountain. "Pin a tin star on them and they think they're asimportant as hell!"

Bob looked back. 

"I don't know, " he said vaguely. "I'm kind of for that old coon. "

The bend shut him out. After the buckboard had dipped into the horseshoeand out to the next point, they again looked back. The smoke of marchingrose above the trees to eddy lazily up the mountain. California John, atiny figure now, still sat patiently guarding the portals of an emptyduty. 

VII

Bob and Welton left the buckboard at Sycamore Flats and rode up to themill by a détour. There they plunged into active work. The labour ofgetting the new enterprise under way proved to be tremendous. A verycompetent woods foreman, named Post, was in charge of the actuallogging, so Welton gave his undivided attention to the mill work. Allday the huge peeled timbers slid and creaked along the greased slides, dragged mightily by a straining wire cable that snapped and swungdangerously. When they had reached the solid "bank" that slanted downtoward the mill, the obstreperous "bull" donkey lowered its crest ofwhite steam, coughed, and was still. A man threw over the first of thesetimbers a heavy rope, armed with a hook, that another man drove homewith a blow of his sledge. The rope tightened. Over rolled the log, outfrom the greased slide, to come, finally, to rest among its fellows atthe entrance to the mill. 

Thence it disappeared, moved always by steam-driven hooks, for thesegreat logs could not be managed by hand implements. The sawyers, attheir levers, controlled the various activities. When the time came thesmooth, deadly steel ribbon of the modern bandsaws hummed hungrily intothe great pines; the automatic roller hurried the new-sawn boards to theedgers; little cars piled high with them shot out from the cool dimnessinto the dazzling sunlight; men armed with heavy canvas or leatherstacked them in the yards; and then----

That was the trouble; and then, nothing!

From this point they should have gone farther. Clamped in rectangularbundles, pushing the raging white water before their blunt noses, asstrange craft they should have been flashing at regular intervals downthe twisting, turning and plunging course of the flume. Arrived safelyat the bottom, the eight-and twelve-horse teams should have taken themin charge, dragging them by the double wagon load to the waiting yardsof Marshall & Harding. Nothing of the sort was happening. Welton did notdare go ahead with the water for fear of prejudicing his own case. Thelumber accumulated. And, as the mill's capacity was great and that ofthe yards small, the accumulation soon threatened to becomeembarrassing. 

Bob acted as Welton's lieutenant. As the older lumberman was at firstoccupied in testing out his sawyers, and otherwise supervising thefinished product, Bob was necessarily much in the woods. This suited himperfectly. Every morning at six he and the men tramped to the scene ofoperations. There a dozen crews scattered to as many tasks. Far in thevan the fellers plied their implements. First of all they determinedwhich way a tree could be made to fall, estimating long and carefully onthe weight of limbs, the slant of the trunk, the slope of ground, allthe elements having to do with the centre of gravity. This having beendetermined, the men next chopped notches of the right depth for theinsertion of short boards to afford footholds high enough to enable themto nick the tree above the swell of the roots. Standing on these springyand uncertain boards, they began their real work, swinging their axesalternately, with untiring patience and incomparable accuracy. Slowly, very slowly, the "nick" grew, a mouth gaping ever wider in the browntree. When it had gaped wide enough the men hopped down from theirspringboards, laid aside their axes, and betook themselves to the saw. And when, at last, the wedges inserted in the saw-crack started themighty top, the men calmly withdrew the long ribbon of steel and stoodto one side. 

[Illustration: The men calmly withdrew the long ribbon of steel andstood to one side]

After the dust had subsided, and the last reverberations of that mightycrash had ceased to reëcho through the forest, the fellers steppedforward to examine their work. They took all things into consideration, such as old wind shakes, new decay, twist of grain and location of thelimbs. Then they measured off the prostrate trunk into logs of twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, or even twenty feet, according to the bestexpediency. The division points between logs they notched plainly, and, shouldering their axes and their sledge and their long, limber saw, pocketing their wedges and their bottle of coal oil, they moved on towhere the next mighty pine had through all the centuries been awaitingtheir coming. 

Now arrived on the scene the "swampers" and cross-cut men, swarming overthe prostrate tree like ants over a piece of sugar. Some of them cut offlimbs; others, with axes and crowbars, began to pry away great slabs ofbark; still others, with much precaution of shovel, wedge and axeagainst jamming, commenced the slow and laborious undertaking of sawingapart the logs. 

But most interesting and complicated of all were the further processesof handling the great logs after they had been peeled and sawed. 

The ends of steel cables were dragged by a horse to the prostrate tree, where they were made fast by means of chains and hooks. Then the puffingand snorting donkey engine near the chute tightened the cable. The logstirred, moved, plunged its great blunt nose forward, ploughing up thesoil. Small trees and bushes it overrode. But sooner or later itcollided head on, with a large tree, a stump, or a boulder. The cablestrained. Men shouted or waved their arms in signal. The donkey engineceased coughing. Then the horse pulled the end of the log free. Behindit was left a deep trough, a half cylinder scooped from the soil. 

At the chutes the logs were laid end to end, like a train of cars. Amore powerful cable, endless, running to the mill and back again, heretook up the burden. At a certain point it was broken by two great hooks. One of these, the one in advance, the men imbedded in the rear log ofthe train. The other was dragged behind. Away from the chutes ten feetthe returning cable snapped through rude pulleys. The train of logsmoved forward slowly and steadily, sliding on the greased ways. 

On the knoll the donkey engine coughed and snorted as it heaved themighty timbers from the woods. The drag of the logs was sometimesheavier than the engine, so it had to be anchored by other cables tostrong trees. Between these opposing forces--the inertia of the rootedand the fallen--it leaped and trembled. At its throttle, underneath acanopy knocked together of rough boards, the engineer stood, ready fromone instant to another to shut off, speed up, or slow down, according tothe demands of an ever-changing exigence. His was a nervous job, and heearned his repose. 

At the rear of the boiler a boy of eighteen toiled with an axe, choppinginto appropriate lengths the dead wood brought in for fuel. Next year itwould be possible to utilize old tops for this purpose, but now theywere too green. Another boy, in charge of a solemn mule, trampedceaselessly back and forth between the engine and a spring that had beendug out down the hill in a ravine. Before the end of that summer theyhad worn a trail so deep and hard and smooth that many seasons of snowfailed to obliterate it even from the soft earth. On either side themule were slung sacks of heavy canvas. At the spring the boy filledthese by means of a pail. Returned to the engine, he replenished theboiler, draining the sacks from the bottom, cast a fleeting glance atthe water gauge of the donkey engine, and hastened back to the spring. He had charge of three engines; and was busy. 

And back along the line of the chutes were other men to fill out thiscrew of many activities--old men to signal; young men to stand by withslush brush, axe, or bar when things did not go well; axe-men withteams laying accurately new chutes into new country yet untouched. 

Bob found plenty to keep him busy. Post, the woods foreman, was a goodchute man. By long experience he had gained practical knowledge of theproblems and accidents of this kind of work. To get the logs out fromthe beds in which they lay, across a rugged country, and into the millwas an engineering proposition of some moment. It is easy to get intodifficulties from which hours of work will not extricate. 

But a man involved closely in the practical management of a saw log mayconceivably possess scant leisure to correlate the scattered efforts ofsuch divergent activities. The cross cutters and swampers may get aheadof the fellers and have to wait in idleness until the latter haveknocked down a tree. Or the donkey may fall silent from lack of logs tohaul; or the chute crews may smoke their pipes awaiting the donkey. Or, worst and unpardonable disgrace of all, the mill may ran out of logs!When that happens, the Old Fellow is usually pretty promptly on thescene. 

Now it is obvious that if somewhere on the works ten men are alwayswaiting--even though the same ten men are not thus idle over once aweek--the employer is paying for ten men too many. Bob found his bestactivity lay in seeing that this did not happen. He rode everywherereviewing the work; and he kept it shaken together. Thus he made himselfvery useful, he gained rapidly a working knowledge of this new kind oflogging, and, incidentally, he found his lines fallen in very pleasantplaces indeed. 

The forest never lost its marvel to him, but after he had to some extentbecome accustomed to the immense trees, he began to notice the smalleraffairs of the woodland. The dogwoods and azaleas were beginning to comeout; the waxy, crimson snow plants were up; the tiny green meadows nearthe heads of streams were enamelled with flowers; hundreds of species ofbirds sang and flashed and scratched and crept and soared. The smalleranimals were everywhere. The sun at noon disengaged innumerable andsubtle tepid odours of pine and blossom. 

One afternoon, a little less than a week subsequent to the beginning ofwork, Bob, riding home through the woods by a détour around a hill, cameupon sheep. They were scattered all over the hill, cropping busily atthe snowbush, moving ever slowly forward. A constant murmur arose, amurmur of a silent, quick, minute activity. Occasionally some motheramong them lifted her voice. Bob sat his horse looking silently on theshifting grays. In ten seconds his sight blurred; he experienced aslight giddiness as though the substantial ground were shifting beneathhim in masses, slowly, as in a dream. It gave him a curious feeling ofinstability. By an effort he focused his eyes; but almost immediately hecaught himself growing fuzzy-minded again, exactly as though he had beengazing absently for a considerable period at a very bright light. Heshook himself. 

"I don't wonder sheep herders go dotty, " said he aloud. 

He looked about him, and for the first time became aware of a tow-headedyouth above him on the hill. The youth leaned on a staff, and at hisfeet crouched two long-haired dogs. Bob turned his horse in thatdirection. 

When he had approached, he saw the boy to be about seventeen years old. His hair was very light, as were his eyebrows and eyelashes. Only adecided tinge of blue in his irises saved him from albinism. His lipswere thick and loose, his nose flat, his expression vacant. In contrast, the two dogs, now seated on their haunches, their heads to one side, their ears cocked up, their eyes bright, looked to be the moreintelligent animals. 

"Good evening, " said Bob. 

The boy merely stared. 

"You in charge of the sheep?" inquired the young man presently. 

The boy grunted. 

"Where are you camped?" persisted Bob. 

No answer. 

"Where's your boss?"

A faint gleam came into the sheep-herder's eyes. He raised his arm andpointed across through the woods. 

Bob reined his horse in the direction indicated. As he passed the lastof the flock in that direction, he caught sight of another herder andtwo more dogs. This seemed to be a bearded man of better appearance thanthe boy; but he too leaned motionless on his long staff; he too gazedunblinking on the nibbling, restless, changing, imbecile sheep. 

As Bob looked, this man uttered a shrill, long-drawn whistle. Likearrows from bows the two dogs darted away, their ears flat, their bodiesheld low to the ground. The whistle was repeated by the youth. Immediately his dogs also glided forward. The noise of quick, sharpbarkings was heard. At once the slow, shifting movement of the masses ofgray ceased. The sound of murmurous, deep-toned bells, of bleating, ofthe movement of a multitude arose. The flock drew to a common centre; itflowed slowly forward. Here and there the dark bodies of the dogsdarted, eager and intelligently busy. The two herders followed after, leaning on their long staffs. Over the hill passed the flock. Slowly thesounds of them merged into a murmur. It died. Only remained the fog ofdust drifting through the trees, caught up by every passing current ofair, light and impalpable as powder. 

Bob continued on his way, but had not proceeded more than a few hundredfeet before he was overtaken by Lejeune. 

"You're the man I was looking for, " said Bob. "I see you got your sheepin all right. Have any trouble?"

The sheepman's teeth flashed. 

"Not'tall, " he replied. "I snik in ver' easy up by Beeg Rock. "

At the mill, Bob, while luxuriously splashing the ice cold water on hisface and throat, took time to call to Welton in the next room. 

"Saw your sheep man, " he proffered. "He got in all right, sheep andall. "

Welton appeared in the doorway, mopping his round, red face with atowel. 

"Funny we haven't heard from Plant, then, " said he. "That fat man mustbe keeping track of Leejune's where-abouts, or he's easier than Ithought he was. "

VIII

The week slipped by. Welton seemed to be completely immersed in thebusiness of cutting lumber. In due time Orde senior had replied by wire, giving assurance that he would see to the matter of the crossingpermits. 

"So _that's_ settled, " quoth Welton. "You bet-you Jack Orde will makethe red tape fly. It'll take a couple of weeks, I suppose--time forthe mail to get there and back. Meantime, we'll get a cut ahead. "

But at the end of ten days came a letter from the congressman. 

"Don't know just what is the hitch, " wrote Jack Orde. "It ought to bethe simplest matter in the world, and so I told Russell in the LandOffice to-day. They seem inclined to fall back on their technicalities, which is all rot, of course. The man wants to be annoying for somereason, but I'll take it higher at once. Have an appointment with theChief this afternoon.... "

The next letter came by the following mail. 

"This seems to be a bad mess. I can't understand it, nor get to thebottom of it. On the face of the showing here we've just bulled aheadwithout any regard whatever for law or regulations. Of course, I showedyour letter stating your agreement and talks with Plant, but thedepartment has his specific denial that you ever approached him. Theystand pat on that, and while they're very polite, they insist on adetailed investigation. I'm going to see the Secretary this morning. "

Close on the heels of this came a wire:

"Plant submits reports of alleged sheep trespass committed this springby your orders. Wire denial. "

"My Lord!" said Welton, as he took this. "That's why we never heard fromthat! Bobby, that was a fool move, certainly; but I couldn't turnLeejune down after I'd agreed to graze him. "

"How about these lumber contracts?" suggested Bob. 

"We've got to straighten this matter out, " said Welton soberly. 

He returned a long telegram to Congressman Orde in Washington, andhimself interviewed Plant. He made no headway whatever with the fat man, who refused to emerge beyond the hard technicalities of the situation. Welton made a journey to White Oaks, where he interviewed theSuperintendent of the Forest Reserves. The latter proved to be awell-meaning, kindly, white-whiskered gentleman, named Smith, wholistened sympathetically, agreed absolutely with the equities of thesituation, promised to attend to the matter, and expressed himself asdelighted always to have these things brought to his personal attention. On reaching the street, however, Welton made a bee-line for the bankthrough which he did most of his business. 

"Mr. Lee, " he asked the president, "I want you to be frank with me. I amhaving certain dealings with the Forest Reserve, and I want to know howmuch I can depend on this man Smith. "

Lee crossed his white hands on his round stomach, and looked at Weltonover his eyeglasses. 

"In what way?" he asked. 

"I've had a little trouble with one of his subordinates. I've just beenaround to state my case to Smith, and he agrees with my side of theaffair and promises to call down his man. Can I rely on him? Does hemean what he says?"

"He means what he says, " replied the bank president, slowly, "and youcan rely on him--until his subordinate gets a chance to talk to him. "

"H'm, " ruminated Welton. "Chinless, eh? I wondered why he wore longwhite whiskers. "

As he walked up the street toward the hotel, where he would spend thenight before undertaking the long drive back, somebody hailed him. Helooked around to see a pair of beautiful driving horses, shyingplayfully against each other, coming to a stop at the curb. Theirharness was the lightest that could be devised--no blinders, nobreeching, slender, well-oiled straps; the rig they drew shone andtwinkled with bright varnish, and seemed as delicate and light asthistledown. On the narrow seat sat a young man of thirty, covered withan old-fashioned linen duster, wearing the wide, gray felt hat of thecountry. He was a keen-faced, brown young man, with snapping black eyes. 

"Hullo, Welton, " said he as he brought the team to a stand; "when didyou get out of the hills?"

"How are you, Mr. Harding?" Welton returned his greeting. "Just down forthe day?"

"How are things going up your way?"

"First rate, " replied Welton. "We're going ahead three bells and ajingle. Started to saw last week. "

"That's good, " said Harding. "I haven't heard of one of your teams onthe road, and I began to wonder. We've got to begin deliveries on ourLos Angeles and San Pedro contracts by the first of August, and we'redepending on you. "

"We'll be there, " replied Welton with a laugh. 

The young man laughed back. 

"You'd better be, if you don't want us to come up and take your scalp, "said he, gathering his reins. 

"Guess I lay in some hair tonic so's to have a good one ready for you, "returned Welton, as Harding nodded his farewell. 

IX

Matters stood thus dependent on the efforts of Jack Orde, at Washington, when, one evening, Baker rode in to camp and dismounted before the lowverandah of the sleeping quarters. Welton and Bob sat, chair-tilted, awaiting the supper gong. 

"Thrice hail, noble chiefs!" cried Baker, cautiously stretching outfirst one sturdy leg, then the other. "Against which post can I lean mytrusty charger?"

Baker was garbed to suit the rôle. His boots were very thick and verytall, and most bristly with hobnails; they laced with belt laces throughforty-four calibre eyelets, and were strapped about the top with a broadpiece of leather and two glittering buckles. Furthermore, his trouserswere of khaki, his shirt of navy blue, his belt three inches broad, hisneckerchief of red, and his hat both wide and high. 

In response to enthusiastic greetings, he struck a pose. 

"How do you like it?" he inquired. "Isn't this the candy make-up for thesimple life--surveyor, hardy prospector, mountain climber, sturdypedestrian? Ain't I the real young cover design for the Out-of-doornumber?"

He accepted their congratulations with a lofty wave. 

"That's all right, " said he; "but somebody take away this horse before Ibite him. I'm sore on that horse. Joke! Snicker!"

Bob delivered over the animal to the stableman who was approaching. 

"Come up to see the tall buildings?" he quoted Baker himself. 

"Not so, " denied that young man. "My errand is philanthropic. I'm robinredbreast. Leaves for yours. "

"Pass that again, " urged Bob; "I didn't get it. "

"I hear you people have locked horns with Henry Plant, " said Baker. 

"Well, Plant's a little on the peck, " amended Welton. 

"Leaves for yours, " repeated the self-constituted robin redbreast. "Babes in the Woods!"

Beyond this he would vouchsafe nothing until after supper when, cigarslighted, the three of them sprawled before the fireplace in quarters. 

"Now, " he began, "you fellows are up against it good and plenty. Youcan't wish your lumber out, and that's the only feasible method unlessyou get a permit. Why in blazes did you make this break, anyway?"

"What break?" asked Welton. 

Baker looked at him and smiled slowly. 

"You don't think I own a telephone line without knowing what littlebirdies light on the wires, do you?"

"Does that damn operator leak?" inquired Welton placidly but with anarrowing of the eyes. 

"Not on your saccharine existence. If he did, he'd be out among thescenery in two jumps. But I'm different. That's my _business_. "

"Mighty poor business, " put in Bob quietly. 

Baker turned full toward him. 

"Think so? You'll never get any cigars in the guessing contest unlessyou can scare up better ones than that. Let's get back to cases. How didyou happen to make this break, anyway?"

"Why, " explained Welton, "it was simply a case of build a road and aflume down a worthless mountain-side. Back with us a man builds his roadwhere he needs it, and pays for the unavoidable damage. My head was fullof all sorts of details. I went and asked Plant about it, and he saidall right, go ahead. I supposed that settled it, and that he mustcertainly have authority on his own job. "

Baker nodded several times. 

"Sure. I see the point. Just the same, he has you. "

"For the time being, " amended Welton. "Bob's father, here, iscongressman from our district in Michigan, and he'll fix the matter. "

Baker turned his face to the ceiling, blew a cloud of smoke toward it, and whistled. Then he looked down at Welton. 

"I suppose you know the real difficulty?" he asked. 

"One thousand dollars, " replied Welton promptly--"to hire extrafire-fighters to protect my timber, " he added ironically. 

"Well?"

"Well!" the lumberman slapped his knee. "I won't be held up in any suchbarefaced fashion!"

"And your congressman will pull you out. Now let me drop a few pearls ofwisdom in the form of conundrums. Why does a fat man who can't ride ahorse hold a job as Forest Supervisor in a mountain country?"

"He's got a pull somewhere, " replied Welton. 

"Bright boy! Go to the head. Why does a fat man who is hated by everymountain man, who grafts barefacedly, whose men are either loafers ordiscouraged, _hold_ his job?"

"Same answer. "

Baker leaned forward, and his mocking face became grave. 

"That pull comes from the fact that old Gay is his first cousin, andthat he seems to have some special drag with him. "

"The Republican chairman!" cried Welton. 

Baker leaned back. 

"About how much chance do you think Mr. Orde has of getting a hearing?Especially as all they have to do is to stand pat on the record. You'dbetter buy your extra fire-fighters. "

"That would be plain bribery, " put in Bob from the bed. 

"Fie, fie! Naughty!" chided Baker. "Bribery! to protect one's timberagainst the ravages of the devouring element! Now look here, " he resumedhis sober tone and more considered speech; "what else can you do?"

"Fight it, " said Bob. 

"Fight what? Prefer charges against Plant? That's been done a dozentimes. Such things never get beyond the clerks. There's a man inWashington now who has direct evidence of some of the worst frauds andbiggest land steals ever perpetrated in the West. He's been there nowfour months, and he hasn't even _succeeded in getting a hearing_ yet. Itried bucking Plant, and it cost me first and last, in time, delay andmoney, nearly fifty thousand dollars. I'm offering you that expensiveexperience free, gratis, for nothing. "

"Make a plain statement of the facts public, " said Bob. "Publish them. Arouse public sentiment. "

Baker looked cynical. 

"Such attacks are ascribed to soreheads, " said he, "and public sentiment_isn't interested_. The average citizen wonders what all the fuss isabout and why you don't get along with the officials, anyway, as long asthey are fairly reasonable. " He turned to Welton: "How much more of adelay can you stand without closing down?"

"A month. "

"How soon must your deliveries begin?"

"July first. "

"If you default this contract you can't meet your notes. "

"What notes?"

"Don't do the baby blue-eyes. You can't start a show like this withoutborrowing. Furthermore, if you default this contract, you'll never getanother, even if you do weather the storm. "

"That's true, " said Welton. 

"Furthermore, " insisted Baker, "Marshall and Harding will beconsiderably embarrassed to fill their contracts down below; and thebuilding operations will go bump for lack of material, if they fail tomake good. You can't stand or fall alone in this kind of a game. "

Welton said nothing, but puffed strongly on his cigar. 

"You're still doing the Sister Anne toward Washington, " said Baker, pleasantly. "This came over the 'phone. I wired Mr. Orde in your name, asking what prospects there were for a speedy settlement. There's whathe says!" He flipped a piece of scratch paper over to Welton. 

"Deadlock, " read the latter slowly. "No immediate prospect. Will hastenmatters through regular channels. Signed, Orde. "

"Mr. Orde is familiar with the whole situation?" asked Baker. 

"He is. "

"Well, there's what he thinks about it even there. You'd better see tothat fire protection. It's going to be a dry year. "

"What's all your interest in this, anyway?" asked Bob. 

Baker did not answer, but looked inquiringly toward Welton. 

"Our interests are obviously his, " said Welton. "We're the only twobusiness propositions in this country. And if one of those two fail, how's the other to scratch along?"

"Correct, as far as you go, " said Baker, who had listened attentively. "Now, I'm no tight wad, and I'll give you another, gratis. It's strictlyunder your hats, though. If you fellows bust, how do you think I couldraise money to do business up here at all? It would hoodoo the country. "

Silence fell on the three, while the fire leaped and fell and crackled. Welton's face showed still a trace of stubbornness. Suddenly Bakerleaned forward, all his customary fresh spirits shining in his face. 

"Don't like to take his na'ty medicine?" said he. "Well, now, I'll tellyou. I know Plant mighty well. He eats out of my hand. He just loves meas a father. If I should go to him and say; 'Plant, my agile sylph, these people are my friends. Give them their nice little permit and letthem run away and play, ' why, he'd do it in a minute. " Baker rolled hiseyes drolly at Welton. "Can this be the shadow of doubt! You disbelievemy power?" He leaned forward and tapped Welton's knee. His voice becamegrave: "I'll tell you what I'll do. _I'll bet you a thousand dollars Ican get your permit for you!"_

The two men looked steadily into each other's eyes. 

At last Welton drew a deep sigh. 

"I'll go you, " said he. 

Baker laughed gleefully. 

"It's a cinch, " said he. "Now, honest, don't you think so? Do you giveup? Will you give me a check now?"

"I'll give you a check, and you can hunt up a good stakeholder, " saidWelton. "Shall I make it out to Plant?" he inquired sarcastically. 

"Make the check out to me, " said Baker. "I'll just let Plant hold thestakes and decide the bet. "

He rose. 

"Bring out the fiery, untamed steed!" he cried. "I must away!"

"Not to-night?" cried Bob in astonishment. 

"Plant's in his upper camp, " said Baker, "and it's only five miles bytrail. There's still a moon. "

"But why this haste?"

"Well, " said Baker, spreading his sturdy legs apart and surveying firstone and then the other. "To tell you the truth, our old friend Plant isgetting hostile about these prods from Washington, and he intimated he'dbetter hear from me before midnight to-day. "

"You've already seen him!" cried Bob. 

But Baker merely grinned. 

As he stood by his horse preparing to mount, he remarked casually. 

"Just picked up a new man for my land business--name Oldham. "

"Never heard of him, " said Welton. 

"He isn't the _Lucky Lands_ Oldham, is he?" asked Bob. 

"Same chicken, " replied Baker; then, as Bob laughed, "Think he's phoney?Maybe he'll take watching--and maybe he won't. I'm a good littlewatcher. But I do know he's got 'em all running up the street with theirhats in their hands when it comes to getting results. "

X

Baker must have won his bet, for Welton never again saw his check forone thousand dollars, until it was returned to him cancelled. Nor didBaker himself return. He sent instead a note advising some one to goover to Plant's headquarters. Accordingly Bob saddled his horse, andfollowed the messenger back to the Supervisor's summer quarters. 

After an hour and a half of pleasant riding through the great forest, the trail dropped into a wagon road which soon led them to a fine, openmeadow. 

"Where does the road go to in the other direction?" Bob asked his guide. 

"She 'jines onto your road up the mountain just by the top of the rise, "replied the ranger. 

"How did you get up here before we built that road?" inquired Bob. 

"Rode, " answered the man briefly. 

"Pretty tough on Mr. Plant, " Bob ventured. 

The man made no reply, but spat carefully into the tarweed. Bobchuckled to himself as the obvious humour of the situation came to him. Plant was evidently finding the disputed right of way a greatconvenience. 

The meadow stretched broad and fair to a distant fringe of aspens. Oneither side lay the open forest of spruce and pines, spacious, withoutundergrowth. Among the trees gleamed several new buildings and one ortwo old and weather-beaten structures. The sounds of busy saws andhammers rang down the forest aisles. 

Bob found the Supervisor sprawled comfortably in a rude, homemade chairwatching the activities about him. To his surprise, he found there alsoOldham, the real-estate promoter from Los Angeles. Two men were nailingshakes on a new shed. Two more were busily engaged in hewing and sawing, from a cross-section of a huge sugar pine, a set of three steps. Plantseemed to be greatly interested in this, as were still two other mensquatting on their heels close by. All wore the badges of the ForestReserves. Near at hand stood two more men holding their horses by thebridle. As Bob ceased his interchange with Oldham, he overhead one ofthese inquire:

"All right. Now what do you want us to do?"

"Get your names on the pay-roll and don't bother me, " replied Plant. 

Plant caught sight of Bob, and, to that young man's surprise, waved hima jovial hand. 

"'Bout time you called on the old man!" he roared. "Tie your horse tothe ground and come look at these steps. I bet there ain't another pairlike 'em in the mountains!"

Somewhat amused at this cordiality, Bob dismounted. 

Plant mentioned names by way of introduction. 

"Baker told me that you were with him, but not that you were on themountain, " said Bob. "Better come over and see us. "

"I'll try, but I'm rushed to get back, " replied Oldham formally. 

"How's the work coming on?" asked Plant. "When you going to startfluming 'em down?"

"As soon as we can get our permit, " replied Bob. 

Plant chuckled. 

"Well, you did get in a hole there, didn't you? I guess you better goahead. It'll take all summer to get the permit, and you don't want tolose a season, do you?"

Astonished at the effrontery of the man, Bob could with difficultycontrol his expression. 

"We expect to start to-morrow or next day, " he replied. "Just as soonas we can get our teams organized. Just scribble me a temporary permit, will you?" He offered a fountain pen and a blank leaf of his notebook. 

Plant hesitated, but finally wrote a few words. 

"You won't need it, " he assured Bob. "I'll pass the word. But there youare. "

"Thanks, " said Bob, folding away the paper. "You seem to be comfortablyfixed here. "

Plant heaved his mighty body to its legs. His fat face beamed withpride. 

"My boy, " he confided to Bob, laying a pudgy hand on the young man'sshoulder, "this is the best camp in the mountains--without anyexception. "

He insisted on showing Bob around. Of course, the young fellow, unaccustomed as yet to the difficulties of mountain transportation, could not quite appreciate to the full extent the value in forethoughtand labour of such things as glass windows, hanging lamps, enamelledtable service, open fireplaces, and all the thousand and oneconveniences--either improvised or transported mule-back--that Plantdisplayed. Nevertheless he found the place most comfortable andattractive. 

They caught a glimpse of skirts disappearing, but in spite of Plant'sroar of "Minnie!" the woman failed to appear. 

"My niece, " he explained. 

In spite of himself, Bob found that he was beginning to like the fatman. There could be no doubt that the Supervisor was a great rascal;neither could there be any doubt but that his personality was mostattractive. He had a bull-like way of roaring out his jokes, his orders, or his expostulations; a smashing, dry humour; and, above all, aninvariably confident and optimistic belief that everything was goingwell and according to everyone's desires. His manner, too, was hearty, his handclasp warm. He fairly radiated good-fellowship and good humouras he rolled about. Bob's animosity thawed in spite of his half-amusedrealization of what he ought to feel. 

When the tour of inspection had brought them again to the grove wherethe men were at work, they found two new arrivals. 

These were evidently brothers, as their square-cut features proclaimed. They squatted side by side on their heels. Two good horses with theheavy saddles and coiled ropes of the stockmen looked patiently overtheir shoulders. A mule, carrying a light pack, wandered at will in thebackground. The men wore straight-brimmed, wide felt hats, shortjumpers, and overalls of blue denim, and cowboy boots armed with thelong, blunt spurs of the craft. Their faces were stubby with a week'sgrowth, but their blue eyes were wide apart and clear. 

"Hullo, Pollock, " greeted Plant, as he dropped, blowing, into his chair. 

The men nodded briefly, never taking their steady gaze from Plant'sface. After a due and deliberate pause, the elder spoke. 

"They's a thousand head of Wright's cattle been drove in on our rangesthis year, " said he. 

"I issued Wright permits for that number, Jim, " replied Plant blandly. 

"But that's plumb crowdin' of our cattle off'n the range, " protested themountaineer. 

"No, it ain't, " denied Plant. "That range will keep a thousand cattlemore. I've had complete reports on it. I know what I'm doing. "

"It'll _keep_ them, all right, " spoke up the younger, "which is sayingthey won't die. But they'll come out in the fall awful pore. "

"I'm using my judgment as to that, " said Plant. 

"Yore judgment is pore, " said the younger Pollock, bluntly. "You got tobe a cattleman to know about them things. "

"Well, I know Simeon Wright don't put in cattle where he's going tolose on them, " replied Plant. "If he's willing to risk it, I'll back hisjudgment. "

"Wright's a crowder, " the older Pollock took up the argument quietly. "He owns fifty thousand head. Me and George, here, we have five hunderd. He just aims to summer his cattle, anyhow. When they come out in thefall, he will fat them up on alfalfa hay. Where is George and me and theMortons and the Carrolls, and all the rest of the mountain folks goingto get alfalfa hay? If our cattle come out pore in the fall, they ain'tno good to us. The range is overstocked with a thousand more cattle onit. We're pore men, and Wright he owns half of Californy. He's got amillion acres of his own without crowdin' in on us. "

"This is the public domain, for all the public----" began Plant, pompously, but George Pollock, the younger, cut in. 

"We've run this range afore you had any Forest Reserves, afore you cameinto this country, Henry Plant, and our fathers and our grandfathers!We've built up our business here, and we've built our ranches and we'vemade our reg'lations and lived up to 'em! We ain't going to be run offour range without knowin' why!"

"Just because you've always hogged the public land is no reason why youshould always continue to do so, " said Plant cheerfully. 

"Who's the public? Simeon Wright? or the folks up and down themountains, who lives in the country?"

"You've got the same show as Wright or anybody else. "

"No, we ain't, " interposed Jim Pollock, "for we're playin' a differentgame. "

"Well, what is it you want me to do, anyway?" demanded Plant. "The manhas his permit. You can't expect me to tell him to get to hell out ofthere when he has a duly authorized permit, do you?"

The Pollocks looked at each other. 

"No, " hesitated Jim, at last. "But we're overstocked. Don't issue nosuch blanket permits next year. The range won't carry no more cattlethan it always has. "

"Well, I'll have it investigated, " promised Plant. "I'll send out agrazing man to look into the matter. "

He nodded a dismissal, and the two men, rising slowly to their feet, prepared to mount. They looked perplexed and dissatisfied, but at aloss. Plant watched them sardonically. Finally they swung into thesaddle with the cowman's easy grace. 

"Well, good day, " said Jim Pollock, after a moment's hesitation. 

"Good day, " returned Plant amusedly. 

They rode away down the forest aisles. The pack mule fell in behindthem, ringing his tiny, sweet-toned bell, his long ears swinging atevery step. 

Plant watched them out of sight. 

"Most unreasonable people in the world, " he remarked to Bob and Oldham. "They never can be made to see sense. Between them and these confoundedsheepmen--I'd like to get rid of the whole bunch, and deal only with_business_ men. Takes too much palaver to run this outfit. If they gaveme fifty rangers, I couldn't more'n make a start. " He was plainly out ofhumour. 

"How many rangers do you get?" asked Bob. 

"Twelve, " snapped Plant. 

Bob saw eight of the twelve in sight, either idle or working on suchmatters as the steps hewed from the section of pine log. He saidnothing, but smiled to himself. 

Shortly after he took his leave. Plant, his good humour entirelyrecovered, bellowed after him a dozen jokes and invitations. 

Down the road a quarter-mile, just before the trail turned off to themill, Bob and his guide, who was riding down the mountain, passed a manon horseback. He rode a carved-leather saddle, withouttapaderos. [Footnote: Stirrup hoods] A rawhide riata hung in its loop onthe right-hand side of the horn. He wore a very stiff-brimmed hatencircled by a leather strap and buckle, a cotton shirt, and beltedtrousers tucked into high-heeled boots embroidered with varied patterns. He was a square-built but very wiry man, with a bold, aggressive, half-hostile glance, and rode very straight and easy after the manner ofthe plains cowboy. A pair of straight-shanked spurs jingled at hisheels, and he wore a revolver. 

"Shelby, " explained the guide, after this man had passed. "SimeonWright's foreman with these cattle you been hearing about. He ain'tnever far off when there's something doing. Guess he's come to see abouthow's his fences. "

XI

Bob rode jubilantly into camp. The expedition had taken him all theafternoon, and it was dropping dusk when he had reached the mill. 

"We can get busy, " he cried, waving the permit at Welton. "Here it is!"

Welton smiled. "I knew that, my boy, " he replied, "and we're alreadybusy to the extent of being ready to turn her loose to-morrow morning. I've sent down a yard crew to the lower end of the flume; and I'vestarted Max to rustling out the teams by 'phone. "

Next day the water was turned into the flume. Fifty men stood by. Rapidly the skilled workmen applied the clamps and binders that made ofthe boards a compact bundle to be given to the rushing current. Thenthey thrust it forward to the drag of the water. It gathered headway, rubbing gently against the flume, first on one side, then on the other. Its weight began to tell; it gathered momentum; it pushed ahead of itsblunt nose a foaming white wave; it shot out of sight grandly, careeningfrom side to side. The men cheered. 

"Well, we're off!" said Bob cheerfully. 

"Yes, we're off, thank God!" replied Welton. 

From that moment the affairs of the new enterprise went as well as couldbe expected. Of course, there were many rough edges to be smoothed off, but as the season progressed the community shaped itself. It was indeeda community, of many and diverse activities, much more complicated, Bobsoon discovered, than any of the old Michigan logging camps. A greatmany of the men brought their families. These occupied separateshanties, of course. The presence of the women and children took awaymuch of that feeling of impermanence associated with most pioneeractivities. As without exception these women kept house, the company"van" speedily expanded to a company store. Where the "van" kept merelyrough clothing, tobacco and patent medicines, the store soon answereddemands for all sorts of household luxuries and necessities. Provisions, of course, were always in request. These one of the company'sbookkeepers doled out. 

"Mr. Poole, " the purchaser would often say to this man, "next time awagon comes up from Sycamore Flats would you just as soon have thembring me up a few things? I want a washboard, and some shoes for Jimmy, and a double boiler; and there ought to be an express package for mefrom my sister. "

"Sure! I'll see to it, " said Poole. 

This meant a great deal of trouble, first and last, what with thecharges and all. Finally, Welton tired of it. 

"We've got to keep a store, " he told Bob finally. 

With characteristic despatch he put the carpenters to work, and sent forlists of all that had been ordered from Sycamore Flats. A study ofthese, followed by a trip to White Oaks, resulted in the equipment of astore under charge of a man experienced in that sort of thing. As timewent on, and the needs of such a community made themselves more evident, the store grew in importance. Its shelves accumulated dress goods, drygoods, clothing, hardware; its rafters dangled with tinware and kettles, with rope, harness, webbing; its bins overflowed with variousfood-stuffs unknown to the purveyor of a lumber camp's commissary, butin demand by the housewife; its one glass case shone temptingly withfancy stationery, dollar watches, and even cheap jewelry. There wascandy for the children, gum for the bashful maiden, soda pop for thefrivolous young. In short, there sprang to being in an astonishinglybrief space of time a very creditable specimen of the country store. Itwas a business in itself, requiring all the services of a competent manfor the buying, the selling, and the transportation. At the end of theyear it showed a fair return on the investment. 

"Though we'd have to have it even at a dead loss, " Welton pointed out, "to hold our community together. All we need is a few tufts of chinwhiskers and some politics to be full-fledged gosh-darn mossbacks. "

The storekeeper, a very deliberate person, Merker by name, was muchgiven to contemplation and pondering. He possessed a German pipe ofporcelain, which he smoked when not actively pestered by customers. Atsuch times he leaned his elbows on the counter, curved one hand aboutthe porcelain bowl of his pipe, lost the other in the depths of hisgreat seal-brown beard, and fell into staring reveries. When a customerentered he came back--with due deliberation--from about one thousandmiles. He refused to accept more than one statement at a time, toconsider more than one person at a time, or to do more than one thing ata time. 

"Gim'me five pounds of beans, two of sugar, and half a pound of tea!"demanded Mrs. Max. 

Merker deliberately laid aside his pipe, deliberately moved down theaisle behind his counter, deliberately filled his scoop, deliberatelymanipulated the scales. After the package was duly and neatly encased, labelled and deposited accurately in front of Mrs. Max, Merker lookedher in the eye. 

"Five pounds of beans, " said he, and paused for the next item. 

The moment the woman had departed, Merker resumed his pipe and hiswide-eyed vacancy. 

Welton was immensely amused and tickled. 

"Seems to me he might keep a little busier, " grumbled Bob. 

"I thought so, too, at first, " replied the older man, "but his store isalways neat, and he keeps up his stock. Furthermore, he never makes amistake--there's no chance for it on his one-thing-at-a-time system. "

But it soon became evident that Merker's reveries did not mean vacancyof mind. At such times the Placid One figured on his stock. When he putin a list of goods required, there was little guess-work as to thequantities needed. Furthermore, he had other schemes. One evening hepresented himself to Welton with a proposition. His waving brown hairwas slicked back from his square, placid brow, his wide, cowlike eyesshone with the glow of the common or domestic fire, his brown beard wasneat, and his holiday clothes were clean. At Welton's invitation he sat, but bolt upright at the edge of a chair. 

"After due investigation and deliberation, " he stated, "I have come tothe independent conclusion that we are overlooking a means of revenue. "

"As what?" asked Welton, amused by the man's deadly seriousness. 

"Hogs, " stated Merker. 

He went on deliberately to explain the waste in camp garbage, the priceof young pigs, the cost of their transportation, the average sellingprice of pork, the rate of weight increase per month, and the numberpossible to maintain. He further showed that, turned at large, theywould require no care. Amused still at the man's earnestness, Weltontried to trip him up with questions. Merker had foreseen everycontingency. 

"I'll turn it over to you. Draw the necessary money from the storeaccount, " Welton told him finally. 

Merker bowed solemnly and went out. In two weeks pigs appeared. Theybecame a feature of the landscape, and those who experimented withgardens indulged in profanity, clubs and hog-proof fences. Returninghome after dark, the wayfarer was apt to be startled to the edge offlight by the grunting upheaval of what had seemed a black shadow underthe moon. Bob in especial acquired concentrated practice in horsemanshipfor the simple reason that his animal refused to dismiss his firsthypothesis of bears. 

Nevertheless, at the end of the season Merker gravely presented a dulymade out balance to the credit of hogs. 

Encouraged by the success of this venture, he next attempted chickens. But even his vacant-eyed figuring had neglected to take intoconsideration the abundance of such predatory beasts and birds aswildcats, coyotes, raccoons, owls and the swift hawks of the falconfamily. 

"I had thought, " he reported to the secretly amused Welton, "that evenin feeding the finer sorts of garbage to hogs there might be an economicwaste; hogs fatten well enough on the coarser grades, and chickens willeat the finer. In that I fell into error. The percentage of loss fromnoxious varmints more than equals the difference in the cost of eggs. Ifurther find that the margin of profits on chickens is not large enoughto warrant expenditures for traps, dogs and men sufficient forprotection. "

"And how does the enterprise stand now?" asked Welton. 

"We are behind. "

"H'm. And what would you advise by way of retrenchment?"

"I should advise closing out the business by killing the fowl, " wasMerker's opinion. "Crediting the account with the value of the chickensas food would bring us out with a loss of approximately ten dollars. "

"Fried chicken is hardly applicable as lumber camp provender, " pointedout Welton. "So it's scarcely a legitimate asset. "

"I had considered that point, " replied Merker, "and in my calculations Ihad valued the chickens at the price of beef. "

Welton gave it up. 

Another enterprise for which Merker was responsible was the utilizationof the slabs and edgings in the construction of fruit trays and boxes. When he approached Welton on the subject, the lumberman was littleinclined to be receptive to the idea. 

"That's all very well, Merker, " said he, impatiently; "I don't doubtit's just as you say, and there's a lot of good tray and box materialgoing to waste. So, too, I don't doubt there's lots of material fortoothpicks and matches and wooden soldiers and shingles and all sorts ofthings in our slashings. The only trouble is that I'm trying to run abig lumber company. I haven't time for all that sort of little monkeybusiness. There's too much detail involved in it. "

"Yes, sir, " said Merker, and withdrew. 

About two weeks later, however, he reappeared, towing after him anelderly, bearded farmer and a bashful-looking, hulking youth. 

"This is Mr. Lee, " said Merker, "and he wants to make arrangements withyou to set up a little cleat and box-stuff mill, and use from yourdump. "

Mr. Lee, it turned out, had been sent up by an informal association ofthe fruit growers of the valley. Said informal association had beenformed by Merker through the mails. The store-keeper had submitted suchconvincing figures that Lee had been dispatched to see about it. Itlooked cheaper in the long run to send up a spare harvesting engine, tobuy a saw, and to cut up box and tray stuff than to purchase thesenecessities from the regular dealers. Would Mr. Welton negotiate? Mr. Welton did. Before long the millmen were regaled by the sight of asnorting little upright engine connected by a flapping, sagging belt toa small circular saw. Two men and two boys worked like beavers. Theracket and confusion, shouts, profanity and general awkwardness weresomething tremendous. Nevertheless, the pile of stock grew, and everyonce in a while six-horse farm wagons from the valley would climb themountain to take away box material enough to pack the fruit of a wholedistrict. To Merker this was evidently a profound satisfaction. Often hewould vary his usual between-customer reverie by walking out on hisshaded verandah, where he would lean against an upright, nursing thebowl of his pipe, gazing across the sawdust to the diminutive andrackety box-plant in the distance. 

Welton, passing one day, laughed at him. 

"How about your economic waste, Merker?" he called. "Two good men couldturn out three times the stuff all that gang does in about half thetime. "

"There are no two good men for that job, " replied Merker unmoved. Hislarge, cowlike eyes roved across the yards. "Men grow in a generation;trees grow in ten, " he resumed with unexpected directness. "I havecalculated that of a great tree but 40 per cent. Is used. All the restis economic waste--slabs, edging, tops, stumps, sawdust. " He sighed. "Icouldn't get anybody to consider your toothpick and matches idea, northe wooden soldiers, nor even the shingles, " he ended. 

Welton stared. 

"You didn't quote me in the matter, did you?" he asked at length. 

"I did not take the matter as official. Would I have done better to havedone so?"

"Lord, no!" cried Welton fervently. 

"The sawdust ought to make something, " continued Merker. "But I amunable to discover a practical use for it. " He indicated the greatyellow mound that each day increased. 

"Yes, I got to get a burner for it, " said Welton, "it'll soon swamp us. "

"There might be power in it, " mused Merker. "A big furnace, now----"

"For heaven's sake, man, what for?" demanded Welton. 

"I don't know yet, " answered the store-keeper. 

Merker amused and interested Welton, and in addition proved to be avaluable man for just his position. It tickled the burly lumberman, too, to stop for a moment in his rounds for the purpose of discussing withmock gravity any one of Marker's thousand ideas on economic waste, Welton discovered a huge entertainment in this. One day, however, hefound Merker in earnest discussion with a mountain man, whom thestore-keeper introduced as Ross Fletcher. Welton did not pay very muchattention to this man and was about to pass on when his eye caught thegleam of a Forest Ranger's badge. Then he stopped short. 

"Merker!" he called sharply. 

The store-keeper looked up. 

"See here a minute. Now, " said Welton, as he drew the other aside, "Iwant one thing distinctly understood. This Government gang don't gohere. This is my property, and I won't have them loafing around. That'sall there is to it. Now understand me; I mean business. If those fellowscome in here, they must buy what they want and get out. They're a lazy, loafing, grafting crew, and I won't have them. "

Welton spoke earnestly and in a low tone, and his face was red. Bob, passing, drew rein in astonishment. Never, in his long experience withWelton, had he seen the older man plainly out of temper. Welton's usualhabit in aggravating and contrary circumstances was to show a surface, at least, of the most leisurely good nature. So unprecedented was thepresent condition that Bob, after hesitating a moment, dismounted andapproached. 

Merker was staring at his chief with wide and astonished eyes, andplucking nervously at his brown beard. 

"Why, that is Ross Fletcher, " he gasped. "We were just talking about theeconomic waste in the forests. He is a good man. He isn't lazy. He--"

"Economic waste hell!" exploded Welton. "I won't have that crew aroundhere, and I won't have my employees confabbing with them. I don't carewhat you tell them, or how you fix it, but you keep them out of here. Understand? I hate the sight of one of those fellows worse than apoison-snake!"

Merker glanced from Welton to the ranger and back again perplexed. 

"But--but--" he stammered. "I've known Ross Fletcher a long time. Whatcan I say--"

Welton cut in on him with contempt. 

"Well, you'd better say something, unless you want me to throw him offthe place. This is no corner saloon for loafers. "

"I'll fix it, " offered Bob, and without waiting for a reply, he walkedover to where the mountaineer was leaning against the counter. 

"You're a Forest Ranger, I see, " said Bob. 

"Yes, " replied the man, straightening from his lounging position. 

"Well, from our bitter experiences as to the activities of a ForestRanger we conclude that you must be very busy people--too busy to wastetime on us. "

The man's face changed, but he evidently had not quite arrived at thedrift of this. 

"I think you know what I mean, " said Bob. 

A slow flush overspread the ranger's face. He looked the young man upand down deliberately. Bob moved the fraction of an inch nearer. 

"Meaning I'm not welcome here?" he demanded. 

"This place is for the transaction of business only. Can I have Merkerget you anything?"

Fletcher shot a glance half of bewilderment, half of anger, in thedirection of the store-keeper. Then he nodded, not without a certaindignity, at Bob. 

"Thanks, no, " he said, and walked out, his spurs jingling. 

"I guess he won't bother us again, " said Bob, returning to Welton. 

The latter laughed, a trifle ashamed of his anger. 

"Those fellows give me the creeps, " he said, "like cats do some people. Mossbacks don't know no better, but a Government grafter is a littlemore useless than a nigger on a sawlog. "

He went out. Bob turned to Merker. 

"Sorry for the row, " he said briefly, for he liked the gentle, slowman. "But they're a bad lot. We've got to keep that crew at arm's lengthfor our own protection. "

"Ross Fletcher is not that kind, " protested Merker. "I've known him foryears. "

"Well, he's got a nerve to come in here. I've seen him and his kindholding down too good a job next old Austin's bar. "

"Not Ross, " protested Merker again. "He's a worker. He's just back nowfrom the high mountains. Mr. Orde, if you've got a minute, sit down. Iwant to tell you about Ross. "

Willing to do what he could to soften Merker's natural feeling, Bobswung himself to the counter, and lit his pipe. 

"Ross Fletcher is a ranger because he loves it and believes in it, " saidMerker earnestly. "He knows things are going rotten now, but he hopesthat by and by they'll go better. His district is in good shape. Why, let me tell you: last spring Ross was fighting fire all alone, and hewent out for help and they docked him a day for being off the reserve!"

"You don't say, " commented Bob. 

"You don't believe it. Well, it's so. And they sent him in after sheepin the high mountains early, when the feed was froze, and wouldn't allowhim pay for three sacks of barley for his animals. And Ross gets sixtydollars a month, and he spends about half of that for trail tools andfire tools that they won't give him. What do you think of that?"

"Merker, " said Bob kindly, "I think your man is either a damn liar or adamn fool. Why does he say he does all this?"

"He likes the mountains. He--well, he just believes in it. "

"I see. Are there any more of these altruists? or is he the only bird ofthe species?"

Merker caught the irony of Bob's tone. 

"They don't amount to much, in general, " he admitted. "But there's afew--they keep the torch lit. "

"I supposed their job was more in the line of putting it out, " observedBob; then, catching Merker's look of slow bewilderment, he added: "Sothere are several. "

"Yes. There's good men among 'em. There's Ross, and Charley Morton, andTom Carroll, and, of course, old California John. "

Bob's amused smile died slowly. Before his mental vision rose thepicture of the old mountaineer, with his faded, ragged clothes, hisbeautiful outfit, his lean, kindly face, his steady blue eyes, guardingan empty trail for the sake of an empty duty. That man was no fool; andBob knew it. The young fellow slid from the counter to the floor. 

"I'm glad you believe in your friend, Merker, " said he "and I don'tdoubt he's a fine fellow; but we can't have rangers, good, bad, orindifferent, hanging around here. I hope you understand that?"

Merker nodded, his wide eyes growing dreamy. 

"It's an economic waste, " he sighed, "all this cross-purposes. Here'syou a good man, and Ross a good man, and you cannot work in harmonybecause of little things. The Government and the private owner shouldconduct business together for the best utilization of all rawmaterial--"

"Merker, " broke in Bob, with a kindly twinkle, "you're a Utopian. "

"Mr. Orde, " returned Merker with entire respect, "you're a lumberman. "

With this interchange of epithets they parted. 

XII

The establishment of the store attracted a great many campers. California is the campers' state. Immediately after the close of therainy season they set forth. The wayfarer along any of the country roadswill everywhere meet them, either plodding leisurely through thecharming landscape, or cheerfully gipsying it by the roadside. Some ofthe outfits are very elaborate, veritable houses on wheels, with doorsand windows, stove pipes, steps that let down, unfolding devices soingenious that when they are all deployed the happy owners aresurrounded by complete convenience and luxury. The man drives his arkfrom beneath a canopy; the women and children occupy comfortably theliving room of the house--whose sides, perchance, fold outward likewings when the breeze is cool and the dust not too thick. Carlo frisksjoyously ahead and astern. Other parties start out quite as cheerfullywith the delivery wagon, or the buckboard, or even--at a pinch--with thetop buggy. For all alike the country-side is golden, the sun warm, thesky blue, the birds joyous, and the spring young in the land. Theclimate is positively guaranteed. It will not rain; it will shine; thestars will watch. Feed for the horses everywhere borders the roads. Onecan idle along the highways and the byways and the noways-at-all, utterly carefree, surrounded by wild and beautiful scenery. No wonderhalf the state turns nomadic in the spring. 

And then, as summer lays its heats--blessed by the fruit man, theirrigator, the farmer alike--over the great interior valleys, the peopledivide into two classes. One class, by far the larger, migrates to theCoast. There the trade winds blowing softly from the Pacific temper thesemi-tropic sun; the Coast Ranges bar back the furnace-like heat of theinterior; and the result is a summer climate even nearerperfection--though not so much advertised--than is that of winter. Herethe populace stays in the big winter hotels at reduced rates, or rentsitself cottages, or lives in one or the other of the unique tent cities. It is gregarious and noisy, and healthy and hearty, and full ofphonographs and a desire to live in bathing suits. Another, and smallercontingent, turns to the Sierras. 

We have here nothing to do with those who attend the resorts such asTahoe or Klamath; nor yet with that much smaller contingent of hardy andadventurous spirits who, with pack-mule and saddle, lose themselves inthe wonderful labyrinth of granite and snow, of caņon and peak, offorest and stream that makes up the High Sierras. But rather let usconfine ourselves to the great middle class, the class that has not thewealth nor the desire for resort hotels, nor the skill nor the equipmentto explore a wilderness. These people hitch up the farm team, or thegrocer's cart, or the family horse, pile in their bedding and theirsimple cooking utensils, whistle to the dog, and climb up out of thescorching inferno to the coolness of the pines. 

They have few but definite needs. They must have company, water, and theproximity of a store where they can buy things to eat. If there isfishing, so much the better. At any rate there is plenty of material forbonfires. And since other stores are practically unknown above thesix-thousand-foot winter limit of habitability, it follows that eachlumber-mill is a magnet that attracts its own community of thesevisitors to the out of doors. 

As early as the beginning of July the first outfit drifted in. Below themill a half-mile there happened to be a small, round lake with meadowsat the upper and lower ends. By the middle of the month two hundredpeople were camped there. Each constructed his abiding place accordingto his needs and ideas, and promptly erected a sign naming it. Thenames were facetiously intended. The community was out for a good time, and it had it. Phonographs, concertinas, and even a tiny transportableorgan appeared. The men dressed in loose rough clothes; the women woresun-bonnets; the girls inclined to bandana handkerchiefs, rough-riderskirts and leggings, cowboy hats caught up at the sides, fringedgauntlet gloves. They were a good-natured, kindly lot, and Bob likednothing better than to stroll down to the Lake in the twilight. There hefound the arrangements differing widely. The smaller ranchmen livedroughly, sleeping under the stars, perhaps, cooking over an open fire, eating from tinware. The larger ranchmen did things in better style. They brought rocking chairs, big tents, chinaware, camp stoves andJapanese servants to manipulate them. The women had flags and Chineselanterns with which to decorate, hammocks in which to lounge, books toread, tables at which to sit, cots and mattresses on which to sleep. Nodifference in social status was made, however. The young peopleundertook their expeditions together: the older folks swapped yarns inthe peaceful enjoyment of the forest. Bob found interest in all, for asyet the California ranchman has not lost in humdrum occupations theinitiative that brought him to a new country nor the influences of theexperience he has gained there. To his surprise several of the partieswere composed entirely of girls. One, of four members, was made up ofstudents from Berkeley, out for their summer vacation. Late in thesummer these four damsels constructed a pack of their belongings, lashedit on a borrowed mule, and departed. They were gone for a week in theback country, and returned full of adventures over the detailing ofwhich they laughed until they gasped. 

To Bob's astonishment none of the men seemed particularly wrought upover this escapade. 

"They're used to the mountains, " he was assured, "and they'll get alongall right with that old mule. "

"Does anybody live over there?" asked Bob. 

"No, it's just a wild country, but the trails is good. "

"Suppose they get into trouble?"

"What trouble? And 'tain't likely they'd all get into trouble to once. "

"I should think they'd be scared. "

"Nothin' to be scared of, " replied the man comfortably. 

Bob thought of the great, uninhabited mountains, the dark forests, theimmense loneliness and isolation, the thousand subtle and psychicinfluences which the wilderness exerts over the untried soul. Theremight be nothing to be scared of, as the man said. Wild animals areharmless, the trails are good. But he could not imagine any of the girlswith whom he had acquaintance pushing off thus joyous and unafraid intoa wilderness three days beyond the farthest outpost. He had yet tounderstand the spirit, almost universal among the native-bornCalifornians, that has been brought up so intimately with the largethings of nature that the sublime is no longer the terrible. Perhapsthis states it a little too pompously. They have learned that the mereabsence of mankind is 'nothing to be scared of'; they have learned howto be independent and to take care of themselves. Consequently, as amatter of course, as one would ride in the park, they undertakeexpeditions into the Big Country. 

Many of these travellers, especially toward the close of the summer, complained bitterly of the scarcity of horse-feed. In the back countrywhere the mountains were high and the wilderness unbroken, they dependedfor forage on the grasses of the mountain meadows. This year theyreported that the cattle had eaten the forage down to the roots. Whereusually had been abundance and pleasant camping, now were hard, closelawns, and cattle overrunning and defiling everything. Under the heavylabour of mountain travel the horses fell off rapidly in flesh andstrength. 

"We're the public just as much as them cattlemen, " declaimed onegrizzled veteran waving his pipe. "I come to these mountains first insixty-six, and the sheep was bad enough then, but you always had somehorse meadows. Now they're just plumb overrunning the country. There'sthousands and thousands of folks that come in camping, and about a dozenof these yere cattlemen. They got no right to hog the public land. "

With so much approval did this view meet that a delegation went toPlant's summer quarters to talk it over. The delegation returnedsomewhat red about the ears. Plant had politely but robustly told itthat a supervisor was the best judge of how to run his own forest. Thisled to declamatory denunciation, after the American fashion, but withoutresulting in further activity. Resentment seemed to be about equallydivided between Plant and the cattlemen as a class. 

This resentment as to the latter, however, soon changed to sympathy. InSeptember the Pollock boys stopped overnight at the Lake Meadow on theirway out. Their cattle, in charge of the dogs, they threw for the nightinto a rude corral of logs, built many years before for just thatpurpose. Their horses they fed with barley hay bought from Merker. Theircamp they spread away from the others, near the spring. It was darkbefore they lit their fire. Visitors sauntering over found George andJim Pollock on either side the haphazard blaze stolidly warming throughflapjacks, and occasionally settling into a firmer position the hugecoffee pot. The dust and sweat of driving cattle still lay thick ontheir faces. A boy of eighteen, plainly the son of one of the other two, was hanging up the saddles. The whole group appeared low-spirited andtired. The men responded to the visitors by a brief nod only. The latterthere-upon sat down just inside the circle of lamplight and smoked insilence. Presently Jim arose stiffly, frying pan in hand. 

"It's done, " he announced. 

They ate in silence, consuming great quantities of half-cookedflapjacks, chunks of overdone beef, and tin-cupfuls of scalding coffee. When they had finished they thrust aside the battered tin dishes withthe air of men too weary to bother further with them. They rolled brownpaper cigarettes and smoked listlessly. After a time George Pollockremarked:

"We ain't washed up. "

The statement resulted in no immediate action. After a few moments more, however, the boy arose slowly, gathered the dishes clattering into akettle, filled the latter with water, and set it in the fire. Jim andhis brother, too, bestirred themselves, disappearing in the direction ofthe spring with a bar of mottled soap, an old towel, and a battered pan. They returned after a few moments, their faces shining, their hairwetted and sleeked down. 

"Plumb too lazy to wash up. " George addressed the silent visitors by wayof welcome. 

"Drove far?" asked an old ranchman. 

"Twin Peaks. "

"How's the feed?" came the inevitable cowman's question. 

"Pore, pore, " replied the mountaineer. "Ain't never seen it so short. Mycattle's pore. "

"Well, you're overstocked; that's what's the matter, " spoke up some oneboldly. 

George Pollock turned his face toward this voice. 

"Don't you suppose I know it?" he demanded. "There's a thousand head toomany on my range alone. I've been crowded and pushed all summer, and Iain't got a beef steer fit to sell, right now. My cattle are so poreI'll have to winter 'em on foothill winter feed. And in the springthey'll be porer. "

"Well, why don't you all get together and reduce your stock?" persistedthe questioner. "Then there'll be a show for somebody. I got three packsand two saddlers that ain't fatted up from a two weeks' trip in August. You got the country skinned; and that ain't no dream. "

George Pollock turned so fiercely that his listeners shrank. 

"Get together! Reduce our stock!" he snarled, shaken from the customaryimpassivity of the mountaineer, "It ain't us! We got the same number ofcattle, all we mountain men, that our fathers had afore us! There ain'tnever been no trouble before. Sometimes we crowded a little, but we allknow our people and we could fix things up, and so long as they let usbe, we got along all right. It don't _pay_ us to overstock. What for dowe keep cattle? To sell, don't we? And we can't sell 'em unless they'refat. Summer feed's all we got to fat 'em on. Winter feed's no good. Youknow that. We ain't going to crowd our range. You make me tired!"

"What's the trouble then?"

"Outsiders, " snapped Pollock. "Folks that live on the plains and justpush in to summer their cattle anyhow, and then fat 'em for the marketon alfalfa hay. This ain't their country. Why don't they stick to theirown?"

"Can't you handle them? Who are they?"

"It ain't they, " replied George Pollock sullenly. "It's him. It's therichest man in California, with forty ranches and fifty thousand head ofcattle and a railroad or two and God knows what else. But he'll come uphere and take a pore man's living away from him for the sake of a fewhundred dollars saved. "

"Old Simeon, hey?" remarked the ranchman thoughtfully. 

"Simeon Wright, " said Pollock. "The same damn old robber. ForestReserves!" he sneered bitterly. "For the use of the public! Hell! Who'sthe public? me and you and the other fellow? The public is SimeonWright. What do you expect?"

"Didn't Plant say he was going to look into the matter for next year?"Bob inquired from the other side the fire. 

"Plant! He's bought, " returned Pollock contemptuously. "He's never seenthe country, anyway; and he never will. "

He rose and kicked the fire together. 

"Good night!" he said shortly, and, retiring to the shadows, rolledhimself in a blanket and turned his back on the visitors. 

XIII

The season passed without further incidents of general interest. It wasa busy season, as mountain seasons always are. Bob had opportunity to gonowhere; but in good truth he had no desire to do so. The surroundingsimmediate to the work were rich enough in interest. After the flurrycaused by the delay in opening communication, affairs fell into theirgrooves. The days passed on wings. Almost before he knew it, the dogwoodleaves had turned rose, the aspens yellow, and the pines, thinning inanticipation of the heavy snows, were dropping their russet needleseverywhere. A light snow in September reminded the workers of thealtitude. By the first of November the works were closed down. Thedonkey engines had been roughly housed in; the machinery protected; allthings prepared against the heavy Sierra snows. Only the threecaretakers were left to inhabit a warm corner. Throughout the winterthese men would shovel away threatening weights of snow and see to thedamage done by storms. In order to keep busy they might make shakes, orperhaps set themselves to trapping fur-bearing animals. They would use_skis_ to get about. 

For a month after coming down from the mountain, Bob stayed at AuntieBelle's. There were a number of things to attend to on the lower levels, such as anticipating repairs to flumes, roads and equipment, systematizing the yard arrangements, and the like. Here Bob came to knowmore of the countryside and its people. 

He found this lower, but still mountainous, country threaded by roads;rough roads, to be sure, but well enough graded. Along these roads werethe ranch houses and spacious corrals of the mountain people. Far andwide through the wooded and brushy foothills roamed the cattle, seekingthe forage of the winter range that a summer's absence in the highmountains had saved for them. Bob used often to "tie his horse to theground" and enter for a chat with these people. Harbouring some vaguenotions of Southern "crackers, " he was at first considerably surprised. The houses were in general well built and clean, even though primitive, and Bob had often occasion to notice excellent books and magazines. There were always plenty of children of all sizes. The young women wereusually attractive and blooming. They insisted on hospitality; and Bobhad the greatest difficulty in persuading them that he stood in noimmediate need of nourishment. The men repaid cultivation. Their ideaswere often faulty because of insufficient basis of knowledge: but, whenuntinged by prejudice, apt to be logical. Opinions were always positive, and always existent. No phenomenon, social or physical, could come intotheir ken without being mulled over and decided upon. In the field oftheir observations were no dead facts. Not much given to reception ofcontrary argument or idea they were always eager for new facts. Bobfound himself often held in good-humoured tolerance as a youngster whenhe advanced his opinion; but listened to thirstily when he could detailactual experience or knowledge. The head of the house held patriarchalsway until the grown-up children were actually ready to leave thepaternal roof for homes of their own. One and all loved the mountains, though incoherently, and perhaps without full consciousness of the fact. They were extremely tenacious of personal rights. 

Bob, being an engaging and open-hearted youth, soon gained favour. Amongothers he came to know the two Pollock families well. Jim Pollock, withhis large brood, had arrived at a certain philosophical, thoughwatchful, acceptance of life; but George, younger, recently married, and eagerly ambitious, chafed sorely. The Pollocks had been in thecountry for three generations. They inhabited two places on oppositesides of a caņon. These houses possessed the distinction of having theonly two red-brick chimneys in the hills. They were low, comfortable, rambling, vine-clad. 

"We always run cattle in these hills, " said George fiercely to Bob, "andgot along all right. But these last three years it's been bad. Unless wecan fat our cattle on the summer ranges in the high mountains, we can'tdo business. The grazing on these lower hills you just _got_ to save forwinter. You can't raise no hay here. Since they begun to crowd us withold Wright's stock it's tur'ble. I ain't had a head of beef cattlefittin' to sell, bar a few old cows. And if I ain't got cattle to sell, where do I get money to live on? I always been out of debt; but thisyear I done put a mortgage on the place to get money to go on with. "

"We can always eat beef, George, " said his wife with a little laugh, "and miner's lettuce. We ain't the first folks that has had hardtimes--and got over it. "

"Mebbe not, " agreed George, glancing with furrowed brow at a tinygarment on which Mrs. George was sewing. 

Jim Pollock, smoking comfortably in his shirt sleeves before his fire, was not so worried. His youngest slept in his arms; two children playedand tumbled on the floor; buxom Mrs. Pollock bustled here and there onhousehold business; the older children sprawled over the table under thelamp reading; the oldest boy, with wrinkled brow, toiled through theinstructions of a correspondence school course. 

"George always takes it hard, " said Jim. "I've got six kids, and he'llhave one--or at most two--mebbe. It's hard times all right, and a hardyear. I had to mortgage, too. Lord love you, a mortgage ain't so bad asa porous plaster. It'll come off. One good year for beef will fix us. Weain't lost nothing but this year's sales. Our cattle are too pore forbeef, but they're all in good enough shape. We ain't lost none. Nextyear'll be better. "

"What makes you think so?" asked Bob. 

"Well, Smith, he's superintendent at White Oaks, you know, he'sfavourable to us. I seed him myself. And even Plant, he's sent oldCalifornia John back to look over what shape the ranges are in. Thereain't no doubt as to which way he'll report. Old John is a cattleman, and he's square. "

One day Bob found himself belated after a fishing excursion to the upperend of the valley. As a matter of course he stopped over night with thefirst people whose ranch he came to. It was not much of a ranch and it'stwo-room house was of logs and shakes, but the owners were hospitable. Bob put his horse into a ramshackle shed, banked with earth against thewinter cold. He had a good time all the evening. 

"I'm going to hike out before breakfast, " said he before turning in, "soif you'll just show me where the lantern is, I won't bother you in themorning. "

"Lantern!" snorted the mountaineer. "You turn on the switch. It's justto the right of the door as you go in. "

So Bob encountered another of the curious anomalies not infrequent tothe West. He entered a log stable in the remote backwoods and turned ona sixteen-candle-power electric globe! As he extended his rides amongthe low mountains of the First Rampart, he ran across many more placeswhere electric light and even electric power were used in the rudesthabitations. 

The explanation was very simple; these men had possessed small waterrights which Baker had needed. As part of their compensation theyreceived from Power House Number One what current they required fortheir own use. 

Thus reminded, Bob one Sunday visited Power House Number One. It provedto be a corrugated iron structure through which poured a great streamand from which went high-tension wires strung to mushroom-shapedinsulators. It was filled with the clean and shining machinery ofelectricity. Bob rode up the flume to the reservoir, a great lake pennedin caņon walls by a dam sixty feet high. The flume itself was ofconcrete, large enough to carry a rushing stream. He made theacquaintance of some of the men along the works. They tramped and rodeback and forth along the right of way, occupied with their insulations, the height of their water, their watts and volts and amperes. Surroundings were a matter of indifference to them. Activity was of thesame sort, whether in the city or in the wilderness. As influences--cityor wilderness--it was all the same to them. They made their owninfluences--which in turn developed a special type of people--among thedelicate and powerful mysteries of their craft. Down through the landthey had laid the narrow, uniform strip of their peculiar activities;and on that strip they dwelt satisfied with a world of their own. Bobsat in a swinging chair talking in snatches to Hicks, between calls onthe telephone. He listened to quick, sharp orders as to men andinstruments, as to the management of water, the undertaking of repairs. These were couched in technical phrases and slang, for the most part. Bymeans of the telephone Hicks seemed to keep in touch not only with theplants in his own district, but also with the activities in Power HousesTwo, Three and Four, many miles away. Hicks had never once, in fouryears, been to the top of the first range. He had had no interest indoing so. Neither had he an interest in the foothill country to thewest. 

"I'd kind of like to get back and kill a buck or so, " he confessed; "butI haven't got the time. "

"It's a different country up where we are, " urged Bob. "You wouldn'tknow it for the same state as this dry and brushy country. It has finetimber and green grass. "

"I suppose so, " said Hicks indifferently. "But I haven't got the time. "

Bob rode away a trifle inclined to that peculiar form of smug pity ahotel visitor who has been in a place a week feels for yesterday'sarrival. He knew the coolness of the great mountain. 

At this point an opening in the second growth of yellow pines permittedhim a vista. He looked back. He had never been in this part of thecountry before. A little portion of Baldy, framed in a pine-clad cleftthrough the First Range, towered chill, rugged and marvellous in itsgranite and snow. For the first time Bob realized that even soimmediately behind the scene of his summer's work were other higher, more wonderful countries. As he watched, the peak was lost in theblackness of one of those sudden storms that gather out of nothing aboutthe great crests. The cloud spread like magic in all directions. Thefaint roll of thunder came down a wind, damp and cool, sucked from thehigh country. 

Bob rounded a bend in the road to overtake old California John, jinglingplacidly along on his beautiful sorrel. Though by no means friendly toany member of this branch of government service, Bob reined his animal. 

"Hullo, " said he, overborne by an unexpected impulse. 

"Good day, " responded the old man, with a friendly deepening of thekindly wrinkles about his blue eyes. 

"John, " asked Bob, "were you ever in those big mountains there?"

"Baldy?" said the Ranger. "Lord love you, yes. I have to cross Baldy'most every time I go to the back country. There's two good passesthrough Baldy. "

"Back country!" repeated Bob. "Are there any higher mountains thanthose?"

Old California John chuckled. 

"Listen, son, " said he. "There's the First Range, and then Stone Creek, and then Baldy. And on the other side of Baldy there's the caņon of theJoncal which is three thousand foot down. And then there's the BurroMountains, which is half again as high as Baldy, and all the Burrocountry to Little Jackass. That's a plateau covered with lodge-pole pineand meadows and creeks and little lakes. It's a big plateau, and whenyou're a-ridin' it, you shore seem like bein' in a wide, flat country. And then there's the Green Mountain country; and you drop off five orsix thousand foot into the box caņon of the north fork; and then youclimb out again to Red Mountain; and after that is the Pinnacles. ThePinnacles is the Fourth Rampart. After them is South Meadow, and theBoneyard. Then you get to the Main Crest. And that's only if you goplumb due east. North and south there's all sorts of big country. Why, Baldy's only a sort of taster. "

Bob's satisfaction with himself collapsed. This land so briefly shadowedforth was penetrable only in summer: that he well knew. And all summerBob was held to the great tasks of the forest. He hadn't the time!Wherein did he differ from Hicks? In nothing save that his right of wayhappened to be a trifle wider. 

"Have you been to all these places?" asked Bob. 

"Many times, " replied California John. "From Stanislaus to the SanBernardino desert I've ridden. "

"How big a country is that?"

"It's about four hundred mile long, and about eighty mile wide as thecrow flies--a lot bigger as a man must ride. "

"All big mountains?"

"Surely. "

"You must have been everywhere?"

"No, " said California John, "I never been to Jack Main's Caņon. It's toofur up, and I never could get time off to go in there. "

So this man, too, the ranger whose business it was to travel far andwide in the wild country, sighed for that which lay beyond his right ofway! Suddenly Bob was filled with a desire to transcend all theseactivities, to travel on and over the different rights of way to whichall the rest of the world was confined until he knew them all and whatlay beyond them. The impulse was but momentary, and Bob laughed athimself as it passed. 

"Something hid beyond the ranges, " he quoted softly to himself. 

Suddenly he looked up, and gathered his reins. 

"John, " he said, "we're going to catch that storm. "

"Surely, " replied the old man looking at him with surprise; "just foundthat out?"

"Well, we'd better hurry. "

"What's the use? It'll catch us, anyhow. We're shore due to get wet. "

"Well, let's hunt a good tree. "

"No, " said California John, "this is a thunder-storm, and trees is tooscurce. You just keep ridin' along the open road. I've noticed thatlightnin' don't hit twice in the same place mainly because the sameplace don't seem to be thar any more after the first time. "

The first big drops of the storm delayed fully five minutes. It did seemfoolish to be jogging peacefully along at a foxtrot while the tempestgathered its power, but Bob realized the justice of his companion'sremarks. 

When it did begin, however, it made up for lost time. The rain fell asthough it had been turned out of a bucket. In an instant every runnelwas full. The water even flowed in a thin sheet from the hard surface ofthe ground. The men were soaked. 

Then came the thunder in a burst of fury and noise. The lightningflashed almost continuously, not only down, but aslant, and even--Bobthought--_up_. The thunder roared and reverberated and reëchoed untilthe world was filled with its crashes. Bob's nerves were steady withyouth and natural courage, but the implacable rapidity with whichassault followed assault ended by shaking him into a sort of confusion. His horse snorted, pricking its ears backward and forward, dancing fromside to side. The lightning seemed fairly to spring into being allabout them, from the substance of the murk in which they rode. 

"Isn't this likely to hit us?" he yelled at California John. 

"Liable to, " came back the old man's reply across the roar of thetempest. 

Bob looked about him uneasily. The ranger bent his head to the wind. Star, walking more rapidly, outpaced Bob's horse, until they wereproceeding single file some ten feet apart. 

Suddenly the earth seemed to explode directly ahead. A blinding flareswept the ground, a hissing crackle was drowned in an overwhelming roarof thunder. Bob dodged, and his horse whirled. When he had mastered bothhis animal and himself he spurred back. California John had reined inhis mount. Not twenty feet ahead of him the bolt had struck. CaliforniaJohn glanced quizzically over his shoulder at the sky. 

"Old Man, " he remarked, "you'll have to lower your sights a little, ifyou want to git me. "

XIV

At Christmas Bob took a brief trip East, returning to California aboutthe middle of January. The remainder of the winter was spent in outsidebusiness, and in preparatory arrangements for the next season's work. The last of April he returned to the lower mountains. 

He found Sycamore Flats in a fever of excitement over the cattlequestion. After lighting his post-prandial pipe he sauntered down tochat with Martin, the lank and leisurely keeper of the livery, proprietor of the general store, and clearing house of both informationand gossip. 

"It looks like this, " Martin answered Bob's question. "You rememberPlant sent back old California John to make a report on the grazing. John reported her over-stocked, of course; nobody could have donedifferent. Plant kind of promised to fix things up; and the word gotaround pretty definite that the outside stock would be reduced. "

"Wasn't it?"

"Not so you'd notice. When the permits was published for this summer, they read good for the same old number. "

"Then Wright's cattle will be in again this year. "

"That's the worst of it; they _are_ in. Shelby brought up a thousandhead a week ago, and was going to push them right in over the snow. Thefeed's _just_ starting on the low meadows in back, and it hasn't woke upa mite in the higher meadows. You throw cattle in on that mushy, softground and new feed, and they tromp down and destroy more'n they eat. Nomountain cattleman goes in till the feed's well started, never. "

"But what does Shelby do it for, then?"

Martin spat accurately at a knothole. 

"Oh, he don't care. Those big men don't give a damn what kind of shapecattle is in, as long as they stay alive. Same with humans; only theyain't so particular about the staying alive part. "

"Couldn't anything be done to stop them?"

"Plant could keep them out, but he won't. Jim and George Pollock, andTom Carroll and some of the other boys put up such a kick, though, thatthey saw a great light. They ain't going in for a couple of weeks more. "

"That's all right, then, " said Bob heartily. 

"Is it?" asked Martin. 

"Isn't it?" inquired Bob. 

"Well, some says not. Of course they couldn't be expected to drive allthose cattle back to the plains, so they're just naturally spraddled outgrazing over this lower country. "

"Why, what becomes of the winter feed?" cried Bob aghast, well awarethat in these lower altitudes the season's growth was nearly finishedand the ripening about to begin. 

"That's just it, " said Martin; "where, oh, where?"

"Can't anything be done?" repeated Bob, with some show of indignation. 

"What? This is all government land. The mountain boys ain't got any realexclusive rights there. It's public property. The regulations are prettyclear about preference being given to the small owner, and the localman; but that's up to Plant. "

"It'll come pretty hard on some of the boys, if they keep on eating offtheir winter feed and their summer feed too, " hazarded Bob. 

"It'll drive 'em out of business, " said Martin. "It'll do more; it'llclose out settlement in this country. There ain't nothing doing _but_cattle, and if the small cattle business is closed up, the permanentsettlement closes up too. There's only lumber and power and such left;and they don't mean settlement. That's what the Government is supposedto look out for. "

"Government!" said Bob with contempt. 

"Well, now, there's a few good ones, even at that, " stated Martinargumentively. "There's old John, and Ross Fletcher, and one or two morethat are on the square. It may be these little grafters have got theirscoming yet. Now and then an inspector comes along. He looks over thebooks old Hen Plant or the next fellow has fixed up; asks a fewquestions about trails and such; writes out a nice little recommend onhis pocket typewriter, and moves on. And if there's a roar from some ofthese little fellows, why it gets lost. Some clerk nails it, and sendsit to Mr. Inspector with a blue question mark on it; and Mr. Inspectorpasses it on to Mr. Supervisor for explanation; and Mr. Supervisor'sstrong holt is explanations. There you are! But it only needs oneinspector _who inspects_ to knock over the whole apple-cart. Once get byyour clerk to your chief, and you got it. "

Whether Martin made this prediction in a spirit of hope and a fullknowledge, or whether his shot in the air merely chanced to hit themark, it would be impossible to say. As a matter of fact within themonth appeared Ashley Thorne, an inspector who inspected. 

By this time all the cattle, both of the plainsmen and the mountaineers, had gone back. The mill had commenced its season's operations. After theroutine of work had been well established, Bob had descended to attendto certain grading of the lumber for a special sale of uppers. Thus hefound himself on the scene. 

Ashley Thorne was driven in. He arrived late in the afternoon. Plantwith his coat on, and a jovial expression illuminating his fat face, held out both hands in greeting as the vehicle came to a stop byMartin's barn. The Inspector leaped quickly to the ground. He was seento be a man between thirty and forty, compactly built, alert inmovement. He had a square face, aggressive gray eyes, and wore a smallmoustache clipped at the line of the lips. 

"Hullo! Hullo!" roared Plant in his biggest voice. "So here we are, hey!Kind of dry, hot travel, but we've got the remedy for that. "

"How are you?" said Thorne crisply; "are you Mr. Plant? Glad to meetyou. "

"Leave your truck, " said Plant. "I'll send some one after it. Come rightalong with me. "

"Thanks, " said Thorne, "but I think I'll take a wash and clean up a bit, first. "

"That's all right, " urged Plant. "We can fix you up. "

"Where is the hotel?" asked Thorne. 

"Hotel!" cried Plant, "ain't you going to stay with me?"

"It is kind of you, and I appreciate it, " said Thorne briefly, "but Inever mix official business with social pleasure. This is an invariablerule and has no personal application, of course. After my official workis done and my report written, I shall be happy to avail myself of yourhospitality. "

"Just as you say, of course, " said Plant, quite good-humouredly. To himthis was an extraordinarily shrewd, grand-stand play; and he approved ofit. 

"I shall go to your office at nine to-morrow, " Thorne advised him. "Please have your records ready. "

"Always ready, " said Plant. 

Thorne was assigned a room at Auntie Belle's, washed away the dust oftravel, and appeared promptly at table when the bell rang. He wore anordinary business suit, a flannel shirt with white collar, and hung onthe nail a wide felt hat. Nevertheless his general air was of anout-of-door man, competent and skilled in the open. His manner wasself-contained and a trifle reserved, although he talked freely enoughwith Bob on a variety of subjects. 

After supper he retired to his room, the door of which, however, he leftopen. Any one passing down the narrow hallway could have seen him bentover a mass of papers on the table, his portable typewriter close athand. 

The following morning, armed with a little hand satchel, he tramped downto Henry Plant's house. The Supervisor met him on the verandah. 

"Right on deck!" he roared jovially. "Come in! All ready for thedoctor!"

Thorne did not respond to this jocosity. 

"Good morning, " he said formally, and that was all. 

Plant led the way into his office, thrust forward a chair, waved acomprehensive hand toward the filing cases, over the bill files, at thetabulated reports laid out on the desk. 

"Go to it, " said he cheerfully. "Have a cigar! Everything's all ready. "

Thorne laid aside his broad hat, and at once with keen concentrationattacked the tabulations. Plant sat back watching him. Occasionally thefat man yawned. When Thorne had digested the epitome of the financialend, he reached for the bundles of documents. 

"That's just receipts and requisitions, " said Plant, "and such truck. It'll take you an hour to wade through that stuff. "

"Any objections to my doing so?" asked Thorne. 

"None, " replied Plant drily. 

"Now rangers' reports, " requested Thorne at the end of another busyperiod. 

"What, that flapdoodle?" cried Plant. "Nobody bothers much with thatstuff! A man has to write the history of his life every time he gets apail of water. "

"Do I understand your ranger reports are remiss?" insisted Thorne. 

"Lord, there they are. Wish you joy of them. Most of the boys havemighty vague ideas of spelling. "

At noon Thorne knocked off, announcing his return at one o'clock. Mostinspectors would have finished an hour ago. At the gate he paused. 

"This place belong to you or the Government?" he asked. 

"To me, " replied Plant. "Mighty good little joint for the mountains, ain't it?"

"Why have you a United States Forest Ranger working on the fences then?"inquired Thorne crisply. 

Plant stared after his compact, alert figure. The fat man's lower jawhad dropped in astonishment. Nobody had ever dared question his right touse his own rangers as he damn well pleased! A slow resentment surged upwithin him. He would have been downright angry could he have beencertain of this inspector's attitude. Thorne was cold and businesslike, but he had humorous wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps allthis monkey business was one elaborate josh. If so it wouldn't do tofall into the trap by getting mad. That must be it. Plant chuckled acavernous chuckle. Nevertheless he ordered his ranger to knock off fencemending for the present. 

By two o'clock Thorne pushed back his chair and stretched his arms overhis head. Plant laughed. 

"That pretty near finishes what we have here, " said he. "There reallyisn't much to it, after all. We've got things pretty well going. To-morrow I'll get one of the boys to ride out with you near here. Ifyou want to take any trips back country, I'll scare up a pack. "

This was the usual and never-accepted offer. 

"I haven't time for that, " said Thorne, "but I'll look at that bridgesite to-morrow. "

"When must you go?"

"In a couple of days. "

Plant's large countenance showed more than a trace of satisfaction. 

On leaving the Supervisor's headquarters, Thorne set off vigorously upthe road. He felt cramped for exercise, and he was out for a tramp. Higher and higher he mounted on the road to the mill, until at last hestood on a point far above the valley. The creak and rattle of a wagonaroused him from his contemplation of the scene spread wide before him. He looked up to see a twelve-horse freight team ploughing toward himthrough a cloud of dust that arose dense and choking. To escape thisdust Thorne deserted the road and struck directly up the side of themountain. A series of petty allurements led him on. Yonder he caught aglimpse of tree fungus that interested him. He pushed and plungedthrough the manzaņita until he had gained its level. Once there heconcluded to examine a dying yellow pine farther up the hill. Then hethought to find a drink of water in the next hollow. Finally the wayahead seemed easier than the brush behind. He pushed on, and after amoment of breathless climbing reached the top of the ridge. 

Here Thorne had reached a lower spur of that range on which were locatedboth the sawmill and Plant's summer quarters. He drew a deep breath andlooked about him over the topography spread below. Then he examined withan expert's eye the wooded growths. His glance fell naturally to theground. 

"Well, I'll be----" began Thorne, and stopped. 

Through the pine needles at his feet ran a shallow, narrow andmeandering trough. A rod or so away was a similar trough. Thorne setabout following their direction. 

They led him down a gentle slope, through a young growth of pines andcedars to a small meadow. The grass had been eaten short to the soil andtrampled by many little hoofs. Thorne walked to the upper end of themeadow. Here he found old ashes. Satisfied with his discoveries, heglanced at the westering sun, and plunged directly down the side of themountain. 

Near the edge of the village he came upon California John. The old manhad turned Star into the corral, and was at this moment seated on aboulder, smoking his pipe, and polishing carefully the silver inlay ofhis Spanish spade-bit. Thorne stopped and examined him closely, comingfinally to the worn brass ranger's badge pinned to the old man'ssuspenders. California John did not cease his occupation. 

"You're a ranger, I take it, " said Thorne curtly. 

California John looked up deliberately. 

"You're an inspector, I take it, " said he, after a moment. 

Thorne grinned appreciation under his close-clipped moustache. This wasthe first time he had relaxed his look of official concentration, andthe effect was most boyish and pleasing. The illumination was butmomentary, however. 

"There have been sheep camped at a little meadow on that ridge, " hestated. 

"I know it, " replied California John tranquilly. 

"You seem to know several things, " retorted Thorne crisply, "but yourinformation seems to stop short of the fact that you're supposed to keepsheep out of the Reserve. "

"Not when they have permission, " said California John. 

"Permission!" echoed Thorne. "Sheep are absolutely prohibited byregulation. What do you mean?"

"What I say. They had a permit. "

"Who gave it?"

"Supervisor Plant, of course. "

"What for?"

California John polished his bit carefully for some moments in silence. Then he laid it one side and deliberately faced about. 

"For ten dollars, " said he coolly, looking Thorne in the eye. 

Thorne looked back at him steadily. 

"You'll swear to that?" he asked. 

"I sure will, " said California John. 

"How long has this sort of thing gone on?"

"Always, " replied the ranger. 

"How long have you known about it?"

"Always, " said California John. 

"Why have you never said anything before?"

"What for?" countered the old man. "I'd just get fired. There ain't nogood in saying anything. He's my superior officer. They used to teach mein the army that I ain't got no call to criticize what my officer does. It's my job to obey orders the best I can. "

"Why do you tell me, then?"

"You're my superior officer, too--and his. "

"So were all the other inspectors who have been here. "

"Them--hell!" said California John. 

Thorne returned to his hotel very thoughtful. It was falling dark, andthe preliminary bell had rung for supper. Nevertheless he lit his lampand clicked off a letter to a personal friend in the Land Officerequesting the latter to forward all Plant's vouchers for the past twoyears. Then he hunted up Auntie Belle. 

"I thought I should tell you that I won't be leaving my room Wednesday, as I thought, " said he. "My business will detain me longer. "

XV

Thorne curtly explained himself to Plant as detained on clericalbusiness. While awaiting the vouchers from Washington, he busilygathered the gossip of the place. Naturally the cattle situation was oneof the first phases to come to his attention. After listening to whatwas to be said, he despatched a messenger back into the mountainsrequesting the cattlemen to send a representative. Ordinarily he wouldhave gone to the spot himself; but just now he preferred to remainnearer the centre of Plant's activities. 

Jim Pollock appeared in due course. He explained the state of affairscarefully and dispassionately. Thorne heard him to the end withoutcomment. 

"If the feed is too scarce for the number of cattle, that fact should beofficially ascertained, " he said finally. 

"Davidson--California John--was sent back last fall to look into it. Ididn't see his report, but John's a good cattleman himself, and therecouldn't be no two opinions on the matter. "

Thorne had been shown no copy of such a report during his officialinspection. He made a note of this. 

"Well, " said he finally, "if on investigation I find the facts to be asyou state them--and that I can determine only on receiving all theevidence on both sides--I can promise you relief for next season. TheLand Office is just, when it is acquainted with the facts. I will askyou to make affidavits. I am obliged to you for your trouble in coming. "

Jim Pollock made his three-day ride back more cheered by these few andtentative words than by Superintendent Smith's effusive assurances, orPlant's promises. He so reported to his neighbours in the back ranges. 

Thorne established from California John the truth as to the suppressedreports. 

Some rumour of all this reached Henry Plant. Whatever his faults, theSupervisor was no coward. He had always bulled things through by sheerweight and courage. If he could outroar his opponent, he alwaysconsidered the victory as his. Certainly the results were generally thatway. 

On hearing of Thorne's activities, Plant drove down to see him. He puffedalong the passageway to Thorne's room. The Inspector was pecking away athis portable typewriter and did not look up as the fat man entered. 

Plant surveyed the bent back for a moment. 

"Look here, " he demanded, "I hear you're still investigating mydistrict--as well as doing 'clerical work. '"

"I am, " snapped Thorne without turning his head. 

"Am I to consider myself under investigation?" demanded Planttruculently. To this direct question he, of course, expected a denial--adenial which he would proceed to demolish with threats and abuse. 

"You are, " said Thorne, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. 

Plant stared at him a moment; then went out. Next day he drove away onthe stage, and was no more seen for several weeks. 

This did not trouble Thorne. He began to reach in all directions forevidence. At first there came to him only those like the Pollock boyswho were openly at outs with Plant, and so had nothing to lose byantagonizing him further. Then, hesitating, appeared others. Many ofthese grievances Thorne found to be imaginary; but in several cases hewas able to elicit definite affidavits as to graft and irregularity. Evidence of bribery was more difficult to obtain. Plant's easy-goingways had made him friends, and his facile suspension of gracingregulations--for a consideration--appealed strongly to self-interest. However, as always in such cases, enough had at some time feltthemselves discriminated against to entertain resentment. Thorne tookadvantage of this both to get evidence, and to secure information thatenabled him to frighten evidence out of others. 

The vouchers arrived from Washington. In them Plant's methods showedclearly. Thorne early learned that it had been the Supervisor's habit toobtain duplicate bills for everything--purchases, livery, hotels and thelike. He had explained to the creditors that a copy would be necessaryfor filing, and of course the mountain people knew no better. Thus, by atrifling manipulation of dates, Plant had been able to collect twiceover for his expenses. 

"There is the plumb limit, " said Martin, while running over the vouchershe had given. He showed Thorne two bearing the same date. One read:

"_To team and driver to Big Baldy post office, $4. _"

"That item's all right, " said Martin; "I drove him there myself. Buthere's the joke. "

He handed the second bill to Thorne:

"_To saddle horse Big Baldy to McClintock claim, $2. _"

"Why, " said Martin, "when we got to Big Baldy he put his saddle on oneof the driving horses and rode it about a mile over to McClintock's. Iremember objecting on account of his being so heavy. Say, " reflected thelivery-man after a moment, "he's right out for the little stuff, ain'the? When his hand gets near a dollar, it cramps!"

In the sheaf of vouchers Thorne ran across one item repeated severalhundred times in the two years. It read:

"_To M. Aiken, team, $3. _"

Inquiry disclosed the fact that "M. Aiken, " was Minnie, Plant's niece. By the simple expedient of conveying to her title in his team andbuckboard, the Supervisor was enabled to collect three dollars everytime he drove anywhere. 

Thus the case grew, fortified by affidavits. Thorne found that Planthad been grafting between three and four thousand dollars a year. 

Of course the whole community soon came to know all about it. The takingof testimony and the giving of affidavits were matters for dailydiscussion. Thorne inspired faith, because he had faith himself. 

"I don't wonder you people have been hostile to the Forest Reserves, "said he. "You can't be blamed. But it is not the Office's fault. I'vebeen in the Land Office a great many years, and they won't stand forthis sort of thing a minute. I found very much the same sort of thing inone of the reserves in Oregon, only there was a gang operating there. Igot eleven convictions, and a new deal all round. The Land Office is allright, when you get to it. You'll see us in a different light, afterthis is over. "

The mountaineers liked him. He showed them a new kink by which the lashrope of a pack could be jammed in the cinch-hook for convenience of thelone packer; he proved to be an excellent shot with the revolver; in hisofficial work he had used and tested the methods of many wildernesstravellers, and could discuss and demonstrate. Furthermore, he gotresults. 

Austin conducted a roadhouse on the way to the Power House Number One:this in addition to his saloon in Sycamore Flats. The roadhouse was, asa matter of fact, on government land, but Austin established the shadowof a claim under mineral regulations, and, by obstructionist tactics, had prevented all the red tape from being unwound. His mineral claim wasflimsy; he knew it, and everybody else knew it. But until the caseshould be reported back, he remained where he was. It was up to Plant;and Plant had been lenient. Probably Austin could have told why. 

Thorne became cognizant of all this. He served Austin notice. Austinoffered no comment, but sat tight. He knew by previous experience thatthe necessary reports, recommendations, endorsements and official orderswould take anywhere from one to three months. By that time thisinspector would have moved on--Austin knew the game. But three dayslater Thorne showed up early in the morning followed by a half-dozeninterested rangers. In the most business-like fashion and despite thevariegated objections of Austin and his disreputable satellites, Thorneand his men attached their ropes to the flimsy structure and literallypulled it to pieces from the saddle. 

"You have no right to use force!" cried Austin, who was well versed inthe regulations. 

"I've saved my office a great deal of clerical work, " Thorne snappedback at him. "Report me if you feel like it!"

The débris remained where it had fallen. Austin did not ventureagain--at least while this energetic youth was on the scene. Nevertheless, after the first anger, even the saloon-keeper had in a wayhis good word to say. 

"If they's anythin' worse than a--of a--comes out in the next fiftyyear, he'll be it!" stormed Austin. "But, damn it, " he added, "thelittle devil's worse'n a catamount for fight!"

Thorne was little communicative, but after he and Bob became betteracquainted the Inspector would tell something of his past inspections. All up and down the Sierras he had unearthed enough petty fraud andinefficiency to send a half-dozen men to jail and to break anotherhalf-dozen from the ranks. 

"And the Office has upheld me right along, " said Thorne in answer toBob's scepticism regarding government sincerity. "The Office is allright; don't make any mistake on that. It's just a question of gettingat it. I admit the system is all wrong, where the complaints can't getdirect to the chiefs; but that's what I'm here for. This Plant is one ofthe easiest cases I've tackled yet. I've got direct evidence six timesover to put him over the road. He'll go behind the bars sure. As for thecattle situation, it's a crying disgrace and a shame. There's no earthlyreason under the regulations why Simeon Wright should bring cattle inat all; and I'll see that next year he doesn't. "

At the end of two weeks Thorne had finished his work and departed. Themountain people with whom he had come in contact liked and trusted himin spite of his brusque and business-like manners. He could shoot, packa horse, ride and follow trail, swing an axe as well as any of them. Heknew what he was talking about. He was square. The mountain men"happened around"--such of them as were not in back with the cattle--towish him farewell. 

"Good-bye, boys, " said he. "You'll see me again. I'm glad to have had achance to straighten things out a little. Don't lose faith in Uncle Sam. He'll do well by you when you attract his attention. "

Fully a week after his departure Plant returned and took his accustomedplace in the community. He surveyed his old constituents with a slightlysardonic eye, but had little to say. 

About this time Bob moved up on the mountain. He breathed in a distinctpleasure over again finding himself among the pines, in the cool air, with the clean, aromatic woods-work. The Meadow Lake was completelysurrounded by camps this year. Several canvas boats were on the lake. Bob even welcomed the raucous and confused notes of several phonographsgoing at full speed. After the heat and dust and brown of the lowerhills, this high country was inexpressibly grateful. 

At headquarters he found Welton rolling about, jovial, good-natured, efficient as ever. With him was Baker. 

"Well, " said Bob to the latter. "Where did you get by me? I didn't knowyou were here. "

"Oh, I blew in the other day. Didn't have time to stop below; and, besides, I was saving my strength for your partner here. " He looked atWelton ruefully. "I thought I'd come up and get that water-rights matterall fixed up in a few minutes, and get back to supper. Nothing doing!"

"This smooth-faced pirate, " explained Welton, "offers to take our waterif we'll pay him for doing it, as near as I can make out--that is, ifwe'll supply the machinery to do it with. In return he'll allow us theprivilege of buying back what we are going to need for householdpurposes. I tell him this is too liberal. We cannot permit him to robhimself. Since he has known our esteemed fellow-citizen, Mr. Plant, he'sfalling into that gentleman's liberal views. "

Baker grinned at his accusor appreciatively, but at the mention ofPlant's name Bob broke in. 

"Plant's landed, " said he briefly. "They've got him. Prison bars forhis. "

"What?" cried Welton and Baker in a breath. 

Bob explained; telling them of Thorne, his record, methods, and thedefinite evidence he had acquired. Long before he had finished both menrelaxed from their more eager attention. 

"That all?" commented Baker. "From what you said I thought he was in thebastile!"

"He will be shortly, " said Bob. "They've got the evidence direct. It'san open-and-shut case. "

Baker merely grinned. 

"But Thorne's jugged them all up the range, " persisted Bob. "He'sconvicted a whole lot of them--men who have been at it for years. "

"H'm, " said Baker. 

"But how can they dodge it?" cried Bob. "They can't deny the evidence!The Department has upheld Thorne warmly. "

"Sure, " said Baker. 

"Well, " concluded Bob. "Do you mean to say that they'll have the nerveto pass over such direct evidence as that?"

"Don't know anything about it, " replied Baker briefly. "I only knowresults when I see them. These other little grafters that your manThorne has bumped off probably haven't any drag. "

"Well, what does Plant amount to once he's exposed?" challenged Bob. 

"I haven't figured it out on the Scribner scale, " admitted Baker, "but Iknow what happens when you try to bump him. Bet you a thousand dollars Ido, " he shot at Welton. "It isn't the wraith-like Plant you run upagainst; it's _interests_. "

"Well, I don't believe yet a great government will keep in a miserable, petty thief like Plant against the direct evidence of a man likeThorne!" stated Bob with some heat. 

"Listen, " said Baker kindly. "That isn't the scrap. Thorne _vs. _Plant--looks like easy money on Thorne, eh? Well, now, Plant has a dragwith Chairman Gay; don't know what it is, but it's a good one, apeacherino. We know because we've trained some heavy guns on itourselves, and it's stood the shock. All right. Now it's up to ChairmanGay to support his cousin. Then there's old Simeon Wright. Where wouldhe get off at without Plant? He's going to do a little missionary work. Simeon owns Senator Barrow, and Senator Barrow is on the Ways and MeansCommittee, so lots of people love the Senator. And so on in alldirections--I'm from Missouri. You got to show me. If it came to a merechoice of turning down Plant or Thorne, they'd turn down Plant, everytime. But when it comes to a choice between Thorne and Gay, Thorne andBarrow, Thorne and Simeon Wright, Thorne and a dozen others that havetheir own Angel Children to protect, and won't protect your Angel Childunless you'll chuck a front for theirs--why Thorne is just lost in thecrowd!"

"I don't believe it, " protested Bob. "It would be a scandal. "

"No, just politics, " said Baker. 

XVI

The sawmill lay on the direct trail to the back country. Every manheaded for the big mountains by way of Sycamore Flats passed fairlythrough the settlement itself. So every cattleman out after provisionsor stock salt, followed by his docile string of pack mules, paused toswap news and gossip with whoever happened for the moment to haveleisure for such an exchange. 

The variety poured through this funnel of the mountains comprised allclasses. Professional prospectors with their burros, ready alike for thedesert or the most inaccessible crags, were followed by a troupe ofcollege boys afoot leading one or two old mares as baggagetransportation. The business-like, semi-military outfits of geologicalsurvey parties, the worn but substantial hunters' equipments, themarvellous and oftentimes ridiculous luxury affected by the wealthycamper, the makeshifts of the poorer ranchmen of the valley, out withtheir entire families and the farm stock for a "real good fish, " allthese were of never-failing interest to Bob. In fact, he soon discoveredthat the one absorbing topic--outside of bears, of course--was thediscussion, the comparison and the appraising of the various items ofcamping equipment. He also found each man amusingly partisan for hisown. There were schools advocating--heatedly--the merits respectively ofthe single or double cinch, of the Dutch oven or the reflector, ofrawhide or canvas kyacks, of sleeping bags or blankets. Each man hadinvented some little kink of his own without which he could not possiblyexist. Some of these kinks were very handy and deserved universaladoption, such as a small rubber tube with a flattened brass nozzlewith which to encourage reluctant fires. Others expressed an individualidiosyncrasy only; as in the case of the man who carried clothes hooksto screw into the trees. A man's method of packing was also closelywatched. Each had his own favourite hitch. The strong preponderanceseemed to be in favour of the Diamond, both single and double, but manyproved strongly addicted to the Lone Packer, or the Basco, or theMiners', or the Square, or even the generally despised Squaw, and wouldstoutly defend their choices, and give reasons therefore. Bob sometimesamused himself practising these hitches in miniature by means of astring, a bent nail, and two folded handkerchiefs as packs. After manytrials, and many lapses of memory, he succeeded on all but the DoubleDiamond. Although apparently he followed every move, the result wasnever that beautiful all-over tightening at the last pull. Hereluctantly concluded that on this point he must have instruction. 

Although rarely a day went by during the whole season that one or moreparties did not pass through, or camp over night at the Meadow Lake, itwas a fact that, after passing Baldy, these hundreds could scatter sofar through the labyrinth of the Sierras that in a whole summer'sjourneying they were extremely unlikely to see each other--or indeed anyone else, save when they stumbled on one of the established cow camps. The vastness of the California mountains cannot be conveyed to one whohas not travelled them. Men have all summer pastured illegally thousandsof head of sheep undiscovered, in spite of the fact that rangers andsoldiers were out looking for them. One may journey diligentlythroughout the season, and cover but one corner of the three great mapsthat depict about one-half of them. If one wills he can, to all intentsand purposes, become sole and undisputed master of kingdoms in extent. He can occupy beautiful valleys miles long, guarded by cliffs risingthousands of feet, threaded by fish-haunted streams, spangled withfair, flower-grown lawns, cool with groves of trees, neck high in richfeed. Unless by sheer chance, no one will disturb his solitude. Ofcourse he must work for his kingdom. He must press on past the easytravel, past the wide cattle country of the middle elevations, into thesplintered, frowning granite and snow, over the shoulders of the mightypeaks of the High Sierras. Nevertheless, the reward is sure for thehardy voyager. 

Most men, however, elect to spend their time in the easier middleground. There the elevations run up to nine or ten thousand feet; thetrails are fairly well defined and travelled; the streams are full offish; meadows are in every moist pocket; the great box caņons and peaksof the spur ranges offer the grandeur of real mountain scenery. 

From these men, as they ended their journeys on the way out, came talesand rumours. There was no doubt whatever that the country had too manycattle in it. That was brought home to each and every man by thescarcity of horse feed on meadows where usually an abundance foreverybody was to be expected. The cattle were thin and restless. It wasunsafe to leave a camp unprotected; the half-wild animals trampledeverything into the ground. The cattlemen, of whatever camp, appearedsullen and suspicious of every comer. 

"It's mighty close to a cattle war, " said one old lean and leatheryindividual to Bob; "I know, for I been thar. Used to run cows inMontana. I hear everywhar talk about Wright's cattle dyin' in mightyfunny ways. I know that's so, for I seen a slather of dead cows myself. Some of 'em fall off cliffs; some seem to have broke their legs. Somebogged down. Some look like to have just laid down and died. "

"Well, if they're weak from loss of feed, isn't that natural?" askedBob. 

"Wall, " said the old cowman, "in the first place, they're pore, but theyain't by no means weak. But the strange part is that these yereaccidents always happens to Wright's cattle. "

He laughed and added:

"The carcasses is always so chawed up by b'ar and coyote--or at leastthat's what they _say_ done it--that you can't sw'ar as to how they_did_ come to die. But I heard one funny thing. It was over at thePollock boys' camp. Shelby, Wright's straw boss, come ridin' in prettymad, and made a talk about how it's mighty cur'ous only Wright's cattleis dyin'. 

"'It shorely looks like the country is unhealthy for plains cattle, 'says George Pollock; 'ours is brought up in the hills. '

"'Well, ' says Shelby, 'if I ever comes on one of these accidentsa-happenin', I'll shore make some one hard to catch!'

"'Some one's likely one of these times to make you almighty _easy_ tocatch!' says George. 

"Now, " concluded the old cattleman, "folks don't make them bluffs forthe sake of talkin' at a mark--not in this country. "

Nevertheless, in spite of that prediction, the summer passed without anypersonal clash. The cattle came out from the mountains rather earlierthan usual, gaunt, wiry, active. They were in fine shape, as far ashealth was concerned; but absolutely unfit, as they then stood, forbeef. The Simeon Wright herds were first, thousands of them, in chargeof many cowboys and dogs. The punchers were a reckless, joyous crew, skylarking in anticipation of the towns of the plains. They kissed theirhands and waved their hats at all women, old and young, in the millsettlement; they played pranks on each other; they charged here andthere on their wiry ponies, whirling to right and left, 'turning on aten-cent piece, ' throwing their animals from full speed to a stand, indulging in the cowboys' spectacular 'flash riding' for the sheer joyof it. The leading cattle, eager with that strange instinct that, evenearly in the fall, calls all ruminants from good mountain feed to thebrown lower country, pressed forward, their necks outstretched, theireyes fixed on some distant vision. Their calls blended into an organnote. Occasionally they broke into a little trot. At such times the dogsran forward, yelping, to turn them back into their appointed way. At anespecially bad break to right or left one or more of the men would dashto the aid of the dogs, riding with a splendid recklessness through thetimber, over fallen trees, ditches, rocks, boulders and precipitoushills. The dust rose chokingly. At the rear of the long processionplodded the old, the infirm, the cripples and the young calves. Three orfour men rode compactly behind this rear guard, urging it to keep up. Their means of persuasion were varied. Quirts, ropes, rattles made oftin cans and pebbles, strong language were all used in turn andsimultaneously. Long after the multitude had passed, the vast andcomposite voice of it reëchoed through the forest; the dust eddied andswirled among the trees. 

The mountain men's cattle, on the other hand, came out sullenly, inherds of a few hundred head. There was more barking of dogs; morescurrying to and fro of mounted men, for small bands are more difficultto drive than large ones. There were no songs, no boisterous highspirits, no flash riding. In contrast to the plains cowboys, even theherders' appearance was poor. They wore blue jeans overalls, short jeansjumpers, hats floppy and all but disintegrated by age and exposure tothe elements. Wright's men, being nothing but cowboys, without otherprofession, ties or interests, gave more attention to details ofprofessional equipment. Their wide hats were straight of brim andgenerally encircled by a leather or hair or snakeskin band; their shirtswere loose; they wore handkerchiefs around their necks, and oiledleather "chaps" on their legs. Their distinguishing and especial mark, however, was their boots. These were made of soft leather, wereelaborately stitched or embroidered in patterns, possessed exaggeratedlywide and long straps like a spaniel's ears, and were mounted on thinsoles and very high heels. They were footwear such as no mountain man, nor indeed any man who might ever be required to go a mile afoot, wouldthink of wearing. The little herds trudged down the mountains. While theplainsmen anticipated easy duty, the pleasures of the town, fencedcattle growing fat on alfalfa raised during the summer by irrigation, these sober-faced mountaineers looked forward to a winter range muchdepleted, a market closed against such wiry, active animals as theyherded, and an impossibility of rounding into shape for sale any but afew old cows. 

"If it wasn't for this new shake-up, " said Jim Pollock, "I'd shore begettin' discouraged. But if they keep out Simeon Wright's cattle thisspring, we'll be all right. It's cost us money, though. "

"A man with a wife and child can't afford to lose money, " said GeorgePollock. 

Jim laughed. 

"You and your new kid!" he mocked. "No, I suppose he can't. Neither cana man with a wife and six children. But I reckon we'll be all right aslong as there's a place to crawl under when it rains. "

XVII

The autumn passed, and winter closed down. Plant continued hisadministration. For a month the countryside was on a tip-toe ofexpectation. It counted on no immediate results, but the "suspensionpending investigation" was to take place within a few weeks. As far assurface indications were concerned nothing happened. Expectation wasturned back on itself. Absolute confidence in Plant's removal andcriminal conviction gave place to scepticism and doubt, finally to utterdisbelief. And since Thorne had succeeded in arousing a real faith andenthusiasm, the reaction was by so much the stronger. Tolerance gave wayto antagonism; distrust to bitterness; grievance to open hostility. TheForest Reserves were cursed as a vicious institution created for thebenefit of the rich man, depriving the poor man of his rights andprivileges, imposing on him regulations that were at once galling andsenseless. 

The Forest Rangers suddenly found themselves openly unpopular. Heretofore a ranger had been tolerated by the mountaineers as either agood-for-nothing saloon loafer enjoying the fats of politicalperquisite; or as a species of inunderstandable fanatic to be lookeddown upon with good-humoured contempt. Now a ranger became a partisan ofthe opposing forces, and as such an enemy. Men ceased speaking to him, or greeted him with the curtest of nods. Plant's men were ostracized inevery way, once they showed themselves obstinate in holding to theirpositions. Every man was urged to resign. Many did so. Others hung onbecause the job was too soft to lose. Some, like Ross Fletcher, California John, Tom Carroll, Charley Morton and a few others, moved ontheir accustomed way. 

One of the inspiring things in the later history of the great West isthe faith and insight, the devotion and self-sacrifice of some of therough mountain men in some few of the badly managed reserves to truthsthat were but slowly being recognized by even the better educated of theEast. These men, year after year, without leadership, withoutencouragement, without the support and generally against the covered oropen hostility of their neighbours, under most disheartening officialconditions kept the torch alight. They had no wide theory of forestry tosustain their interest; they could certainly have little hope ofpromotion and advancement to a real career; their experience with abureaucratic government could not arouse in their breasts anyexpectation of a broad, a liberal, or even an enlightened policy ofconservation or use. They were set in opposition to their neighbourswithout receiving the support of the power that so placed them. Nevertheless, according to their knowledge they worked faithfully. Fivetimes out of ten they had little either of supervision or instruction. Turned out in the mountains, like a bunch of stock, each was free to doas much or as little of whatever he pleased. Each improved his districtaccording to his ideas or his interests. One cared most for buildingtrails; another for chasing sheep trespassers; a third for constructionof bridges, cabins and fences. All had occasionally to fight fires. Eachwas given the inestimable privilege of doing what he could. Everythinghe did had to be reported on enormous and complicated forms. If he madea mistake in any of these, he heard from it, and perhaps his pay washeld up. This pay ran somewhere about sixty or seventy-five dollars amonth, and he was required to supply his own horses and to feed them. Most rangers who were really interested in their profession spent someof this in buying tools with which to work. [A] The Government suppliednext to nothing. In 1902 between the King's River and the Kaweah, anarea of somewhere near a million acres, the complete inventory offire-fighting tools consisted of two rakes made from fifty cents' worthof twenty-penny nails. 

But these negative discouragements were as nothing compared to the pettyrebuffs and rulings that emanated from the Land Office itself. 

One spring Ross Fletcher, following specific orders, was sent out aftertwenty thousand trespassing sheep. It was early in the season. Hisinstructions took him up into the frozen meadows, so he had to carrybarley for his horses. He used three sacks and sent in a bill for one. Item refused. Feed was twenty dollars a thousand. Salary seventy-fivedollars. 

One of Simeon Wright's foremen broke down government fences and fed outall the ranger horse feed. Tom Carroll wrote to Superintendent Smith;later to Washington. The authorities, however, refused to revoke thecattleman's licence. At Christmas time, when Carroll was in White Oaksthe foreman and his two sons jeered at and insulted the ranger in regardto this matter until the latter lost his temper and thrashed all three, one after the other. For this he was severely reprimanded by Washington. 

Charley Morton was ordered to Yosemite to consult with the militaryofficers there. He was instructed to do so in a certain number of days. To keep inside his time limit he had to hire a team. Item refused. 

California John fought fire alone for two days and a night, then had togo outside for help. Docked a day for going off the reserve. 

Why did these men prefer to endure neglect and open hostility to thefavour of their neighbours and easier work? Bob, with a growing wonderand respect, tried to find out. 

He did not succeed. There certainly was no overwhelming love for theadministration of Henry Plant; nor loyalty to the Land Office. Indeedfor the latter, one and all entertained the deep contempt of theout-of-door man for the red-tape clerk. 

"What do you think is the latest, " asked California John one day, "fromthem little squirts? I just got instructions that during of the fireseason I must patrol the whole of my district every day!" The old mangrinned. "I only got from here to Pumice Mountain! I wonder if thosefellows ever saw a mountain? I suppose they laid off an inch on the mapand let it go at that. Patrol every day!"

"How long would it take you?" asked Bob. 

"By riding hard, about a week. "

Rather the loyalty seemed to be gropingly to the idea back of it all, tosomething broad and dim and beautiful which these rough, untutored menhad drawn from their native mountains and which thus they rendered back. 

As Bob gradually came to understand more of the situation his curiositygrew. The lumberman's instinctive hostility to government control andinterference had not in the slightest degree modified; but he had begunto differentiate this small, devoted band from the machinery of theForest Reserves as they were then conducted. He was a little inclined tothe fanatic theory; he knew by now that the laziness hypothesis wouldnot apply to these. 

"What is there in it?" he asked. "You surely can't hope for a boost insalary; and certainly your bosses treat you badly. "

At first he received vague and evasive answers. They liked the work;they got along all right; it was a lot better than the cattle businessjust now, and so on. Then as it became evident that the young man wasgenuinely interested, California John gradually opened up. One strangeand beautiful feature of American partisanship for an ideal is itsshyness. It will work and endure, will wait and suffer, but it will notgo forth to proselyte. 

"The way I kind of look at it is this, " said the old man one evening. "I always did like these here mountains--and the big trees--and therocks and water and the snow. Everywhere else the country belongs tosome one: it's staked out. Up here it belongs to me, because I'm anAmerican. This country belongs to all of us--the people--all of us. Wemost of us don't know we've got it, that's all. I kind of look at itthis way: suppose I had a big pile of twenty-dollar gold pieces lyingup, say in Siskiyou, that I didn't know nothing whatever about; and somefellow come along and took care of it for me and hung onto it even whenI sent out word that anybody was welcome to anything I owned inSiskiyou--I not thinking I really owned anything there, youunderstand--why--well, you see, I sort of like to feel I'm one of thosefellows!"

"What good is there in hanging onto a lot of land that would be betterdeveloped?" asked Bob. 

But California John refused to be drawn into a discussion. He had hisfaith, but he would not argue about it. Sometime or other the peoplewould come to that same faith. In the meantime there was no sense intangling up with discussions. 

"They send us out some reading that tells about it, " said CaliforniaJohn. "I'll give you some. "

He was as good as his word. Bob carried away with him a dozen governmentpublications of the sort that, he had always concluded, everybodyreceived and nobody read. Interested, not in the subject matter of thepamphlets, but in their influence on these mountain men, he did readthem. In this manner he became for the first time acquainted with theelementary principles of watersheds and water conservation. This wasactually so. Nor did he differ in this respect from any other of themillions of well-educated youth of the country. In a vague way he knewthat trees influence climate. He had always been too busy with trees tobother about climate. 

The general facts interested him, and appealed to his logical commonsense. He saw for the first time, because for the first time it had beenpresented to his attention, the real use and reason for the forestreserves. Hitherto he had considered the whole institution assemi-hostile, at least as something in potential antagonism. Now he waswilling fairly to recognize the wisdom of preserving some portion of themountain cover. He had not really denied it; simply he hadn't consideredit. 

Early in this conviction he made up to Ross Fletcher for his brusquenessin ordering the ranger off the mill property. 

"I just classed you with your gang, which was natural, " said Bob. 

"I am one of my gang, of course, " said Fletcher. 

"Do you consider yourself one of the same sort of dicky bird as Plantand that crew?" demanded Bob. 

"There ain't no humans all alike, " replied the mountaineer. 

Although Bob was thus rebuffed in immediately getting inside of theman's loyalty to his service and his superiors, he was from that momentmade to feel at his ease. Later, in a fuller intimacy, he was treatedmore frankly. 

Welton laughed openly at Bob's growing interest in these matters. 

"You're the first man I ever saw read any of those things, " said he inregard to the government reports. "I once read one, " he went on indelightful contradiction to his first statement. "It told how to cuttimber. When you cut down a tree, you pile up the remains in a neat pileand put a little white picket fence around them. It would take athousand men and cost enough to buy a whole new tract to do all themonkey business they want you to do. I've only been in the lumberbusiness forty years! When a college boy can teach me, I'm willing tolisten; but he can't teach me the A B C of the business. "

Bob laughed. "Well, I can't just see us taking time in a short seasonto back-track and pile up ornamental brush piles, " he admitted. 

"Experimental farms, and experimental chickens, and experimentallumbering are all right for the gentleman farmer and the gentlemanpoultry fancier and the gentleman lumberman--if there are any. But whenit comes to business----"

Bob laughed. "Just the same, " said he, "I'm beginning to see that it's agood thing to keep some of this timber standing; and the only way it canbe done is through the Forest Reserves. "

"That's all right, " agreed Welton. "Let'em reserve. I don't care. Butthey are a nuisance. They keep stepping on my toes. It's too good achance to annoy and graft. It gives a hard lot of loafers too good achance to make trouble. "

"They are a hard lot in general, " agreed Bob, "but there's some good menamong them, men I can't help but admire. "

Welton rolled his eyes drolly at the younger man. 

"Who?" he inquired. 

"Well, there's old California John. "

"There's three or four mossbacks in the lot that are honest, " cut inWelton, "but it's because they're too damn thick-headed to be anythingelse. Don't get kiddish enough to do the picturesque mountaineer act, Bobby. I can dig you up four hundred of that stripe anywhere--andholding down just about as valuable jobs. Don't get too thick with thatkind. In the city you'll find them holding open-air meetings. I supposeour friend Plant has been pinched?"

"Not yet, " grinned Bob, a trifle shamefacedly. 

"Don't get the reform bug, Bob, " said Welton kindly, "That's all verywell for those that like to amuse themselves, but we're busy. "

[Footnote A: The accounts of one man showed that for a long period hehad so disbursed from his own pocket an average of thirty dollars amonth. His salary was sixty dollars. ]

XVIII

The following spring found Plant still in command. No word had come fromthe silence of political darkness. His only concession to the state ofaffairs had been an acknowledgment under coercion that the cattle rangeshad been overstocked, and that outside cattle would not be permitted toenter, at least for the coming season. This was just the concession torelieve the immediate pressure against him, and to give the Supervisortime to apply all his energies to details within the shades. 

Details were important, in spite of the absence of surface indications. Many considerations were marshalled. On one side were arrayed plainaffidavits of fraud. In the lower ranks of the Land Office it wasnecessary to corrupt men, by one means or another. These lesserofficials in the course of routine would come face to face with thedamaging affidavits, and must be made to shut their eyes deliberately towhat they know. The cases of the higher officials were different. Theymust know of the charges, of course, but matters must be so arrangedthat the evidence must never meet their eyes, and that they must adopten bloc the findings of their subordinates. Bribery was here impossible;but influence could be brought to bear. 

Chairman Gay upheld his cousin, Henry Plant, because of therelationship. This implied a good word, and personal influence. Afterthat Chairman Gay forgot the matter. But a great number of people wereextremely anxious to please Chairman Gay. These exerted themselves. Theycame across evidence that would have caused Chairman Gay to throw hisbeloved cousin out neck and crop, but they swallowed it and asked formore simply because Gay possessed patronage, and it was not to theirinterest to bring disagreeable matters before the great man. Nor was theLand Office unlikely to listen to reason. A strong fight was at thattime forward to transfer control of the Forest Reserves from adepartment busy in other lines to the Bureau of Forestry where itlogically belonged. This transfer was violently opposed by those to whomthe distribution of supervisorships, ranger appointments and the likeseemed valuable. The Land Office adherents needed all the politicalbacking they could procure; and the friends of Chairman Gay epitomizedpolitical backing. So the Land Office, too, was anxious to please theChairman. 

At the same time Simeon Wright had bestirred himself. There seems to beno good and valid reason for owning a senator if you don't use him. Wright was too shrewd to think it worth while to own a senator fromCalifornia. That was too obvious. Few knew how closely affiliated werethe Wright and the Barrow interests. Wright dropped a hint to thedignified senator; the senator paid a casual call to an official high upin the Land Office. Senators would by their votes ultimately decide thequestion of transfer. The official agreed to keep an eye on therecommendations in this case. 

Thus somebody submerged beneath the Gay interests saw obscurely somebodyequally submerged beneath the Wright and Barrow interests. In due courseall Thorne's careful work was pigeonholed. An epitome of the charges wastyped and submitted to the High Official. On the back of them had beenwritten:

"I find the charges not proved. "

This was signed by the very obscure clerk who had filed away the Thorneaffidavits and who happened to be a friend of the man to whom in deviousways and through many mouths had come an expression of the Gay wishes. It was O. K. 'd by a dozen others. The High Official added his O. K. Tothe others. Then he promptly forgot about it, as did every one elseconcerned, save the men most vitally interested. 

In due time Thorne, then in Los Angeles, received a brief communicationfrom Stafford, the obscure clerk. 

"In regard to your charges against Supervisor H. M. Plant, the Departmentbegs to advise you that, after examining carefully the evidence for thedefence, it finds the charges not proven. "

Thorne stared at the paper incredulously, then he did something he hadnever permitted himself before; he wrote in expostulation to the HigherOfficial. 

"I cannot imagine what the man's defence could be, " he wrote, in part, "but my evidence a mere denial could hardly controvert. The wholecountryside knows the man is crooked; they know he was investigated;they are now awaiting with full confidence the punishment forwell-understood peculation. I can hardly exaggerate the body blow to theService such a decision would give. Nobody will believe in it again. "

On reading this the Higher Official called in one of his subordinates. 

"I have this from Thorne, " said he. "What do you think of it?"

The subordinate read it through. 

"I'll look it up, " said he. 

"Do so and bring me the papers, " advised the Higher Official. 

The Higher Official knew Thorne's work and approved it. The inspectorwas efficient, and throughout all his reforming of conditions in theWest, the Department had upheld him. The Department liked efficiency, and where the private interests of its own grafters were not concerned, it gave good government. 

In due time the subordinate came back, but without the papers. 

"Stafford says he'll look them up, sir, " said he. "He told me to tellyou that the case was the one you were asking Senator Barrow about. "

"Ah!" said the Higher Official. 

He sat for some time in deep thought. Then he called through the opendoor to his stenographer. 

"_In re_ your's 21st, " he dictated, "I repose every confidence in Mr. Stafford's judgment; and unless I should care to supersede him, it wouldhardly be proper for me to carry any matter over his head. "

Thorne immediately resigned, and shortly went into landlooking for alumbering firm in Oregon. Chairman Gay wrote a letter advising Plant to"adopt a policy of conciliation toward the turbulent element. "

XIX

Shortly after Bob's return in the early spring, George Pollock rode toAuntie Belle's in some disorder to say that the little girl, now about ayear old, had been taken sick. 

"Jenny has a notion it's something catching, " said he, "so she won't letJim send Mary over. There's too many young-uns in that family to run anyrisks. "

"How does she seem?" called Auntie Belle from the bedroom where she waspreparing for departure. 

"She's got a fever, and is restless, and won't eat, " said Georgeanxiously. "She looks awful sick to me. "

"They all do at that age, " said Auntie Belle comfortably; "don't youworry a mite. "

Nevertheless Auntie Belle did not return that day, nor the next, nor thenext. When finally she appeared, it was only to obtain certain suppliesand clothes. These she caused to be brought out and laid down where shecould get them. She would allow nobody to come near her. 

"It's scarlet fever, " she said, "and Lord knows where the child got it. But we won't scatter it, so you-all stay away. I'll do what I can. I'vebeen through it enough times, Lord knows. "

Three days later she appeared again, very quietly. 

"How's the baby?" asked Bob. "Better, I hope?"

"The poor little thing is dead, " said Auntie Belle shortly, "and I wantyou or somebody to ride down for the minister. "

The community attended the funeral in a body. It was held in the openair, under a white oak tree, for Auntie Belle, with unusual caution andknowledge for the mountains, refused to permit even a chance ofspreading the contagion. The mother appeared dazed. She sat through theservices without apparent consciousness of what was going on; shesuffered herself to be led to the tiny enclosure where all the Pollocksof other generations had been buried; she allowed herself to be led awayagain. There was in the brief and pathetic ceremony no meaning and nopain for her. The father, on the other hand, seemed crushed. So brokenwas his figure that, after the services, Bob was impelled to lay hishand on the man's shoulder and mutter a few incoherent but encouragingwords. The mountaineer looked up dully, but sharpened to comprehensionand gratitude as his eyes met those of the tall, vigorous young manleaning over him. 

"I mean it, " said Bob; "any time--any place. "

On the way back to Sycamore Flats Auntie Belle expressed her mind to theyoung man. 

"Nobody realizes how things are going with those Pollocks, " said she. "George sold his spurs and that Cruces bit of his to get medicine. Hewouldn't take anything from me. They're proud folks, and nobody'd have achance to suspect anything. I tell you, " said the good lady solemnly, "it don't matter where that child got the fever; it's Henry Plant, theold, fat scoundrel, that killed her just as plain as if he'd stuck a gunto her head. He has a good deal to answer for. There's lots of folkseating their own beef cattle right now; and that's ruinous. I supposeWashington ain't going to do anything. We might have known it. I don'tsuppose you heard anything outside about it?"

"Only that Thorne had resigned. "

"That so!" Auntie Belle ruminated on this a moment. "Well, I'm rightglad to hear it. I'd hate to think I was fooled on him. Reckon 'resign'means fired for daring to say anything about His High-and-mightiness?"she guessed. 

Bob shook his head. "Couldn't say, " said he. 

The busy season was beginning. Every day laden teams crawled up theroad bringing supplies for the summer work. Woodsmen came in twos, inthrees, in bunches of a dozen or more. Bob was very busy arranging thedistribution and forwarding, putting into shape the great machinery ofhandling, so that when, a few weeks later, the bundles of sawn lumbershould begin to shoot down the flume, they would fall automatically intoa systematic scheme of further transportation. He had done this twicebefore, and he knew all the steps of it, and exactly what would berequired of him. Certain complications were likely to arise, requiringeach their individual treatments, but as Bob's experience grew thesewere becoming fewer and of lesser importance. The creative necessity wassteadily lessening as the work became more familiar. Often Bob found hiseagerness sinking to a blank; his attention economizing itself to thebare needs of the occasion. He caught himself at times slipping awayfrom the closest interest in what he had to do. His spirit, although hedid not know it, was beginning once more to shake itself restlessly, todemand, as it had always demanded in the past from the time of his toyprinting press in his earliest boyhood, fresh food for the creativeinstinct that was his. Bobby Orde, the child, had been thorough. Nosuperficial knowledge of a subject sufficed. He had worked away at themechanical difficulties of the cheap toy press after Johnny English, hispartner in enterprise, had given up in disgust. By worrying the problemlike a terrier, Bobby had shaken it into shape. Then when the commercialpossibilities of job printing for parents had drawn Johnny back ablazewith enthusiasm, Bobby had, to his partner's amazement, lost completelyall interest in printing presses. The subject had been exhausted; he hadno desire for repetitions. 

So it had gone. One after another he had with the utmost fervour takenup photography, sailing, carpentry, metal working--a dozen and oneoccupations--only to drop them as suddenly. This restlessness ofchildhood came to be considered a defect in young manhood. It indicatedinstability of character. Only his mother, wiser in her quiet way, sawthe thoroughness with which he ransacked each subject. Bobby would readand absorb a dozen technical books in a week, reaching eagerly for thevital principles of his subject. She alone realized, although but dimly, that the boy did not relinquish his subject until he had grasped thosevital principles. 

"He's learning all the time, " she ventured. 

"'Jack of all trades: master of none, '" quoted Orde doubtfully. 

The danger being recognized, little Bobby's teaching was carefullydirected. He was not discouraged in his varied activities; but thebigger practical principles of American life were inculcated. These maybe very briefly stated. An American must not idle; he must direct hisenergies toward success; success means making one's way in life; ninetimes out of ten, for ninety-nine men out of a hundred, that means thebusiness world. To seize the business opportunity; to develop thatopportunity through the business virtues of attention to detail, industry, economy, persistence, and enthusiasm--these represented theplain and manifest duty of every citizen who intended to "be somebody. "

Now Bob realized perfectly well that here he was more fortunate thanmost. A great many of his friends had to begin on small salaries inindoor positions of humdrum and mechanical duty. He had started on acongenial out-of-door occupation of great interest and picturesqueness, one suited to his abilities and promising a great future. Nevertheless, he had now been in the business five years. He was beginning to seethrough and around it. As yet he had not lost one iota of his enthusiasmfor the game; but here and there, once in a while, some of the necessarydelays and slow, long repetitions of entirely mechanical processes lefthim leisure to feel irked, to look above him, beyond the affairs thatsurrounded him. At such times the old blank, doped feeling fell acrosshis mind. It had always been so definite a symptom in his childhood ofthat state wherein he simply could not drag himself to blow up theembers of his extinguished enthusiasm, that he recoiled from himself inalarm. He felt his whole stability of character on trial. If he couldnot "make good" here, what excuse could there be for him; what was thereleft for him save the profitless and honourless life of the dilettanteand idler? He had caught on to a big business remarkably well, and itwas worse than childish to lose his interest in the game even for thefraction of a second. Of course, it amounted to nothing but that. Henever did his work better than that spring. 

A week after the burial of the Pollock baby, Mrs. Pollock was reportedseriously ill. Bob rode up a number of times to inquire, and kepthimself fully informed. The doctor came twice from White Oaks, but thenceased his visits. Bob did not know that such visits cost fifty dollarsapiece. Mary, Jim's wife, shared the care of the sick woman with George. She was reported very weak, but getting on. The baby's death, togetherwith the other anxieties of the last two years, had naturally pulled herdown. 

XX

Before the gray dawn one Sunday morning Bob, happening to awaken, hearda strange, rumbling, distant sound to the west. His first thought wasthat the power dam had been opened and was discharging its waters, butas his senses came to him, he realized that this could not be so. Hestretched himself idly. A mocking bird uttered a phrase outside. Nodregs of drowsiness remained in him, so he dressed and walked out intothe freshness of the new morning. Here the rumbling sound, which he hadconcluded had been an effect of his half-conscious imagination, cameclearer to his ears. He listened for a moment, then walked rapidly tothe Lone Pine Hill from whose slight elevation he could see abroad overthe low mountains to the west. The gray light before sunrise was nowstrengthening every moment. By the time Bob had reached the summit ofthe knoll it had illuminated the world. 

A wandering suction of air toward the higher peaks brought with it themurmur of a multitude. Bob topped the hill and turned his eyes to thewest. A great cloud of dust arose from among the chaparral and oaks, drifting slowly but certainly toward the Ranges. Bob could now make outthe bawling, shouting, lowing of great herds on the march. In spite ofpledges and promises, in spite of California John's reports, of Thorne'srecommendations, of Plant's assurances, Simeon Wright's cattle wereagain coming in!

Bob shook his head sadly, and his clear-cut young face was grave. No oneknew better than himself what this must mean to the mountain people, for his late spring and early fall work had brought him much in contactwith them. He walked thoughtfully down the hill. 

When just on the outskirts of the little village he was overtaken byGeorge Pollock on horseback. The mountaineer was jogging along at a footpace, his spurs jingling, his bridle hand high after the Westernfashion. When he saw Bob he reined in, nodding a good morning. Bobnoticed that he had strapped on a blanket and slicker, and wore hissix-shooter. 

"You look as though you were going on a journey, " remarked Bob. 

"Thinking of it, " said Pollock. Bob glanced up quickly at the tone ofhis voice, which somehow grated unusually on the young man's ear, butthe mountaineer's face was placid under the brim of his floppy old hat. "Might as well, " continued the cattleman after a moment. "Nothin'special to keep me. "

"I'm glad Mrs. Pollock is better, " ventured Bob. 

"She's dead, " stated Pollock without emotion. "Died this morning abouttwo o'clock. "

Bob cried out at the utterly unexpected shock of this statement. Pollocklooked down on him as though from a great height. 

"I sort of expected it, " he answered Bob's exclamation. "I reckon wewon't talk of it. 'Spose you see that Wright's cattle is coming inagain? I'm sorry on account of Jim and the other boys. It wipes me out, of course, but it don't matter as far as I'm concerned, because I'mgoing away, anyway. "

Bob laid his hand on the man's stirrup leather and walked alongside, thinking rapidly. He did not know how to take hold of the situation. 

"Where are you thinking of going?" he asked. 

Pollock looked down at him. 

"What's that to you?" he demanded roughly. 

"Why--nothing--I was simply interested, " gasped Bob in astonishment. 

The mountaineer's eyes bored him through and through. Finally the mandropped his gaze. 

"I'll tell you, " said he at last, "'cause you and Jim are the onlysquare ones I know. I'm going to Mexico. I never been there. I'm goingby Vermilion Valley, and Mono Pass. If they ask you, you can tell 'emdifferent. I want you to do something for me. "

"Gladly, " said Bob. "What is it?"

"Just hold my horse for me, " requested Pollock, dismounting. "He standsfine tied to the ground, but there's a few things he's plumb afraid of, and I don't want to take chances on his getting away. He goes plumb offthe grade for freight teams; he can't stand the crack of their whips. Sounds like a gun to him, I reckon. He won't stand for shootingneither. "

While talking the mountaineer handed the end of his hair rope into Bob'skeeping. 

"Hang on to him, " he said, turning away. 

George Pollock sauntered easily down the street. At Supervisor Plant'sfront gate, he turned and passed within. Bob saw him walk rapidly up thefront walk, and pound on Plant's bedroom door. This, as usual in themountains, opened directly out on the verandah. With an exclamation Bobsprang forward, dropping the hair rope. He was in time to see thebedroom door snatched open from within, and Plant's huge figure, white-robed, appear in the doorway. The Supervisor was evidently angry. 

"What in hell do you want?" he demanded. 

"You, " said the mountaineer. 

He dropped his hand quite deliberately to his holster, flipped theforty-five out to the level of his hip, and fired twice, without lookingat the weapon. Plant's expression changed; turned blank. For anappreciable instant he tottered upright, then his knees gave out beneathhim and he fell forward with a crash. George Pollock leaned over him. Apparently satisfied after a moment's inspection, the mountaineerstraightened, dropped his weapon into the holster, and turned away. 

All this took place in so short a space of time that Bob had not movedfive feet from the moment he guessed Pollock's intention to the end ofthe tragedy. As the first shot rang out, Bob turned and seized again thehair rope attached to Pollock's horse. His habit of rapid decision andcool judgment showed him in a flash that he was too late to interfere, and revealed to him what he must do. 

Pollock, looking neither to the right nor the left, took the rope Bobhanded him and swung into the saddle. His calm had fallen from him. Hiseyes burned and his face worked. With a muffled cry of pain he struckspurs to his horse and disappeared. 

Considerably shaken, Bob stood still, considering what he must do. Itwas manifestly his duty to raise the alarm. If he did so, however, hewould have to bear witness to what he knew; and this, for GeorgePollock's sake, he desired to avoid. He was the only one who could knowpositively and directly and immediately how Plant had died. The sound ofthe shots had not aroused the village. If they had been heard, no onewould have paid any attention to them; the discharge of firearms was toocommon an occurrence to attract special notice. It was better to let thediscovery come in the natural course of events. 

However, Bob was neither a coward nor a fool. He wanted to save GeorgePollock if he could, but he had no intention of abandoning another plainduty in the matter. Without the slightest hesitation he opened Plant'sgate and walked to the verandah where the huge, unlovely hulk huddled inthe doorway. There, with some loathing, he determined the fact that theman was indeed dead. Convinced as to this point, he returned to thestreet, and looked carefully up and down it. It was still quitedeserted. 

His mind in a whirl of horror, pity, and an unconfessed, hiddensatisfaction, he returned to Auntie Belle's. The customary daylightbreakfast for the teamsters had been omitted on account of the Sabbath. A thin curl of smoke was just beginning to rise straight up from thekitchen stovepipe. Bob, his mouth suddenly dry and sticky, went aroundto the back porch, where a huge _olla_ hung always full of spring water. He rounded the corner to run plump against Oldham, tilted back in achair smoking the butt of a cigar. 

In his agitation of mind, Bob had no stomach for casual conversation. Byan effort he smoothed out his manner and collected his thoughts. 

"How are you, Mr. Oldham?" he greeted the older man; "when did you getin?"

"About an hour ago, " replied Oldham. His spare figure in the graybusiness suit did not stir from its lazy posture, nor did the expressionof his thin sardonic face change, but somehow, after swallowing hisdrink, Bob decided to revise his first intention of escaping to hisroom. 

"An hour ago, " he repeated, when the import of the words finallyfiltered through his mental turmoil. "You travelled up at night then?"

"Yes. It's getting hot on the plains. "

"Got in just before daylight, then?"

"Just before. I'd have made it sooner, but I had to work my way throughthe cattle. "

"Where's your team?"

"I left it down at the Company's stables; thought you wouldn't mind. "

"Sure not, " said Bob. 

The Company's stables were at the other end of the village. Oldham musthave walked the length of the street. He had said it was beforedaylight; but the look of the man's eyes was quizzical and cold behindthe glasses. Still, it was always quizzical and cold. Bob called himselfa panicky fool. Just the same, he wished now he had looked forfootprints in the dust of the street. While his brain was thus busy withswift conjecture and the weighing of probabilities, his tongue wasmaking random conversation, and his vacant eye was taking in andreporting to his intelligence the most trivial things. Generallyspeaking, his intelligence did not catch the significance of what hiseyes reported until after an appreciable interval. Thus he noted thatOldham had smoked his cigar down to a short butt. This unimportant factmeant nothing, until his belated mind told him that never before had heseen the man actually smoking. Oldham always held a cigar between hislips, but he contented himself with merely chewing it or rolling itabout. And this was very early, before breakfast. 

"Never saw you smoke before, " he remarked abruptly, as this bubble ofirrelevant thought came to the surface. 

"No?" said Oldham, politely. 

"It would make me woozy all day to smoke before I ate, " said Bob, hisvoice trailing away, as his inner ear once more took up its listeningfor the hubbub that must soon break. 

As the moments went by, the suspense of this waiting became almostunbearable. A small portion of him kept up its semblance of conversationwith Oldham; another small portion of him made minute and careful notesof trivial things; all the rest of him, body and soul, was listening, inthe hope that soon, very soon, a scream would break the suspense. Fromtime to time he felt that Oldham was looking at him queerly, and herallied his faculties to the task of seeming natural. 

"Aren't you feeling well?" asked the older man at last. "You're mightypale. You want to watch out where you drink water around some of theseplaces. "

Bob came to with a snap. 

"Didn't sleep well, " said he, once more himself. 

"Well, that wouldn't trouble me, " yawned Oldham; "if it hadn't been forcigars I'd have dropped asleep in this chair an hour ago. You said youcouldn't smoke before breakfast; neither can I ordinarily. This isn'tbefore breakfast for me, it's after supper; and I've smoked two just tokeep awake. "

"Why keep awake?" asked Bob. 

"When I pass away, it'll be for all day. I want to eat first. "

There, at last, it had come! A man down the street shouted. Therefollowed a pounding at doors, and then the murmur of exclamations, questions and replies. 

"It sounds like some excitement, " yawned Oldham, bringing his chair downwith a thump. "They haven't even rung the first bell yet; let's wanderout and stretch our legs. "

He sauntered off the wide back porch toward the front of the house. Bobfollowed. When near the gate Bob's mind grasped the significance of oneof the trivial details that his eyes had reported to it some momentsbefore. He uttered an exclamation, and returned hurriedly to the backporch to verify his impressions. They had been correct. Oldham hadstated definitely that he had arrived before daylight, that he had beensitting in his chair for over an hour; that during that time he hadsmoked two cigars through. 

_Neither on the broad porch, nor on the ground near it, nor in anypossible receptacle were there any cigar ashes. _

XXI

The hue and cry rose and died; the sheriff from the plains did his duty;but no trace of the murderer was found. Indeed, at the first it was notknown positively who had done the deed; a dozen might have had motivefor the act. Only by the process of elimination was the truth come at. No one could say which way the fugitive had gone. Jim Pollock, underpressure, admitted that his brother had stormed against the door, hadtold the awakened inmates that his wife was dead and that he was goingaway. Immediately on making this statement, he had clattered off. Jimsteadfastly maintained that his brother had given no inkling of whitherhe fled. Simeon Wright's cattle, on their way to the high country, filedpast. The cowboys listened to the news with interest, and a delightwhich they did not attempt to conceal. They denied having seen thefugitive. The sheriff questioned them perfunctorily. He knew the breed. George Pollock might have breakfasted with them for all that the denialsassured him. 

There appeared shortly on the scene of action a United States marshal. The murder of a government official was serious. Against the criminalthe power of the nation was deployed. Nevertheless, in the long run, George Pollock got clean away. Nobody saw him from that day--or nobodywould acknowledge to have seen him. 

For awhile Bob expected at any moment to be summoned for his testimony. He was morally certain that Oldham had been an eye-witness to thetragedy. But as time went on, and no faintest indication manifesteditself that he could have been connected with the matter, he concludedhimself mistaken. Oldham could have had no motive in concealment, savethat of the same sympathy Bob had felt for Pollock. But in that case, what more natural than that he should mention the matter privately toBob? If, on the other hand, he had any desire to further the ends of thelaw, what should prevent him from speaking out publicly? In neither casewas silence compatible with knowledge. 

But Bob knew positively the man had lied, when he stated that he had forover an hour been sitting in the chair on Auntie Belle's back porch. Whyhad he done so? Where had he been? Bob could not hazard even the wildestguess. Oldham's status with Baker was mysterious; his occasionalbusiness in these parts--it might well be that Oldham thought he hadsomething to conceal from Bob. In that case, where had the elder manbeen, and what was he about during that fatal hour that Sunday morning?Bob was not conversant with the affairs of the Power Company, but heknew vaguely that Baker was always shrewdly reaching out for new rightsand privileges, for fresh opportunities which the other fellow had notyet seen and which he had no desire that the other fellow should seeuntil too late. It might be that Oldham was on some such errand. In therush of beginning the season's work, the question gradually faded fromBob's thoughts. 

Forest Reserve matters locally went into the hands of a receiver. Thatis to say, the work of supervision fell to Plant's head-ranger, whilePlant's office was overhauled and straightened out by a clerk sent onfrom Washington. Forest Reserve matters nationally, however, were on adifferent footing. The numerous members of Congress who desired to leavethings as they were, the still more numerous officials of the interesteddepartments, the swarming petty politicians dealing direct with smallpatronage--all these powerful interests were unable satisfactorily toanswer one common-sense question; why is the management of our ForestReserves left to a Land Office already busy, already doubted, when wehave organized and equipped a Bureau of Forestry consisting of trained, enthusiastic and honest men? Reluctantly the transfer was made. Theforestry men picked up the tangle that incompetent, perfunctory andoften venal management had dropped. 

XXII

To most who heard of it this item of news was interesting, but notespecially important; Bob could not see where it made much differencewho held the reins three thousand miles away. To others it came as theunhoped-for, dreamed-of culmination of aspiration. 

California John got the news from Martin. The old man had come in from along trip. 

"You got to take a brace now and be scientific, " chaffed Martin. "Youold mossback! Don't you dare fall any more trees without measuring outthe centre of gravity; and don't you split any more wood unless youcalculate first the probable direction of riving; and don't you let anydoodle-bug get away without looking at his teeth. "

California John grinned slowly, but his eyes were shining. 

"And what's more, you old grafters'll get bounced, sure pop, " continuedMartin. "They won't want you. You don't wear spectacles, and you eat toomany proteids in your beans. "

"You ain't heard who's going to be sent out for Supervisor?" asked oldJohn. 

"They haven't found any one with thick enough glasses yet, " retortedMartin. 

California John made some purchases, packed his mule, and climbed backup the mountain to the summer camp. Here he threw off his saddle andsupplies, and entered the ranger cabin. A rusty stove was very hot. Atopbubbled a capacious kettle. California John removed the cover and peeredin. 

"Chicken 'n' dumpling!" said he. 

He drew a broken-backed chair to the table and set to business. In tenminutes his plate contained nothing but chicken bones. He contemplatedthem with satisfaction. 

"I reckon that'll even up for that bacon performance, " he remarked inreference to some past joke on himself. 

At dusk three men threw open the outside door and entered. They foundCalifornia John smoking his pipe contemplatively before a clean table. 

"Now, you bowlegged old sidewinder, " said Ross Fletcher, striding to thedoor, "we'll show you something you don't get up where you come from. "

"What is it?" asked California John with a mild curiosity. 

"Chicken, " replied Fletcher. 

He peered into the kettle. Then he lit a match and peered again. Hereached for a long iron spoon with which he fished up, one afteranother, several dumplings. Finally he swore softly. 

"What's the matter, Ross?" inquired California John. 

"You know what's the matter, " retorted Ross shaking the spoon. 

California John arose and looked down into the kettle. 

"Thought you said you had chicken, " he observed; "looks to me likedumplin' soup. "

"I did have chicken, " replied the man. "Oh, you Miles!--Bob!--come here. This old wreck has gone and stole all our chicken. "

The boys popped in from the next room. 

"I never, " expostulated California John, his eyes twinkling. "I neverstole nothin'. I just came in and found a poor old hen bogged down in amess of dough, so I rescued her. "

The other man said nothing for some time, but surveyed California Johnfrom head to toe and from toe to head again. 

"Square, " said he at last. 

"Square, " replied California John with equal gravity. They shook hands. 

While the newcomers ate supper, California John read laboriously hisaccumulated mail. After spelling through one document he uttered ahearty oath. 

"What is it?" asked Ross, suspending operations. 

"They've put me in as Supervisor to succeed Plant, " replied CaliforniaJohn, handing over the official document. "I ain't no supervisor. "

"I'd like to know why not, " spoke up Miles indignantly. "You know thesemountains better'n any man ever set foot in 'em. "

"I ain't got no education, " replied California John. 

"Damn good thing, " growled Ross. 

California John smoked with troubled brow. 

"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" demanded Ross impatiently, after awhile; "ain't you satisfied?"

"Oh, I'm satisfied well enough, but I kind of hate to leave the service;I like her. "

"Quit!" cried Ross. 

"No, " denied California John, "but I'll get fired. First thing, " heexplained, "I'm going after Simeon Wright's grazing permits. He ain't noright in the mountains, and the ranges are overstocked. He can't trailin ten thousand head while I'm supposed to be boss, so it looks asthough I wasn't going to be boss long after Simeon Wright comes in. "

"Oh, go slow, " pleaded Ross; "take things a little easy at first, andthen when you get going you can tackle the big things. "

"I ain't going to enforce any regulations they don't give me, " statedCalifornia John, "and I'm going to try to enforce all they do. That'swhat I'm here for. "

"That means war with Wright, " said Ross. 

"Then war it is, " agreed California John comfortably. 

"You won't last ten minutes against Wright. "

"Reckon not, " agreed old John, "reckon not; but I'll last long enough tomake him take notice. "

XXIII

By end of summer California John was fairly on his road. He enteredoffice at a time when the local public sentiment was almost unanimouslyagainst the system of Forest Reserves. The first thing he did was todischarge eight of the Plant rangers. These fell back on their rights, and California John, to his surprise, found that he could not thuscontrol his own men. He wagged his head in his first discouragement. Itwas necessary to recommend to Washington that these men be removed; andCalifornia John knew well by experience what happened to suchrecommendations. Nevertheless he sat him down to his typewriter, andwith one rigid forefinger, pecked out such a request. Having thusaccomplished his duty in the matter, but without hope of results, hewent about other things. Promptly within two weeks came the necessaryauthority. The eight ornamentals were removed. 

Somewhat encouraged, California John next undertook the sheep problem. That, under Plant, had been in the nature of a protected industry. California John and his delighted rangers plunged neck deep into a sheepwar. They found themselves with a man's job on their hands. Thesheepmen, by long immunity, had come to know the higher mountainsintimately, and could hide themselves from any but the mostconscientious search. When discovered, they submitted peacefully tobeing removed from the Reserve. At the boundaries the rangers' powerceased. The sheepmen simply waited outside the line. It was manifestlyimpossible to watch each separate flock all the time. As soon assurveillance was relaxed, over the line they slipped, again to fattenon prohibited feed until again discovered, and again removed. Therangers had no power of arrest; they could use only necessary force inejecting the trespassers. It was possible to sue in the United Statescourts, but the process was slow and unsatisfactory, and the damagesawarded the Government amounted to so little that the sheepmencheerfully paid them as a sort of grazing tax. The point was, that theygot the feed--either free or at a nominal cost--and the rangers werepowerless to stop them. 

Over this problem California John puzzled a long time. 

"We ain't doing any good playing hide and coop, " he told Ross; "it'sjust using up our time. We got to get at it different. I wish thoseregulations was worded just the least mite different!"

He produced the worn Blue Book and his own instructions and thumbed themover for the hundredth time. 

"'Employ only necessary force, '" he muttered; "'remove them beyond theconfines of the reserve. '" He bit savagely at his pipe. Suddenly histension relaxed and his wonted shrewdly humorous expression returned tohis brown and lean old face. "Ross, " said he, "this is going to be plumbamusing. Do you guess we-all can track up with any sheep?"

"Jim Hutchins's herders must have sneaked back over by Iron Mountain, "suggested Fletcher. 

"Jim Hutchins, " mused California John; "where is he now? Know?"

"I heard tell he was at Stockton. "

"Well, that's all right then. If Jim was around, he might start ashootin' row, and we don't want any of that. "

"Well, I don't know as I'm afraid of Jim Hutchins, " said Ross Fletcher. 

"Neither am I, sonny, " replied California John; "but this is agrand-stand play, and we got to bring her off without complications. Youget the boys organized. We start to-morrow. "

"What you got up your sleeve?" asked Ross. 

"Never you mind. "

"Who's going to have charge of the office?"

"Nobody, " stated California John positively; "we tackle one thing to atime. "

Next day the six rangers under command of their supervisor disappearedin the wilderness. When they reached the trackless country of thegranite and snow and the lost short-hair meadows, they began scouting. Sign of sheep they found in plenty, but no sheep. Signal smokes overdistant ranges rose straight up, and died; but never could they discoverwhere the fire had been burned. Sheepmen of the old type are the best ofmountaineers, and their skill has been so often tested that they are asfull of tricks as so many foxes. The fires they burned left no ash. Thesmokes they sent up warned all for two hundred miles. 

Nevertheless, by the end of three days young Tom Carroll and CharleyMorton trailed down a band of three thousand head. They came upon theflock grazing peacefully over blind hillsides in the torment ofsplintered granite. The herders grinned, as the rangers came in sight. They had been "tagged" in this "game of hide and coop. " As a matter ofcourse they began to pack their camp on the two burros that grazed amongthe sheep; they ordered the dogs to round up the flock. For two weeksthey had grazed unmolested, and they were perfectly satisfied to pay theinconvenience of a day's journey over to the Inyo line. 

"'llo boys, " said their leader, flashing his teeth at them. "'Wan startnow?"

"These Jim Hutchins's sheep?" inquired Carroll. 

But at that question the Frenchman suddenly lost all his command of theEnglish language. 

"They're Hutchins's all right, " said Charley, who had ridden out to lookat the brand painted black on the animals' flanks. "No go to-night, " hetold the attentive herder. "Camp here. "

He threw off his saddle. Tom Carroll rode away to find California John. 

The two together, with Ross Fletcher, whom they had stumbled uponaccidentally, returned late the following afternoon. By sunrise nextmorning the flocks were under way for Inyo. The sheep strung out by thedogs went forward steadily like something molten; the sheepherdersplodded along staff in hand; the rangers brought up the rear, riding. Thus they went for the marching portions of two days. Then at noon theytopped the main crest at the broad Pass, and the sheer descents on theInyo side lay before them. From beneath them flowed the plains of Owen'sValley, so far down that the white roads showed like gossamer threads, the ranches like tiny squares of green. Eight thousand feet almoststraight down the precipice fell away. Across the valley rose the WhiteMountains and the Panamints, and beyond them dimly could be guessedDeath Valley and the sombre Funeral Ranges. To the north was a lake withislands swimming in it, and above it empty craters looking from abovelike photographs of the topography of the moon; and beyond it tier aftertier, as far as the eye could reach, the blue mountains of Nevada. Anarrow gorge, standing fairly on end, led down from the Pass. Withouthesitation, like a sluggishly moving, viscid brown fluid, the sheepflowed over the edge. The dogs, their flanking duties relieved by thewalls of dark basalt on either hand, fell to the rear with theirmasters. The mountain-bred horses dropped calmly down the rough andprecipitous trail. 

At the end of an hour the basalt gorge opened out to a wide steep slopeof talus on which grew in clumps the first sage brush of the desert. Here California John called a halt. The line of the Reserve, unmarked asyet save by landmarks and rare rough "monuments" of loose stones, laybut just beyond. 

"This is as far as we go, " he told the chief herder. 

The Frenchman flashed his teeth, and bowed with some courtesy. "Aurevoi', " said he. 

"Hold on, " repeated California John, "I said this is as far as we go. That means you, too; and your men. "

"But th' ship!" cried the chief herder. 

"My rangers will put them off the Reserve, according to regulation, "stated California John. 

The Frenchman stared at him. 

"W'at you do?" he gasped at last. "Where we go?"

"I'm going to put you off the Reserve, too, but on the west side, " saidCalifornia John. The old man's figure straightened in his saddle, andhis hand dropped to the worn and shiny butt of his weapon: "No; none ofthat! Take your hand off your gun! I got the right to use _necessary_force; and, by God, I'll do it!"

The herder began a voluble discourse of mingled protestations andexposition. California John cut him short. 

"I know my instructions as well as you do, " said he. "They tell me toput sheep and herders off the Reserve without using unnecessary force;but _there ain't nothing said about putting them off in the sameplace!_"

Ross Fletcher rocked with joy in his saddle. 

"So that's what you had up your sleeve!" he fairly shouted. "Why, it'sas simple as a b'ar trap!"

California John pointed his gnarled forefinger at the herder. 

"Call your dogs!" he commanded sharply. "Call them in, and tie them! Thefirst dog loose in camp will be shot. If you care for your dogs, tiethem up. Now drop your gun on the ground. Tom, you take theirshootin'-irons. " He produced from his saddle bags several new pairs ofhand-cuffs, which he surveyed with satisfaction, "This is business, "said he; "I bought these on my own hook. You bet I don't mean to have toshoot any of you fellows in the back; and I ain't going to sit up nightseither. Snap 'em on, Charley. Now, Ross, you and Tom run those sheepover the line, and then follow us up. "

As the full meaning of the situation broke on the Frenchman's mind, hewent frantic. By the time he and his herders should be released, thewhole eighty-mile width of the Sierras would lie between him and hisflocks. He would have to await his chance to slip by the rangers. In thethree weeks or more that must elapse before he could get back, theflocks would inevitably be about destroyed. For it is a striking fact, and one on which California John had built his plan, that sheep left totheir own devices soon perish. They scatter. The coyotes, bears andcougars gather to the feast. It would be most probable that thesheep-hating cattlemen of Inyo would enjoy mutton chops. 

California John collected his scattered forces, delegated two men toeject the captives; and went after more sheep. He separated thus threeflocks from their herders. After that the sheep question was settled;government feed was too expensive. 

"That's off'n our minds, " said he. "Now we'll tackle the next job. "

He went at it in his slow, painstaking way, and accomplished it. Never, if he could help it, did he depend on the mails when the case was withinriding distance. He preferred to argue the matter out, face to face. 

"The Government _prefers_ friends, " he told everybody, and then took hisstand, in all good feeling, according as the other man provedreasonable. Some of the regulations were galling to the mountaintraditions. He did not attempt to explain or defend them, but simplystated their provisions. 

"Now, I'm swore in to see that these are carried out, " said he, "always, and if you ain't going to toe the mark, why, you see, it puts me in onehell of a hole, don't it? I ain't liking to be put in the position offighting all my old neighbours, and I sure can't lie down on my job. Itdon't _really_ mean much to you, now does it, Link? and it helps me outa lot. "

"Well, I know you're square, John, and I'll do it, " said themountaineer reluctantly, "but I wouldn't do it for any other blank of ablank in creation!"

Thus California John was able, by personality, to reduce much frictionand settle many disputes. He could be uncompromising enough on occasion. 

Thus Win Spencer and Tom Hoyt had a violent quarrel over cattleallotments which they brought to California John for settlement. Eachtold a different story, so the evidence pointed clearly to neitherparty. California John listened in silence. 

"I won't take sides, " said he; "settle it for yourselves. _I'd just assoon make enemies of both of you as of one_. "

Then in the middle of summer came the trial of it all. The Service sentnotice that, beginning the following season, a grazing tax would becharged, and it requested the Supervisor to send in his estimate ofgrazing allotments. California John sat him down at his typewriter andmade out the required list. Simeon Wright's name did not appear therein. In due time somebody wanted, officially, to know why not. CaliforniaJohn told them, clearly, giving the reasons that the range wasoverstocked, and quoting the regulations as to preference being given tothe small owner dwelling in or near the Forests. He did this just as agood carpenter might finish the under side of a drain; not that it woulddo any good, but for his own satisfaction. 

"We will now listen to the roar of the lion, " he told Ross Fletcher, "after which I'll hand over my scalp to save 'em the trouble ofsharpening up their knives. "

As a matter of fact the lion did roar, but no faintest echo reached theSierras. For the first time Simeon Wright and the influence SimeonWright could bring to bear failed of their accustomed effect atWashington. An honest, fearless, and single-minded Chief, backed by anenthusiastic Service, saw justice rather than expediency. CaliforniaJohn received back his recommendation marked "Approved. "

The old man tore open the long official envelope, when he received itfrom Martin's hand, and carried it to the light, where he adjustedprecisely his bowed spectacles, and, in his slow, methodical way, proceeded to investigate the contents. As he caught sight of the wordand its initials his hand involuntarily closed to crush the papers, andhis gaunt form straightened. In his mild blue eye sprang fire. He turnedto Martin, his voice vibrant with an emotion carefully suppressedthrough the nine long years of his faithful service. 

"They've turned down Wright, " said he, "and they've give us anappropriation. They've turned down old Wright! By God, we've got a man!"

He strode from the store, his head high. As he went up the street acanvas sign over the empty storehouse attracted his attention. He pulledhis bleached moustache a moment; then removed his floppy old hat, andentered. 

An old-fashioned exhorting evangelist was holding forth to threelistless and inattentive sinners. A tired-looking woman sat at aminiature portable organ. At the close of the services California Johnwandered forward. 

"I'm plumb busted, " said he frankly, "and that's the reason I couldn'tchip in. I couldn't buy fleas for a dawg. I'm afraid you didn't winmuch. "

The preacher looked gloomily at a nickle and a ten-cent piece. 

"Dependin' on this sort of thing to get along?" asked California John. 

"Yes, " said the preacher. The woman looked out of the window. 

California John said no more, but went out of the building and down thestreet to Austin's saloon. 

"Howdy, boys, " he greeted the loungers and card players. "Saw off aminute. There's goin' to be a gospel meetin' right here a half-hour fromnow. I'm goin' to hold it and I'm goin' out now to rustle acongregation. At the close we'll take up a collection for the benefitof the church. "

At the end of the period mentioned he placed himself behind the bar andfaced a roomful of grinning men. 

"This is serious, boys. Take off your hat, Bud. Wipe them snickers off'nyour face. We're all sinners; and I reckon now's as good a time as anyto realize the fact. I don't know much about the Bible; but I do recallenough to hold divine services for once, and I intend to have 'emrespected. "

For fifteen minutes California John conducted his services according tohis notion. Then he stated briefly his cause and took up his collection. 

"Nine-forty-five, " said he thoughtfully, looking at the silver. Hecarefully extracted two nickels, and dumped the rest in his pocket. "Ireckon I've earned a drink out of this, " he stated; "any objections?"

There were none; so California John bought his drink and departed. 

"That's all right, " he told the astonished and grateful evangelist, "Ihad to do somethin' to blow off steam, or else go on a hell of a drunk. And it would have been plumb ruinous to do that. So you see, it's luckyI met you. " The old man's twinkling and humorous blue eyes gazedquizzically at the uneasy evangelist, divided between gratitude and hisnotion that he ought to reprobate this attitude of mind. Then theysoftened. California John laid his hand on the preacher's shoulder. "Don't get discouraged, " said he; "don't do it. The God of Justice stillrules. I've just had some news that proves it. "

XXIV

From this moment the old man held his head high, and went about the workwith confidence. He built trails where trails had long been needed; heregulated the grazing; he fought fire so successfully that his burnedarea dropped that year from two per cent. To one-half of one per cent. ;he adjusted minor cases of special use and privilege justly. Constantlyhe rode his district on the business of his beloved Forest. Hisbeautiful sorrel, Star, with his silver-mounted caparisons, was afamiliar figure on all the trails. When a man wanted his first SpecialPrivilege, he wrote the Supervisor. The affair was quite apt to bungle. Then California John saw that man personally. After that there was nomore trouble. The countryside dug up the rest of California John's name, and conferred on him the dignity of it. John had heard it scarcely atall for over thirty years. Now he rather liked the sound of "SupervisorDavidson. " In the title and the simple dignities attaching thereunto hetook the same gentle and innocent pride that he did in Star, and thesilver-mounted bridle and the carved-leather saddle. 

But when evening came, and the end of the month, Supervisor Davidsonalways found himself in trouble. Then he sat down before his typewriter, on which he pecked methodically with the rigid forefinger of his righthand. Naturally slow of thought when confronted by blank paper, themechanical limitations put him far behind in his reports andcorrespondence. Naturally awkward of phrase when deprived of hispicturesque vernacular, he stumbled among phrases. The monthly reportswere a nightmare to him. When at last they were finished, he breathed adeep sigh, and went out into his sugar pines and spruces. 

In August California John received his first inspector. At that time theForest Service, new to the saddle, heir to the confusion left by theLand Office, knew neither its field nor its office men as well as itdoes now. Occasionally it made mistakes in those it sent out. Brent wasone of them. 

Brent was of Teutonic extraction, brought up in Brookline, educated inthe Yale Forestry School, and experienced in the offices of the Bureauof Forestry before it had had charge of the nation's estates. Hepossessed a methodical mind, a rather intolerant disposition, thickglasses, a very cold and precise manner, extreme personal neatness, andabysmal ignorance of the West. He disapproved of California John'srather slipshod dress, to start with; his ingrained reticence shrankfrom Davidson's informal cordiality; his orderly mind recoiled withhorror from the jumble of the Supervisor's accounts and reports. As heknew nothing whatever of the Sierras, he was quite unable to appreciatethe value of trails, of fenced meadows, of a countryside of peace--thosethings were so much a matter of course back East that he hardly noticedthem one way or another. Brent's thoroughness burrowed deep into officefailures. One by one he dragged them to the light and examined themthrough his near-sighted glasses. They were bad enough in allconscience; and Brent was not in the least malicious in the inferenceshe drew. Only he had no conception of judging the Man with the Time andthe Place. 

He believed in military smartness, in discipline, in ordered activities. 

"It seems to me you give your rangers a great deal of freedom andlatitude, " said he one day. 

"Well, " said California John, "strikes me that's the only way. With menlike these you got to get their confidence. "

Brent peered at him. 

"H'm, " said he sarcastically, "do you think you have done so?"

California John flushed through his tan at the implication, but hereplied nothing. 

This studied respect for his superior officer on the Supervisor's partencouraged Brent to deliver from time to time rather priggish littlehomilies on the way to run a Forest. California John listened, but witha sardonic smile concealed beneath his sun-bleached moustache. After alittle, however, Brent became more inclined to bring home the personalapplication. Then California John grew restive. 

"In fact, " Brent concluded his incisive remarks one day, "you run thisplace entirely too much along your own lines. "

California John leaned forward. 

"Is that an official report?" he asked. 

"What?" inquired Brent, puzzled. 

"That last remark. Because if it ain't you'd better put it in writingand make it official. Step right in and do it now!"

Brent looked at him in slight bewilderment. 

"I'm willing to hear your talk, " went on California John quietly. "Someof it's good talk, even if it ain't put out in no very good spirit; andI ain't kicking on criticism--that's what I'm here for, and what you'rehere for. But I ain't here for no _private_ remarks. If you've gotanything to kick on, put it down and sign it and send it on. I'll standfor it, and explain it if I can; or take my medicine if I can't. Butanything you ain't ready and willing to report on, I don't want to takefrom you private. _Sabe?_"

Brent bowed coldly, turned his back and walked away without a word. California John looked after him. 

"Well, that wasn't no act of Solomon, " he told himself; "but, anyway, Ifeel better. "

After Brent's departure it took California John two weeks to recover hisequanimity and self-confidence. Then the importance of his work grippedhim once more. He looked about him at the grazing, the policing, thefire-fighting, all the varied business of the reserves. In them all heknew was no graft, and no favouritism. The trails were being improved;the cabins built; the meadows for horse-feed fenced; the bridges builtand repaired; the country patrolled by honest and enthusiastic men. Herecalled the old days of Henry Plant's administration under theLand-Office--the graft, the supineness, the inefficiency, the confusion. 

"We're savin' the People's property, and keepin' it in good shape, " heargued to himself, "and that's sure the main point. If we take care ofthings, we've done the main job. Let the other fellows do the heavyfiggerin'. The city's full of cheap bookkeepers who can't do nothingelse. "

XXV

But a month later, at the summer camp, California John had opportunityto greet a visitor whom he was delighted to see. One morning a verydusty man leaned from his saddle and unlatched the gate beforeheadquarters. As he straightened again, he removed his broad hat andlooked up into the cool pine shadows with an air of great refreshment. 

"Why, it's Ashley Thorne!" cried California John, leaping to his feet. 

"The same, " replied Thorne, reaching out his hand. 

He dismounted, and Charley Morton, grinning a welcome, led his horseaway to the pasture. 

"I sure am glad to see you!" said California John over and over again;"and where did you come from? I thought you were selling pine lands inOregon. "

Thorne dropped into a chair with a sigh of contentment. "I was, " saidhe, "and then they made the Transfer, so I came back. "

"You're in the Service again?" cried California John delighted. 

"Couldn't stay out now that things are in proper hands. "

"Good! I expect you're down here to haul me over the coals, " CaliforniaJohn chuckled. 

"Oh, just to look around, " said Thorne, biting at his close-clipped, bristling moustache. 

Next morning they began to look around. California John was overjoyed atthis chance to show a sympathetic and congenial man what he had done. 

"I got a trail 'way up Baldy now, " he confided as they swung aboard. "It's a good trail too; and it makes a great fire lookout. We'll take aride up there, if you have time before you go. Well, as I was tellingyou about that Cook cattle case--the old fellow says----"

At the end of the Supervisor's long and interested dissertation on theCook case, Thorne laughed gently. 

"Looks as if you had him, " said he, "and I think the Chief will sustainyou. You like this work, don't you?"

"I sure just naturally love it, " replied California John earnestly. "I've got the chance now to straighten things out. What I say goes. Forupward of nine years I've been ridin' around seein' how things had oughtto be done. And I couldn't get results nohow. Somebody always had agraft in it that spoiled the whole show. I could see how simple and easyit would be to straighten everythin' all out in good shape; but Icouldn't do nothing. "

"Hard enough to hold your job, " suggested Thorne. 

"That's it. And everybody in the country thought I was a damn fool. Onlydamn fools and lazy men took rangers' jobs those days. But I hung onbecause I believed in it. And now I got the best job in the bunch. Inplace of being looked down on as that old fool John, I'm Mr. Davidson, the Forest Supervisor. "

"It's a matter for pride, " said Thorne non-committally. 

"It isn't that, " denied the old man; "I'm not proud because I'mSupervisor. Lord love you, Henry Plant was Supervisor; and I never heardtell that any one was proud of him, not even himself. But I'm proud ofbeing a _good_ supervisor. They ain't a sorehead near us now. Everybody's out for the Forest. I've made 'em understand that it's forthem. They know the Service is square. And we ain't had fires to amountto nothing; nor trespass. "

"You've done good work, " said Thorne soberly; "none better. No one couldhave done it but you. You have a right to be proud of it. "

"Then you'll be sending in a good report, " said California John, solelyby way of conversation. "I suspicion that last fellow gave me an awfulroast. "

"I'm not an inspector, " replied Thorne. 

"That so? You used to be before you resigned; so I thought sure you mustbe now. What's your job?"

"I'll tell you when we have more time, " said Thorne. 

For three days they rode together. The Supervisor was a very busy man. He had errands of all sorts to accomplish. Thorne simply went along. Everywhere he found good feeling, satisfactory conditions. 

At the end of the third day as the two men sat before the rough stonefireplace at headquarters, Thorne abruptly broke the long silence. 

"John, " said he, "I've got a few things to say that are not going to bepleasant either for you or for me. Nevertheless, I am going to say them. In fact, I asked the Chief for the privilege rather than having you hearthrough the regular channels. "

California John had not in the least changed his position, yet all atonce the man seemed to turn still and watchful. 

"Fire ahead, " said he. 

"You asked me the other day what my job is. It is Supervisor of thisdistrict. They have appointed me in your place. "

"Oh, they have, " said California John. He sat for some time, his eyesnarrowing, looking straight ahead of him. "I'd like to know why!" heburst out at last. A dull red spot burned on each side hisweather-beaten cheeks. 

"I--"

"You had nothing to do with it, " interrupted California John sharply; "Iknow that. But who did? Why did they do it? By God, " he brought his fistdown sharply, "I intend to get to the bottom of this! I've been in theService since she started. I've served honest. No man can say I haven'tdone all my duty and been square. And that's been when every man-jack ofthem was getting his graft as reg'lar as his pay check. And since I'vebeen Supervisor is the only time this Forest has ever been in any kindof shape, if I do say it myself. I've rounded her up. I've stopped thegraft. I've fixed the 'soldiers. ' I've got things in shape. They can'tremove me without cause--I know that--and if they think I'm goin' to liedown and take it without a kick, they've got off the wrong foot good andplenty!"

Thorne sat tight, nor offered a word of comment. 

"You've been an inspector, " California John appealed to him. "You'vebeen all over the country among the different reserves. Ain't mine up tothe others?"

"Things are in better shape here than in any of them, " replied Thornedecisively; "your rangers have more _esprit de corps_, your neighboursare better disposed, your fires have a smaller percentage of acreage, your trails are better. "

"Well?" demanded California John. 

"Well, " repeated Thorne leaning forward, "just this. What's the use ofit all?"

"Use?" repeated California John vaguely. 

"Yes. Of what you and all the rest of us are doing. "

"To save the public's property. "

"That's part of it; and that's the part you've been doing superlativelywell. It's the old idea, that: the idea expressed by the old name--theForest _Reserves_--to save, to set aside. It seemed the most importantthing. The forests had so many eager enemies--unprincipled land-grabbersand lumbermen, sheep, fire. To beat these back required all our bestefforts. It was all we could think of. We hadn't time to think ofanything else. It was a full job. "

"You bet it was, " commented the old man grimly. 

"Well, it's done. There will be attempts to go back to the old state ofaffairs, but they will grow feebler from year to year. Things will neverslide back again. The people are awake. "

"Think so?" doubted California John. 

"I know it. Now comes the new idea. We no longer speak of ForestReserves, but of National Forests. We've saved them; now what are wegoing to do with them? What would you think of a man who cleared a'forty', and pulled all the stumps, and then quit work?"

"I never thought of that, " said California John, "but what's that got todo with these confounded whelps----"

"We are going to use these forests for the benefit of the people. We'regoing to cut the ripe trees and sell them to the lumber manufacturer;we're going to develop the water power; we're going to improve thegrazing; we're going to study what we have here, so that by and by fromour forests we will be getting the income the lumberman now gets, andwill not be injuring the estate. Each Forest is going to be a big andcomplicated business, like railroading or wholesaling. Anybody can runMartin's store down at the Flats. It takes a trained man to oversee evena proposition like the Star at White Oaks. "

"Oh, I see what you're drivin' at, " said California John, "but I've madegood up to now; and until they try me out, they've no right to fire me. I'll defy 'em to find anythin' crooked!!!"

"John, you're as straight as a string. But they have tried you out. Youroffice work has been away off. "

"Oh, that! What's those dinkey little reports and monkeydoodle businessamount to, anyhow? You know perfectly well it's foolish to ask a rangerto fill out an eight-page blank every time he takes a ride. What doesthat amount to?"

"Not very much, " confessed Thorne. "But when things begin to hum aroundhere there'll be a thousand times as much of the same sort of stuff, andit'll _all_ be important. "

"They'd better get me a clerk. "

"They would get you a clerk, several of them. But no man has a right toeven boss a job he doesn't himself understand. What do you know abouttimber grading? estimating? mapping? What is your scientifictraining--?"

"I've give my soul and boot-straps to this Service for nine years--atsixty and ninety a month, " interrupted California John. "Part of that Ispent for tools they was too stingy to give me. Now they kick me out. "

"Oh, no, they don't, " said Thorne. "Not any! But you agree with me, don't you, that you couldn't hold down the job?"

"I suppose so, " snapped California John. "To hell with such a game. Ithink I'll go over Goldfield way. "

"No, you won't, " said Thorne gently. "You'll stay here, in the Service. "

"What!" cried the old man rising to his feet; "stay here in the Service!And every mountain man to point me out as that old fool Davidson who gotfired after workin' nine years like a damn ijit. You talk foolish!"

Thorne arose too, and put one hand on the old man's shoulder. 

"And what about those nine years?" he asked gently. "Things lookedpretty dark, didn't they? You didn't have enough to live on; and you gotyour salary docked without any reason or justice; and you had to standone side while the other fellows did things dishonest and wrong; and itdidn't look as though it was ever going to get better. Nine years is along time. Why did you do it?"

"I don't know, " muttered California John. 

"It was just waiting for this time that is coming. In five years we'llhave the people with us; we'll have Congress, and the money to dothings; we'll have sawmills and water-power, and regulated grazing, andtelephone lines, and comfortable quarters. We'll have a Servicesafeguarded by Civil Service, and a body of disciplined men, andofficers as the Army and Navy have. It's coming; and it's coming soon. You've been nine years at the other thing--"

"It's humiliating, " insisted California John, "to do a job well and getfired. "

"You'll still have just the job you have now--only you'll be called ahead-ranger. "

"My people won't see it that way. "

Ashley Thorne hesitated. 

"No, they won't, " said he frankly at last. "I could argue on the otherside; but they won't. They'll think you've dropped back a peg; andthey'll say to each other--at least some of them will: 'Old Davidson bitoff more than he could chew; and it serves him right for being a damnfool, anyway. ' You've been content to play along misunderstood for nineyears because you had faith. Has that faith deserted you?"

California John looked down, and his erect shoulders shrunk forward alittle. 

"Old friend, " said Thorne, "it's a sacrifice. Are you going to stay andhelp me?"

California John for a long time studied a crack in the floor. When helooked up his face was illuminated with his customary quizzical grin. 

"I've sure got it on Ross Fletcher, " he drawled. "I done _told_ him Iwasn't no supervisor, and he swore I was. "

PART FOUR

I

When next Bob was able to visit the Upper Camp, he found Thorne fullyestablished. He rode in from the direction of Rock Creek, and so throughthe pasture and by the back way. In the tiny potato and garden patchbehind the house he came upon a woman wielding a hoe. 

Her back was toward him, and a pink sunbonnet, freshly starched, concealed all her face. The long, straight lines of her gown fell abouta vigorous and supple figure that swayed with every stroke of the hoe. Bob stopped and watched her. There was something refreshing in theeagerness with which she attacked the weeds, as though it were less adrudgery than a live interest which it was well to meet joyously. Aftera moment she walked a few steps to another row of tiny beans. Hermovements had the perfect grace of muscular control; one melted, flowed, into the other. Bob's eye of the athlete noted and appreciated thisfact. He wondered to which of the mountain clans this girl belonged. Vigorous and breezy as were the maidens of the hills, able to care forthemselves, like the paladins of old, afoot or ahorse, they lacked thisgrace of movement. He stepped forward. 

"I beg pardon, " said he. 

The girl turned, resting the heel of her hoe on the earth, and bothhands on the end of its handle. Bob saw a dark, oval countenance, withvery red cheeks, very black eyes and hair, and an engaging flash ofteeth. The eyes looked at him as frankly as a boy's, and the flash ofteeth made him unaffectedly welcome. 

"Is Mr. Thorne here?" asked Bob. 

"Why, no, " replied the girl; "but I'm Mr. Thorne's sister. Won't I do?"

She was leisurely laying aside her hoe, and drawing the fringed buckskingauntlets from her hands. Bob stepped gallantly forward to relieve herof the implement. 

"Do?" he echoed. "Why, of course you'll do!"

She stopped and looked him full in the face, with an air of greatamusement. 

"Did you come to see Mr. Thorne on business?" she asked. 

"No, " replied Bob; "just ran over to see him. "

She laughed quietly. 

"Then I'm afraid I won't do, " she said, "for I must cook dinner. Yousee, " she explained, "I'm Mr. Thorne's clerk, and if it were business, Imight attend to it. "

Bob flushed to the ears. He was ordinarily a young man of sufficientself-possession, but this young woman's directness was disconcerting. She surveyed his embarrassment with approving eyes. 

"You might finish those beans, " said she, offering the hoe. "Of course, you must stay to dinner, and I must go light the fire. "

Bob finished the beans, leaned the hoe up against the house, and wentaround to the front. There he stopped in astonishment. 

"Well, you have changed things!" he cried. 

The stuffy little shed kitchen was no longer occupied. A floor had beenlaid between the bases of four huge trees, and walls enclosing threesides to the height of about eight feet had been erected. The affair hadno roof. Inside these three walls were the stove, the kitchen table, theshelves and utensils of cooking. Miss Thorne, her sunbonnet laid asidefrom her glossy black braids, moved swiftly and easily here and there inthis charming stage-set of a kitchen. About ten feet in front of it, onthe pine needles, stood the dining table, set with white. 

[Illustration: "I beg pardon, " said he. The girl turned]

The girl nodded brightly to Bob. 

"Finished?" she inquired. She pointed to the water pail: "There's auseful task for willing hands. "

Bob filled the pail, and set it brimming on the section of cedar logwhich seemed to be its appointed resting place. 

"Thank you, " said the girl. Bob leaned against the tree and watched heras she moved here and there about the varied business of cooking. Everyfew minutes she would stop and look upward through the cool shadows ofthe trees, like a bird drinking. At times she burst into snatches ofsong, so brief as to be unrecognizable. 

"Do you like sticks in your food?" she asked Bob, as though suddenlyremembering his presence, "and pine needles, and the husks of pine nuts, and other débris? because that's what the breezes and trees and naughtylittle squirrels are always raining down on me. "

"Why don't you have the men stretch you a canvas?" asked Bob. 

"Well, " said the girl, stopping short, "I have considered it. I no morethan you like unexpected twigs in my dough. But you see I do likeshadows and sunlight and upper air and breezes in my food. And you can'thave one without the other. Did you get all the weeds out?"

"Yes, " said Bob. "Look here; you ought not to have to do such work asthat. "

"Do you think it will wear down my fragile strength?" she asked, lookingat him good-humouredly. "Is it too much exercise for me?"

"No--" hesitated Bob, "but--"

"Why, bless you, I like to help the babies to grow big and green, " saidshe. "One can't have the theatre or bridge up here; do leave us some ofthe simple pleasures. "

"Why did you want me to finish for you then?" demanded Bob shrewdly. 

She laughed. 

"Young man, " said she, "I could give you at least ten reasons, " withwhich enigmatic remark she whipped her apron around her hand and whiskedopen the oven door, where were displayed rows of beautifully brownedbiscuits. 

"Nevertheless----" began Bob. 

"Nevertheless, " she took him up, raising her face, slightly flushed bythe heat, "all the men-folks are busy, and this one woman-folk is notharmed a bit by playing at being a farmer lassie. "

"One of the rangers could do it all in a couple of hours. "

"The rangers are in the employ of the United States Government, and thisgarden is mine, " she stated evenly. "How could I take a Governmentemployee to work on my property?"

"But surely Mr. Thorne--"

"Ashley, bless his dear old heart, takes beans for granted, as somethingthat happens on well-regulated tables. "

She walked to the edge of the kitchen floor and looked up through thetrees. "He ought to be along soon now. I hope so; my biscuits are juston the brown. " She turned to Bob, her eyes dancing: "Now comes theexciting moment of the day, the great gamble! Will he come alone, orwill he bring a half-dozen with him? I am always ready for thehalf-dozen, and as a consequence we live in a grand, ingenious debauchof warmed-ups and next-days. You don't know what good practice it is;nor what fun! I've often thought I could teach those cooks of MarcAntony's something--you remember, don't you, they used to keep sixdinners going all at different stages of preparation because they neverknew at what hour His High-and-mightiness might choose to dine. Orperhaps you don't know? Football men don't have to study, do they?"

"What makes you think I'm a football man?" grinned Bob; "generallybovine expression?"

"Not know the great Bob Orde!" cried the girl. "Why, not one of us buthad your picture, generally in a nice gilt shrine, but _always_ withviolets before it. "

But on this ground Bob was sure. 

"You have been reading a ten-cent magazine, " he admonished her gravely. "It is unwise to take your knowledge of the customs in girls' collegesfrom such sources. "

From the depths of the forest eddied a cloud of dust. Miss Thorneappraised it carefully. 

"Warmed-overs to-night, " she pronounced. "There's no more than two ofthem. "

The accuracy of her guess was almost immediately verified by theappearance of two riders. A moment later Thorne and California Johndismounted at the hitching rail, some distance removed among theazaleas, and came up afoot. The younger man had dropped all his dry, official precision, his incisive abruptness, his reticence. Clad in thehigh, laced cruisers, the khaki and gray flannel, the broad, felt hatand gay neckerchief of what might be called the professional class ofout-of-door man, his face glowing with health and enthusiasm, he seemeda different individual. 

"Hullo! Hullo!" he cried out a joyous greeting as he drew nearer; "Icouldn't bring you much company to-day, Amy. But I see you've foundsome. How are you, Orde? I'm glad to see you. "

He and California John disappeared behind the shed, where the wash basinwas; while Amy, with deftness, rearranged the table to accord with thenumbers who would sit down to it. 

The meal in the open was most delightful; especially to Bob, after hislong course of lumber-camp provender. The deep shadows shifted slowlyacross the forest floor. Sparkles of sunlight from unexpected quarterstouched gently in turn each of the diners, or glittered back from glassor linen. Occasionally a wandering breeze lifted a corner of thetablecloth and let it fall, or scurried erratically across the tableitself. Occasionally, too, a pine needle, a twig, a leaf would zigzagdown through the air to fall in some one's coffee or glass or plate. Birds flashed across the open vault of this forest room--brilliantbirds, like the Louisiana Tanager; sober little birds like the creepersand nuthatches. Circumspect and reserved whitecrowns and brush toheesscratched and hopped silently over the forest litter. Once a swiftfalcon, glancing like a shadowy death, slanted across the upper spaces. The food was excellent, and daintily served. 

"I am proud of my blue and white enamel-ware, " Miss Thorne told Bob;"it's so much better than tin or this ugly gray. And that glass pitcherI got with coupons from the coffee packages. "

"You didn't get these with coupons?" said Bob, lifting one of themassive silver forks. 

"No, " she admitted. "That is my one foolishness. All the rest does notmatter, but I can't get along without my silver. "

"And a great nuisance it is to those who have to move as we move, " putin Ashley Thorne. 

The forest officers took up their broken conversation. Bob found himselfa silent but willing listener. He heard discussion of policies, businessdealings, plans that widened the horizon of what the Forest had meant tohim. In these discussions the girl took an active and intelligent part. Her opinion seemed to be accepted seriously by both the men, as one whohad knowledge, and indeed, her grasp of details seemed as comprehensiveas that of the men themselves. 

Finally Thorne pushed his chair back and began to fill his pipe. 

"Anybody here to-day?" he asked. 

The girl ran over rapidly a half-dozen names, sketching briefly thebusiness they had brought. Then, one after the other, she told theanswers she had made to them. This one had been given blanks, forms andinstructions. That one had been told clearly that he was in the wrong, and must amend his ways. The other had been advised but tentatively, andinformed that he must see the Supervisor personally. To each of theseThorne responded by a brief nod, puffing, meanwhile, on his pipe. 

"All right?" she asked, when she had finished. 

"All right but one, " said he, removing his pipe at last. "I don't thinkit will be advisable to let Francotti have what he wants. "

"Pull the string, then!" cried the girl gaily. 

Thorne turned to California John in discussion of the Francotti affair. 

"What do you mean by 'pull the string'?" Bob took the occasion toinquire. 

"I settle a lot of these little matters that aren't worth botheringAshley with, " she explained, "but I tie a string to each of mydecisions. I always make them 'subject to the Supervisor's approval. 'Then if I do wrong, all I have to do is to write the man and tell himthe Supervisor does not approve. "

"I shouldn't think you'd like that, " said Bob. 

"Like what?"

"Why, it sort of puts you in a hole, doesn't it? Lays all the blame onyou. "

She laughed in frank amusement. 

"What of it?" she challenged. 

"Any letters?" Thorne asked abruptly. "Morton brought mail this morning, didn't he?"

"Nothing wildly important--except that they're thinking of adopting aranger uniform. "

"A uniform!" snorted California John, rearing his old head. 

"Oh, yes, I've heard of that, " put in Thorne instantly. "It's to be awhite pith helmet with a green silk scarf on it; red coat with goldlace, and white, English riding breeches with leather leggins. Don't youthink old John would look sweet in that?" he asked Bob. 

But the old man refused to be drawn out. 

"Supervisors same; but with a gold pompon on top the helmet, " heobserved. "What _is_ the dang thing, anyway, Amy?" he asked. 

"Dark green whipcord, green buttons, gray hat, military cut. "

"Not bad, " said Thorne. 

"About one fifty-mile ride and one fire would make that outfit look likea bunch of mildewed alfalfa. Blue jeans is about my sort of uniform, "observed John. 

"I don't believe we'd be supposed to wear it on range, " suggestedThorne. "Only in town and official business. " He turned to the girlagain: "May have to go over Baldy to-morrow, " said he, "so we'll run offthose letters. "

She arose and saluted, military fashion. The two disappeared in the tinybox-office, whence presently came the sound of Thorne's voice indictation. 

California John knocked the ashes from his pipe. 

"Get your apron on, sonny, " said he. 

He tested the water on the stove and slammed out a commodious dish-pan. 

"Glasses first; then silver; and if you break anything, I'll bash inyour fool head. There's going to be some style to this dishwashing. Iused to slide 'em all in together and let her go. But that ain't the wayhere. She knows four aces and the jolly joker better than that. Glassesfirst. "

They washed and wiped the dishes, and laid them carefully away. 

"She's a little wonder, " said California John, nodding at the office, "and there ain't none of the boys but helps all they can. "

Thorne called the old man by name, and he disappeared into the office. Amoment later the girl emerged, smoothing back her hair with both hands. She stepped immediately to the little kitchen. 

"Thank you, " said she. "That helps. "

"It was old John, " disclaimed Bob. "I'm ashamed to say I should neverhave thought of it. "

The girl nodded carelessly. 

"Where did you learn stenography?" asked Bob. 

"Oh, I got that out of a ten-cent magazine too. " She sat on a bench, looked up at the sky through the trees, and drew a deep breath. 

"You're tired, " said Bob. 

"Not a bit, " she denied. "But I don't often get a chance to just lookup. "

"You seem to do the gardening, the cooking, the housework, the clericalwork--you don't do the laundry, too, do you?" demanded Bob ironically. 

"You noticed those miserable khakis!" cried Amy with a gesture ofdismay. "Ashley, " she called, "change those khakis before you go out, "

"Yes, mama, " came back a mock childish voice. 

"What's your salary?" demanded Bob bluntly, nodding toward the office. 

"What?" she asked, as though puzzled. 

"Didn't you say you were the clerk?"

"Oh, I see. I just help Ashley out. He could _never_ get through thefield work and the office work both. "

"Doesn't the Service allow him a clerk?"

"Not yet; but it will in time. "

"What is Mr. Thorne's salary?"

"Well, really----"

"Oh, I beg pardon, " cried Bob flushing; "I just meant supervisors'salaries, of course. I wasn't prying, really. It's all a matter ofpublic record, isn't it?"

"Of course. " The girl checked herself. "Well, it's eighteen hundred--andsomething for expenses. "

"Eighteen hundred!" cried Bob. "Do you mean to say that the _two_ of yougive all your time for that! Why, we pay a good woods foreman prettynear that!"

"And that's all you do pay him, " said the girl quietly. "Money wageisn't the whole pay for any job that is worth doing. "

"Don't understand, " said Bob briefly. 

"We belong to the Service, " she stated with a little movement of pride. "Those tasks in life which give a high moneyed wage, generally give onlythat. Part of our compensation is that we belong to the Service; we aredoing something for the whole people, not just for ourselves. " Shecaught Bob's half-smile, more at her earnestness than at her sentiment, and took fire. "You needn't laugh!" she cried. "It's small now, butthat's because it's the beginning, because we have the privilege ofbeing the forerunners, the pioneers! The time will come when in thiscountry there will be three great Services--the Army, the Navy, theForest; and an officer in the one will be as much respected and lookedup to as the others! Perhaps more! In the long times of peace, whilethey are occupied with their eternal Preparation, we shall be labouringat Accomplishment. "

She broke off abruptly. 

"If you don't want to get me started, don't be superior, " she ended, half apologetic, half resentful. 

"But I do want to get you started, " said Bob. 

"It's amusing, I don't doubt. "

"Not quite that: it's interesting, and I am no longer bewildered at theeighteen hundred a year--that is, " he quoted a popular song, "'if thereare any more at home like you. '"

She looked at him humorously despairing. 

"That's just like an outsider. There are plenty who feel as I do, butthey don't say so. Look at old California John, at Ross Fletcher, at ahalf-dozen others under your very nose. Have you ever stopped to thinkwhy they have so long been loyal? I don't suppose you have, for I doubtif they have. But you mark my words!"

"All right, Field Marshal--or is it 'General'?" said Bob. 

She laughed. 

"Just camp cook, " she replied good-humouredly. 

The sun was slanting low through the tall, straight trunks of the trees. Amy Thorne arose, gathered a handful of kindling, and began to rattlethe stove. 

"I am contemplating a real pudding, " she said over her shoulder. 

Bob arose reluctantly. 

"I must be getting on, " said he. 

They said farewell. At the hitching rail Thorne joined him. 

"I'm afraid I'm not very hospitable, " said the Supervisor, "but thatmustn't discourage you from coming often. We'll be better organized intime. "

"It's mighty pleasant over here; I've enjoyed myself, " said Bob, mounting. 

Thorne laid his hand on the young man's knee. 

"I wish we could induce you old-timers to come to our way of thinking, "said he pleasantly. 

"How's that?" asked Bob. 

"Your slash is in horrible shape. "

"Our slash!" repeated Bob in a surprised tone. "How?"

"It's a regular fire-trap, the way you leave it tangled up. It wouldn'tcost you much to pile the tops and leave the ground in good shape. "

"Why, it's just like any other slash!" protested Bob. "We're loggingjust as everybody always logs!"

"That's just what I object to. And when you fell a tree or pull a log tothe skids, I do wish we could induce you to pay a little attention tothe young growth. It's a little more trouble, sometimes, to go aroundinstead of through, but it's worth it to the forest. "

Bob's brows were bent on the Supervisor in puzzled surprise. Thornelaughed, and slapped the young man's horse on the flanks to start him. 

"You think it over!" he called. 

A half-hour's ride took Bob to the clearing where the logging crews hadworked the year before. Here, although the hour was now late, he reinedin his horse and looked. It was the first time he had ever really doneso. Heretofore a slashing had been as much a part of the ordinarywoodland landscape as the forest itself. 

He saw then the abattis of splintered old trunks, of lopped limbs, andentangled branches, piled up like jackstraws to the height of even sixor eight feet from the ground; the unsightly mat of sodden old masses ofpine needles and cedar fans; the hundreds of young saplings bent doubleby the weight of débris, broken square off, or twisted out of all chanceof becoming straight trees in their age; the long, deep, ruthlessfurrows where the logs had been dragged through everything that couldstand in their way; the few trees left standing, weak specimens, undesirable species, the culls of the forest, further scarred where thecruel steel cables had rasped or bitten them. He knew by experience thedifficulty of making a way, even afoot, through this tangle. Now, underthe influence of Thorne's suggestion, he saw them as great piles of somuch fuel, laid as though by purpose for the time when the evil geniusof the forest should desire to warm himself. 

II

Bob was finally late for supper, which he ate hastily and without muchappetite. After finishing the meal, he hunted up Welton. He found thelumberman tilted back in a wooden armchair, his feet comfortablyelevated to the low rail about the stove, his pipe in mouth, his coatoff, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. At the sight of his homely, jollycountenance, Bob experienced a pleasant sensation of slipping back froman environment slightly off-focus to the normal, accustomed and real. Nevertheless, at the first opportunity, he tested his new doubts byWelton's common sense. 

"I rode through our slash on 18, " he remarked. "That's an awful mess. "

"Slashes are, " replied Welton succinctly. 

"If the thing gets afire it will make a hot blaze. "

"Sure thing, " agreed Welton. "But we've never had one go yet--at least, while we were working. There's men enough to corral anything like that. "

"But we've always worked in a wet country, " Bob pointed out. "Here it'sdry from April till October. "

"Have to take chances, then; and jump on a fire quick if it starts, "said Welton philosophically. 

"These forest men advise certain methods of obviating the danger, " Bobsuggested. 

"Pure theory, " returned Welton. "The theory's a good one, too, " headded. "That's where these college men are strong--only it isn'tpractical. They mean well enough, but they haven't the knowledge. Whenyou look at anything broad enough, it looks easy. That's what busts somany people in the lumber business. " He rolled out one of his jollychuckles. "Lumber barons!" he chortled. "Oh, it's easy enough! Anymossback can make money lumbering! Here's your stumpage at a dollar athousand, and there's your lumber at twenty! Simplest thing in theworld. Just the same there are more failures in the lumber business thanin any other I know anything about. Why is it?"

"Economic waste, " put in Merker, who was leaning across the counter. 

"Lack of experience, " said Bob. 

"A little of both, " admitted Welton; "but it's more because the businessis made up of ten thousand little businesses. You have to conduct acruising business, and a full-fledged real estate and mortgage business;you have to build houses and factories, make roads, build railroads; youhave to do a livery trade, and be on the market for a thousand littlethings. Between the one dollar you pay for stumpage and the twentydollars you get for lumber lies all these things. Along comes yourhardware man and says, Here, why don't you put in my new kind of sparkarrestor; think how little it costs; what's fifty dollars to ahalf-million-dollar business? The spark arrester's a good thing allright, so you put it in. And then there's maybe a chance to use a littlepaint and make the shanties look like something besides shanties; thatdon't cost much, either, to a half-million-dollar business. And so onthrough a thousand things. And by and by it's costing twenty dollars andone cent to get your lumber to market; and it's B-U-S-T, bust!"

"That's economic waste, " put in Merker. 

"Or lack of experience, " added Bob. 

"No, " said Welton, emphasizing his point with his pipe; _"it's notsticking to business!_ It's not stripping her down to the barenecessities! It's going in for frills! When you get to be as old as Iam, you learn not to monkey with the band wagon. "

His round, red face relaxed into one of his good-humoured grins, and herelit his pipe. 

"That's the trouble with this forestry monkey business. It's all rightto fool with, if you want fooling. So's fancy farming. But it don't pay. If you are playing, why, it's all right to experiment. If you ain't, why, it's a good plan to stick to the methods of lumbering. The presentsystem of doing things has been worked out pretty thorough by a lot ofpretty shrewd business men. And it _works!"_

Bob laughed. 

"Didn't know you could orate to that extent, " he gibed. "Sic'em!"

Welton grinned a trifle abashed. "You don't want to get me started, then, " said he. 

"Oh, but I do!" Bob objected, for the second time that day. 

"Now this slashing business, " went on the old lumberman in a moremoderate tone. "When the millennium comes, it would be a fine thing toclear up the old slashings. " He turned suddenly to Bob. "How long do youthink it would take you with a crew of a dozen men to cut and pile thewaste stuff in 18?" he inquired. 

Bob cast back the eye of his recollection to the hopeless tangle thatcumbered the ground. 

"Oh, Lord!" he ejaculated; "don't ask me!"

"If you were running a business would you feel like stopping work andsending your men--whom you are feeding and paying--back there to pile upthat old truck?"

Bob's mind, trained to the eager hurry of the logging season, recoiledfrom this idea in dismay. 

"I should say not!" he cried. Then as a second thought he added: "Butwhat they want is to pile the tops while the work is going on. "

"It takes just so much time to do so much work, " stated Weltonsuccinctly, "and it don't matter whether you do it all at once, or tryto fool yourself by spraddling it out. "

He pulled strongly at his pipe. 

"Forest Reserves are all right enough, " he acknowledged, "and maybe someday their theories will work out. But not now; not while taxes go on!"

III

One day, not over a week later, Bob working in the woods, noticedCalifornia John picking his way through the new slashing. This was adifficult matter, for the fresh-peeled logs and the debris of the topsafforded few openings for the passage of a horse. The old man made it, however, and finally emerged on solid ground, much in the fashion of oneclimbing a bank after an uncertain ford. He caught sight of Bob. 

"You fellows can change the face of the country beyant all belief, "announced the old man, pushing back his hat. "You're worse than snowthat way. I ought to know this country pretty well, but when I get downinto one of your pesky slashings, I'm lost for a way out!"

Bob laughed, and exchanged a few commonplace remarks. 

"If you can get off, you better come over our way, " said CaliforniaJohn, as he gathered up his reins. "We're holding rangerexaminations--something new. You got to tell what you know these daysbefore you can work for Uncle Sam. "

"What do you have to know?" asked Bob. 

"Come over and find out. "

Bob reflected. 

"I believe I will, " he decided. "There's nothing to keep me here. "

Accordingly, early next morning he rode over to the Upper Camp. Outside, near the creek, he came upon the deserted evidences of a gathering ofmen. Bed rolls lay scattered under the trees, saddles had been thrownover fallen trunks, bags of provisions hung from saplings, cookingutensils flanked the smouldering remains of a fire which was, however, surrounded by a scraped circle of earth after the careful fashion of themountains. Bob's eye, by now practised in the refinements of suchmatters, ran over the various accoutrements thus spread abroad. Heestimated the number of their owners at about a score. The bedroll ofthe cowman, the "turkey" of the lumber jack, the quilts of themountaineer, were all in evidence; as well as bedding plainly makeshiftin character, belonging to those who must have come from a distance. Ahalf-dozen horses dozed in an improvised fence-corner corral. As manymore were tied to trees. Saddles, buckboards, two-wheeled carts, andeven one top buggy represented the means of transportation. 

Bob rode on through the gate to headquarters.. This he found deserted, except for Amy Thorne. She was engaged in wiping the breakfast dishes, and she excitedly waved a towel at the young man as he rode up. 

"A godsend!" she cried. "I'm just dancing with impatience! They've beengone five minutes! Come help me finish!"

Bob fastened his horse, rolled back his sleeves, and took hold with awill. 

"Where's your examining board, and your candidates?" he inquired. "Ithought I was going to see an examination. "

"Up the Meadow Trail, " panted the girl. "Don't stop to talk. Hurry!"

They hurried, to such good purpose, that shortly they were clambering, rather breathless, up the steeps of the Meadow Trail. This led to aflat, upper shelf or bench in which, as the name implied, was situated asmall meadow. At the upper end were grouped twenty-five men, closelygathered about some object. 

Amy and Bob plunged into the dew-heavy grasses. The men proved to bewatching Thorne, who was engaged in tacking a small target on the stubof a dead sugar pine. This accomplished, he led the way back someseventy-five or eighty paces. 

"Three shots each, " said he, consulting his note-book. "Off-hand. Hicks!"

The man so named stepped forward to the designated mark, sighted hispiece carefully, and fired. 

"Do I get each shot called?" he inquired; but Thorne shook his head. 

"You ought to know where your guns shoot, " said he. 

After the third shot, the whole group went forward to examine thetarget. Thorne marked the results in his note-book, and called upon thenext contestant. 

While the shooting went on, Bob had leisure to examine the men. Theynumbered, as he had guessed, about twenty. Three were plainly from thetowns, for they wore thin shoes, white shirts, and clothes of a sort illadapted to out-of-door work in the mountains. Two others, while moreappropriately dressed in khakis and high boots, were as evidentlyforeign to the hills. Bob guessed them recent college graduates, perhapseven of some one of the forestry schools. In this he was correct. Therest were professional out-of-door men. Bob recognized two of his ownwoods-crew--good men they were, too. He nodded to them. A half-dozenlithe, slender youths, handsome and browned, drew apart by themselves. He remembered having noticed one of them as a particularly daring riderafter Pollock's cattle the fall before; and guessed his companions to beof the same breed. Among the remainder, two picturesque, lean, slow andquizzical prospectors attracted his particular attention. 

Most of these men were well practised in the use of the rifle, butevidently not to exhibiting their skill in company. What seemed to Bob arather _exaggerated_ earnestness oppressed them. The shooting, with twoexceptions, was not good. Several, whom Bob strongly suspected had manya time brought down their deer on the run, even missed the targetentirely! It was to be remarked that each contestant, though he mightturn red beneath his tan, took the announcement of the result insilence. 

The two notable exceptions referred to were strangely contrasted. Theelder was one of the prospectors. He was armed with an ancient 45-70Winchester, worn smooth and shiny by long carrying in a saddle holster. This arm was fitted with buckhorn sights of the old mountain type. Whenit exploded, its black powder blew forth a stunning detonation andvolume of smoke. Nevertheless, of the three bullets, two were within thetiny black Thorne had seen fit to mark as bullseye, and the otherclipped close to its edge. A murmur of admiration went up from thebystanders. Even eliminating the unaccountable nervousness that hadthrown so many shots wild, it seemed improbable that any of the othercontestants felt themselves qualified to equal this score. 

"Good shooting, " whispered Bob to Amy. "I doubt if I could make out thatbullseye through sights. "

The other exception, whose turn came somewhat later, was one of theEasterners mentioned as a graduate of the forestry school. This youngman, not over twenty-two years of age, was an attractive youngster, withrefined features, and engaging dark-blue eyes. His arm was the thenlatest model, a 33-calibre high power, fitted with aperture sights. Thishe manipulated with great care, adjusting it again and again; and firedwith such deliberation that some of the spectators moved impatiently. Nevertheless, the target, on examination, showed that he had duplicatedthe prospector's score. To be sure, the worst shot had not cut quite asclose to the bull as had that of the older man, but on the other hand, those in the black were slightly nearer the centre. It was generallyadjudged a good tie. 

"Well, youngster!" cried the prospector, heartily, "we're the cocks ofthe walk! If you can handle the other weep'n as well, I'll give you myhand for a good shot. "

The young man smiled shyly, but said nothing. 

The distance was now shortened to something under twenty paces, and anew target substituted for the old. The black in this was fully sixinches in diameter. 

"Five shots with six-shooter, " announced Thorne briefly. 

"A man should hit a dollar twice in five at that distance, " muttered theprospector. Thorne caught the remark. 

"You hit that five out of five, and I'll forgive you, " said he curtly. "Hicks, you begin. "

The contest went forward with varying success. Not over half of the menwere practised with the smaller arm. Some very wild work was done. Onthe other hand, eight or ten performed very creditably, placing theirbullets in or near the black. Indeed, two succeeded in hitting thebullseye four times out of five. Every man took the utmost pains withevery shot. 

"Now, Ware, " said Thorne, at last, "step up. You've got to make goodthat five out of five to win. "

The prospector stood forward, at the same time producing from an openholster blackened by time one of the long-barrelled single-action Colt's45's, so universally in use on the frontier. He glanced carelesslytoward the mark, grinned back at the crowd, turned, and instantly beganfiring. He shot the five shots without appreciable sighting before each, as fast as his thumb could pull back the long-shanked hammer. The muzzleof the weapon rose and fell with a regularity positively mechanical, andthe five shots had been delivered in half that number of seconds. 

"There's your five, " said he, carelessly dropping his gun back into itsholster. 

The five bullets were found to be scattered within the six-inch black. 

The concourse withdrew to give space for the next contestant. Silencefell as the man was taking his aim. Amy touched Bob's arm. He lookeddown. Her eyes were shining, and her cheeks red with excitement. 

"Doesn't it remind you of anything?" she whispered eagerly. 

"What?" he asked, not guessing her meaning. 

"This: all of it!" she waved her hand abroad at the fair oval meadowwith its fringe of tall trees and the blue sky above it; at theclose-gathered knot of spectators, and the single contestant advancedbefore them. He shook his head. "Wait, " she breathed, laying her fingersacross her lips. 

The contest wore along until it again came the turn of the younger man. He stepped to the front, unbuckled a covered holster of the sort nevercarried in the West, and produced one of those beautifully balanced, beautifully finished revolvers known as the Officer's Model. Taking thefirm yet easy position of the practised target shot, he sighted withgreat deliberation, firing only when he considered his aim assured. Indeed, once he lowered his weapon until a puff of wind had passed. Thefive shots were found to be not only within the black, but groupedinside a three-inch diameter. 

"'_A Hubert! A Hubert_!'" breathed the girl in Bob's ear. "_In theclout_!"

"I thought his name was Elliott, " said Bob. "Is it Hubert?"

The girl eyed him reproachfully, but said nothing. 

"You're a _good_ shot, youngster!" cried Ware, in the heartiestcongratulation; "but if Mr. Thorne don't mind, I'd like to shoot offthis tie. Down in our country we don't shoot quite that way, or at thatkind of a mark. Will you take a try my way?"

Amy leaned again toward Bob, her face aflame. 

"_'And now, '_" she shot at him, "'_I will crave your Grace's permissionto plant such a mark as is used in the north country; and welcome everybrave yeoman who shall try a shot at it_--'Don't dare tell me you don'tremember!"

"'_A man can but do his best_, '" Bob took up the tale. "Of course, Iremember; you're right. "

"All right, " Thorne was agreeing, "but make it short. We've got a lot todo. "

Ware selected another target--one intended for the six-shooters--thathad not been used. This he tacked up in place of the one alreadydisfigured by many shots. Then he paced off twelve yards. 

"That looks easier than the other, " Thorne commented. 

"Mebbe, " agreed Ware, non-committally, "but you may change your mind. Asfor that sort of monkey-work, " he indicated the discarded target, "downour way we'd as soon shoot at a barn. "

The girl softly clapped her hands. 

"'_For his own part_, '" she quoted in a breath, and so rapidly that thewords fairly tumbled over one another, "'_in the land where he was bred, men would as soon take for their mark King Arthur's round table, whichheld sixty knights around it. A child of seven might hit yonder targetwith a headless shaft_. ' Oh, this is perfect. "

"Now, " said Ware to young Elliott, "if you'll hit that mark in myfashion of shooting, you're all right. "

Bob turned to the girl, his eyes dancing with delight. 

"'--_he that hits yon mark at I-forget-how-many yards_, '" he declaimed, "'_I will call him an archer fit to bear bow before a king_'--orsomething to that effect; I'm afraid I'm not letter perfect. "

He laughed amusedly, and the girl laughed with him. "Just the same, I'mglad you remember, " she told him. 

Ware had by now taken his place at the new mark he had established. 

"Fifteen shots, " he announced. At the word his hand dropped to the buttof his gun, his right shoulder hunched forward, and with one lightningsmooth motion the weapon glided from the holster. Hardly had it left theleather when it was exploded. The hammer had been cocked during theupward flip of the muzzle. The first discharge was followed immediatelyby the five others in a succession so rapid that Bob believed the manhad substituted a self-cocking arm until he caught the rapid play of themarksman's thumb. The weapon was at no time raised above the level ofthe man's waist. 

"Hold on!" commanded Ware, as the bystanders started forward to examinethe result of the shots. "Let's finish the string first. "

He had been deliberately pushing out the exploded cartridges one by one. Now he as deliberately reloaded. Taking a position somewhat to the leftof the target, he folded his arms so that the revolver lay across hisbreast with its muzzle resting over his left elbow. Then he stroderapidly but evenly across the face of the target, discharging the fivebullets as he walked. 

Again he reloaded. This time he stood with the revolver hanging in hisright hand gazing intently for some moments at the target, measuringcarefully with his eye its direction and height. He turned his back;and, flipping his gun over his left shoulder, fired without lookingback. 

"The first ten ought to be in the black, " announced Ware, "The last fiveought to be somewheres on the paper. A fellow can't expect more than togenerally wing a man over his shoulder. "

But on examination the black proved to hold but eight bullet holes. Theother seven, however, all showed on the paper. 

"Comes of not wiping out the dirt once in a while when you're shootingblack powder, " said Ware philosophically. 

The crowd gazed upon him with admiration. 

"That's a remarkable group of shots to be literally _thrown_ out at thatspeed, " muttered Thorne to Bob. "Why, you could cover them with yourhat! Well, young man, " he addressed Elliott, "step up!"

But Elliott shook his head. 

"Couldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole, " said he pleasantly. "Mr. Ware has given me a new idea of what can be done with a revolver. Hiswork is especially good with that heavily charged arm. I wish he wouldgive us a little exhibition of how close he can shoot with my gun. It'ssupposed to be a more accurate weapon. "

"No, thank you, " spoke up Ware. "I couldn't hit a flock of featherpillers with your gun. You see, I shoot by _throw_, and I'm used to thebalance of my gun. "

Thorne finished making some notes. 

"All right, boys, " he said, snapping shut his book. "We'll go down toheadquarters next. "

IV

On the way down the narrow trail Bob found himself near the two men fromhis own camp. He chaffed them good-humouredly over their lack of skillin the contests, to which they replied in the same spirit. 

Arrived at camp, Thorne turned to face his followers, who gathered in agroup to listen. 

"Let's have a little riding, boys, " said he. "Bring out a horse or twoand some saddles. Each man must saddle his horse, circle that tree downthe road, return, unsaddle and throw up both hands to show he's done. "

Bob was amused to see how the aspect of the men changed at thisannouncement. The lithe young fellows, who had been looking pretty soberover the records they had made at shooting, brightened visibly and ranwith some eagerness to fetch out their own horses and saddles. Some ofthe others were not so pleased, notably two of the young fellows fromthe valley towns. Still others remained stolidly indifferent to a trialin which they could not hope to compete with the professional riders, but in which neither would they fail. 

The results proved the accuracy of this reasoning. A new set of starsrose to the ascendant, while the heroes of the upper meadow dropped intoobscurity. Most of the mountain men saddled expeditiously but soberlytheir strong and capable mountain horses, rode the required distance, and unsaddled deftly. It was part of their everyday life to be able todo such things well. The two town boys, and, to Bob's surprise, one ofhis lumberjacks, furnished the comic relief. They frightened the horsesallotted them, to begin with; threw the saddles aboard in a mess whichit was necessary to untangle; finally clambered on awkwardly and rodeprecariously amid the yells and laughter of the spectators. 

"How you expect to be a ranger, if you can't ride?" shouted some one atthe lumberjack. 

"If horses don't plumb _detest_ me, I reckon I can learn!" retorted theshanty boy, stoutly. "This ain't my game!"

But when young Pollock, whom Bob recognized as Jim's oldest, was calledout, the situation was altered. He appeared leading a beautiful, half-broken bay, that snorted and planted its feet and danced away fromthe unaccustomed crowd. Nevertheless the lad, as impassive as an image, held him well in hand, awaiting Thorne's signal. 

"Go!" called the Supervisor, his eyes on his watch. 

The boy, still grasping the hackamore in his left hand, with his rightthrew the saddle blanket over the animal's back. Stooping again, heseized the heavy stock saddle by the horn, flipped it high in the air, and brought it across the horse with so skilful a jerk that not only didthe skirts, the heavy stirrup and the horsehair cinch fall properly, butthe cinch itself swung so far under the horse's belly that young Pollockwas able to catch it deftly before it swung back. To thrust the broadlatigo through the rings, jerk it tight, and fasten it securely was thework of an instant. With a yell to his horse the boy sprang into thesaddle. The animal bounded forward, snorting and buck-plunging, his eyewild, his nostril wide. Flung with apparent carelessness in the saddle, the rider, his body swaying and bending and giving gracefully to everybound, waved his broad hat, uttering shrill _yips_ of encouragement andadmonition to his mount. The horse straightened out and thundered swiftas an arrow toward the tree that marked the turning point. Withunslackened gait, with loosened rein, he swept fairly to the tree. Itseemed to Bob that surely the lad must overshoot the mark by many yards. But at the last instant the rider swayed backward and sidewise; thehorse set his feet, plunged mightily thrice, threw up a great cloud ofdust, and was racing back almost before the spectators could adjusttheir eyes to the change of movement. Straight to the group horse andrider raced at top speed, until the more inexperienced instinctivelyducked aside. But in time the horse sat back, slid and plunged ten feetin a spray of dust and pine needles, to come to a quivering halt. Evenbefore that young Pollock had thrown himself from the saddle. Threejerks ripped that article of furniture from its place to the earth. Theboy, with an engaging gleam of teeth, threw up both hands. 

It was flash-riding, of course; but flash-riding at its best. And howthe boys enjoyed it! Now the little group of "buckeroos, " heretoforerather shyly in the background, shone forth in full glory. 

"Now let's see how good you are at packing, " said Thorne, when the lastman had done his best or worst. "Jack, " he told young Pollock, "you goup in the pasture and catch me up that old white pack mare. She'swarranted to stand like a rock. "

While the boy was gone on this errand, Thorne rummaged the camp. Finallyhe laid out on the ground about a peck of loose potatoes, miscellaneousprovisions, a kettle, frying-pan, coffee-pot, tin plates, cutlery, asingle sack of barley, a pick and shovel, and a coil of rope. 

"That looks like a reasonable camp outfit, " remarked Thorne. "Just throwone of those pack saddles on her, " he told Jack Pollock, who led up thewhite mare. "Now you boys all retire; you mustn't have a chance to learnfrom the other fellow. Hicks, you stay. Now pack that stuff on thathorse. I'll time you. "

Hicks looked about him. 

"Where's the kyacks?" he demanded. [Footnote: Kyacks--pack sacks slungeither side the pack saddle. ]

"You don't get any kyacks, " stated Thorne crisply. 

"Got to pack all that stuff without 'em?"

"Sure. "

Hicks set methodically to work, gathering up the loose articles, thrusting them into sacks, lashing the sacks on the crossbuck saddle. Atthe end of a half-hour, he stepped back. 

"That might ride--for a while, " said Thorne. 

"I never pack without kyacks, " said Hicks. 

"So I see. Well, sit down and watch the rest of them. Ware!" Thorneshouted. 

The prospector disengaged himself from the sprawling and distant group. 

"Throw those things off, and empty out those bags, " ordered Thorne. "Now, there's your camp outfit. Pack it, as fast as you can. "

Ware set to work, also deliberately, it seemed. He threw a sling, packedon his articles, and over it all drew the diamond hitch. 

"Reckon that'll travel, " he observed, stepping back. 

"Good pack, " commended Thorne briefly, as he glanced at his watch. "Eleven minutes. "

"Eleven minutes!" echoed Bob to California John, who sat near, "and theother man took thirty-five! Impossible! Ware didn't hurry any; he moved, if anything, slower than the other man. "

"He didn't make no moves twice, " pointed out California John. "He knowshow. This no-kyack business is going to puzzle plenty of those boys whocan do good, ordinary packing. "

"It's near noon, " Thorne was saying; "we haven't time for another ofthose duffers. I'll just call up your partner, Ware, and we'll knock offfor dinner. "

The partner did as well, or even a little better, for the watch creditedhim with ten and one-half minutes, whereupon he chaffed Ware hugely. Then the pack horse was led to a patiently earned feed, while the littlegroup of rangers, with Thorne, his sister and Bob, moved slowly towardheadquarters. 

"That's all this morning, boys, " he told the waiting group as theypassed it. "This afternoon we'll double up a bit. The rest of you canall take a try at the packing, but at the same time we'll see who cancut down a tree quickest and best. "

"Stop and eat lunch with us, " Amy was urging Bob. "It's only a coldone--not even tea. I didn't want to miss the show. So it's no bother. "

They all turned to and set the table under the open. 

"This is great fun, " said Bob gratefully, as they sat down. "Good as afield day. When do you expect to begin your examinations? That's whatthese fellows are here for, isn't it?"

He looked up to catch both Thorne and Amy looking on him with acomically hopeless air. 

"You don't mean to say!" cried Bob, a light breaking in on him. "--ofcourse! I never thought----"

"What do you suppose we would examine candidates for Forest Rangerin--higher mathematics?" demanded Amy. 

"Now that's practical--that's got some sense!" cried Bobenthusiastically. 

Thorne, with a whimsical smile, held up his finger for silence. Throughthe thin screen of azalea bushes that fringed this open-air dining roomBob saw two men approaching down the forest. They were evidently unawareof observation. With considerable circumspection they drew near anddisappeared within the little tool house. Bob recognized the twolumberjacks from his own camp. 

"What are those fellows after?" he demanded indignantly. 

But Thorne again motioned for caution. 

"I suspect, " said Thorne in a low voice. "Go on eating your lunch. We'llsee. "

The men were inside the tool house for some time. When they reappeared, each carried an axe. They looked about them cautiously. No one was insight. Then they thrust the axes underneath a log, and disappeared inthe direction of their own camp. 

Thorne laughed aloud. 

"The old foxes!" said he. "I'll bet anything you please that we'll findthe two best-balanced axes the Government owns under that log. "

Such proved to be the case. Furthermore, the implements had been groundto a razor edge. 

"When I mentioned tree cutting, I saw their eyes light up, " said Thorne. "It's always interesting in a crowd of candidates like this to see everyman cheer up when his specialty comes along. " He chuckled. "Wait till Ispring the written examinations on them. Then you'll see them droop. "

"What else is there?" asked Bob. 

"Well, I'll organize regular survey groups--compass-man, axe-man, rod-man, chain-men--and let them run lines; and I'll make them estimatetimber, and make a sketch map or so. It's all practical. "

"I should think so!" cried Bob. "I wonder if I could pass it myself. " Helaughed. "I should hate to tackle tying those things on that horse--evenafter seeing those prospectors do it!"

"Most of them will go a little slow. They're used to kyacks. But you'dhave your specialty. "

"What would it be?" asked Amy curiously of Bob. 

The young man shook his head. 

"You haven't got some nice scrappy little job, have you?" he asked, "where I can tell people to hop high? That's about all I'm good for. "

"We might even have that, " said Thorne, eyeing the young man'sproportions. 

V

Bob saw that afternoon the chopping contest. Thorne assigned to each atree some eighteen or twenty inches in diameter, selecting those whoseloss would aid rather than deplete the timber stand, and also, it mustbe confessed, those whose close proximity to others might make axeswinging awkward. About twenty feet from the base of each tree he placedupright in the earth a sharpened stake. This, he informed the axe-man, must be driven by the fall of the tree. 

As in the previous contests, three classes of performers quicklymanifested themselves--the expert, the man of workmanlike skill, and theabsolute duffer. The lumberjacks produced the implements they had thatnoon so carefully ground to an edge. It was beautiful to see them atwork. To all appearance they struck easily, yet each stroke buried halfthe blade. The less experienced were inclined to put a great deal ofswift power in the back swing, to throw too much strength into thebeginning of the down stroke. The lumberjacks drew back quitedeliberately, swung forward almost lazily. But the power constantlyincreased, until the axe met the wood in a mighty swish and whack. Andeach stroke fell in the gash of the one previous. Methodically theyopened the "kerf, " each face almost as smooth as though it had beensawn. At the finish they left the last fibres on one side or another, according as they wanted to twist the direction of the tree's fall. Thenthe trunk crashed down across the stake driven in the ground. 

The mountaineers, accustomed to the use of the axe in their backwoodswork, did a workmanlike but not expert job on their respective trees. They felled their trees accurately over the mark, and their axe work wasfairly clean, but it took them some time to finish the job. 

But some of the others made heavy weather. Young Elliott was the worst. It was soon evident that he had probably never had any but a possibleand casual wood-pile axe in his hand before. The axe rarely hit twice inthe same place; its edge had apparently no cutting power; the handleseemed to be animated with a most diabolical tendency to twist inmid-air. Bob, with the wisdom of the woods, withdrew to a safe distance. The others followed. 

Long after the others had finished, poor Elliott hacked away. He seemedto have no definite idea of possible system. All he seemed to be tryingto do was to accomplish some kind of a hole in that tree. The chips hecut away were small and ragged; the gash in the side of the tree waslong and irregular. 

"Looks like somethin' had set out to _chaw_ that tree down!" drawled amountain man to his neighbour. 

But when the tree finally tottered and crashed to the ground it fairlycentred the direction stake!

The bystanders stared; then catching the expression of ludicrousastonishment on Elliott's face, broke into appreciative laughter. 

"I'm as much surprised as you are, boys, " said Elliott, showing thepalms of his hands, on which were two blisters. 

"The little cuss is game, anyhow, " muttered California John to Thorne. 

"It was an awful job, " confided the other; "but I marked him somethingon it because he stayed with it so well. "

Toward sunset Bob said farewell, expressing many regrets that he couldnot return on the morrow to see the rest of the examinations. He rodeback through the forest, thoughtfully inclined. The first taste of theWestern joy of mere existence was passing with him. He was beginning tolook upon his life, and ask of it the why. To be sure, he could tellhimself that his day's work was well done, and that this should sufficeany man; that he was an integral part of the economic machine; that incomparison with the average young man of his age he had made his waywith extraordinary success; that his responsibilities were sufficient tokeep him busy and happy; that men depended on him--all the reasons thatphilosophy or acquiescence in the plan of life ultimately bring to aman. But these did not satisfy the uneasiness of his spirit. He was tooyoung to settle down to a routine; he was too intellectually restless tobe contented with reiterations, however varied, of that which he hadseen through and around. It was the old defect--or glory--of hischaracter; the quality that had caused him more anxiety, moreself-reproach, more bitterness of soul than any other, the Rolling Stonespirit that--though now he could not see it--even if it gathered no mossof respectable achievement, might carry him far. 

So as he rode he peered into the scheme of things for the finalsatisfaction. In what did it lie? Not for him in mere activity, nor inthe accomplishment of the world's work, no matter how variedlypicturesque his particular share of it might be. He felt his interestebbing, his spirit restless at its moorings. The days passed. He arosein the morning: and it was night! Four years ago he had come toCalifornia. It seemed but yesterday. The days were past, gone, used. Ofit all what had he retained? The years had run like sea sands betweenhis fingers, and not a grain of them remained in his grasp. A littlemoney was there, a little knowledge, a little experience--but whattoward the final satisfaction, the justification of a man's life? Bobwas still too young, too individualistic to consider the doctrine of theday's work well done as the explanation and justification of all. Thecoming years would pass as quickly, leaving as little behind. Never sopoignantly had he felt the insistence of the _carpe diem_. It wasnecessary that he find a reality, something he could winnow from theyears as fine gold from sand, so that he could lay his hand on thetreasure and say to his soul: "This much have I accomplished. " Bob hadlearned well the American lesson: that the idler is to be scorned; thata true man must use his powers, must work; that he must _succeed_. Nowhe was taking the next step spiritually. How does a man really use hispowers? What is success?

Troubled by this spiritual unrest, the analysis of which, even thenature of which was still beyond him, he arrived at camp. The familiarobjects fretted on his mood. For the moment all the grateful feeling ofpower over understanding and manipulating this complicated machinery ofindustry had left him. He saw only the wheel in which these activitiesturned, and himself bound to it. In this truly Buddhistic frame of mindhe returned to his quarters. 

There, to his vague annoyance, he found Baker. Usually the liveliness ofthat able young citizen was welcome, but to-night it grated. 

"Well, Gentle Stranger, " sang out the power man, "what jungle have youbeen lurking in? I laboured in about three and went all over the workslooking for you. "

"I've been over watching the ranger examinations at their headquarters, "said Bob. "It's pretty good fun. "

Baker leaned forward. 

"Have you heard the latest dope?" he demanded. 

"What sort?"

"They're trying to soak us, now. Want to charge us so much per horsepower! Now _what_ do you think of that!"

"Can't you pay it?" asked Bob. 

"Great guns! Why _should_ we pay it?" demanded Baker. "It's the publicdomain, isn't it? First they take away the settler's right to take uppublic land in his own state, and now they want to _charge_, actually_charge_ the public for what's its own. "

But Bob, a new light shining in his eyes, refused to become heated. 

"Well, " he asked deliberately, "who _is_ the public, anyhow?"

Baker stared at him, one chubby hand on each fat knee. 

"Why, everybody, " said he; "the people who can make use of it. You and Iand the other fellow. "

"Especially the other fellow, " put in Bob drily. 

Baker chuckled. 

"It's like any business, " said he. "First-come collect at the ticketoffice for his business foresight. But we'll try out this hold-up beforewe lie down and roll over. "

"Why shouldn't you pay?" demanded Bob again. "You get your value, don'tyou? The Forest Service protects your watershed, and that's where youget your water. Why shouldn't you pay for that service, just the same asyou pay for a night watchman at your works?"

"Watershed!" snorted Baker. "Rot! If every stick of timber was cleanedoff these mountains, I'd get the water just the same. "[A]

"Baker, " said Bob to this. "You go and take a long, long look at yourbathroom sponge in action, and then come back and I'll talk to you. "

Baker contemplated his friend for a full ten seconds. Then his fat, pugnacious face wrinkled into a grin. 

"Stung on the ear by a wasp!" he cried, with a great shout ofappreciation. "You merry, merry little josher! You had me going forabout five minutes. "

Bob let it go at that. 

"I suppose you won't be able to pay over twenty per cent. This nextyear, then?" he inquired, with an amused expression. 

"Twenty per cent. !" cried Baker rolling his eyes up. "It's as much as Ican do to dig up for improvements and bond interest and the preferred. "

"Not to mention the president's salary, " amended Bob. 

"But I've got 'em where they live, " went on Baker, complacently, withoutattention to this. "You don't catch Little Willie scattering shekelswhen he can just as well keep kopecks. They've left a little joker inthe pack. " He produced a paper-covered copy of the new regulations, later called the Use Book. "They've swiped about everything in sight forthese pestiferous reserves, but they encourage the honest prospector. 'Let us develop the mineral wealth, ' says they. So these forests arestill open for taking up under the mineral act. All you have to do is tomake a 'discovery, ' and stake out your claim; and there you are!"

"All the mineral's been taken up long ago, " Bob pointed out. 

"All the valuable mineral, " corrected Baker. "But it's sufficient, soErbe tells me, to discover a ledge. Ledges? Hell! They're easier to findthan an old maid at a sewing circle! That's what the country is madeof--ledges! You can dig one out every ten feet. Well, I've got peopleout finding ledges, and filing on them. "

"Can you do that?" asked Bob. 

"I am doing it. "

"I mean legally. "

"Oh, this bunch of prospectors files on the claims, and gets thempatented. Then it's nobody's business what they do with their ownproperty. So they just sell it to me. "

"That's colonizing, " objected Bob. "You'll get nailed. "

"Not on your tintype, it isn't. I don't furnish a cent. They do it allon their own money. Oldham's got the whole matter in hand. When we getthe deal through, we'll have about two hundred thousand acres all aroundthe head-waters; and then these blood-sucking, red-tape, autocraticslobs can go to thunder. "

Baker leaned forward impressively. 

"Got to spring it all at once, " said he, "otherwise there'll beoutsiders in, thinking there's a strike been made--also they'll getinquisitive. It's a great chance. And, Orde, my son, there's a fewclaims up there that will assay about sixty thousand board feet to theacre. What do you think of it for a young and active lumberman? I'mgoing to talk it over with Welton. It's a grand little scheme. Wonderhow that will hit our old friend, Thorne?"

Bob rose yawning. 

"I'm tired. Going to turn in, " said he. "Thorne isn't a bad sort. "

"He's one of these damn theorists, that's what he is, " said Baker; "andhe's got a little authority, and he's doing just as much as he can tounsettle business and hinder the legitimate development of the country. "He relaxed his earnestness with another grin. "Stung again. That's tworises you got out of me, " he remarked. "Say, Orde, don't get persuadedto turn ranger. I hear they've boosted their salaries to ninety a month. Must be a temptation!"

[Footnote A: Extraordinary as it may seem to the modern reader, thissentiment--or this ignorance--was at that time sincerely entertained bymen as influential, as powerful, and as closely interested in waterpower as Baker is here depicted. ]

VI

Bob arose rather early the following Sunday, snatched a hasty breakfastand departed. Baker had been in camp three days. All at once Bob hadtaken the young man in strong distaste. Baker amused him, commanded hisadmiration for undoubted executive ability and a force of character sodynamic as to be almost brutal. In a more social environment Bob wouldstill have found him a mighty pleasant fellow, generous, open-hearted, and loyal to his personal friends. But just now his methods chafed onthe sensitiveness of Bob's new unrest. Baker was worth probably a coupleof million dollars, and controlled ten times that. He had now a finehouse in Fremont, where he had chosen to live, a pretty wife, twoattractive children and a wide circle of friends. Life was very good tohim. 

And yet, in the perversity and the clairvoyance of his mood, Bob thoughtto see in Baker's life something of that same emptiness of finalachievement he faced in his own. This was absurd, but the feeling of itpersisted. Thorne, with his miserable eighteen hundred a year, and hisglowing enthusiasm and quick interest seemed to him more worth while. Why? It was absurd; but this feeling, too, persisted. 

Bob was a healthy young fellow, a man of action rather than ofintrospection, but now the hereditary twist of his character drove himto attempt analysis. He arrived at nothing. Both Baker and Thorne seemedto stand on one ground--each was satisfied, neither felt that lack ofthe fulfilling content Bob was so keenly experiencing. But the streak offeminine divination Bob had inherited from his mother made himunderstand--or made him think to understand--that Baker's satisfactionwas taken because he did not see, while Thorne was working with his eyesopen and a full sense of values. This vague glimpse Bob gained onlypartially and at length. It rather opened to him new vistas of spiritualperplexity than offered to him any solution. 

He paced rapidly down the length of the lake--whereon the battered butefficient towing launch lay idle for Sunday--to the Lake Meadow. Thiswas, as usual, surrounded by hundreds of campers of all classes. Bob wasknown to all of them, of course; and he, in turn, had at least such anodding acquaintance with them that he could recognize any accretions totheir members. Near the lower end of the meadow, beneath a group of adozen noble firs, he caught sight of newcomers, and so strolled downthat way to see what they could be like. 

He found pomp and circumstance. An enclosure had been roped off toexclude the stock grazing at large in the meadow. Three tents had beenerected. They were made of a very light, shiny, expensive-lookingmaterial with fringes along the walls, flies overhead and stretched infront, sod cloths before the entrances. Three gaily painted woodenrocking chairs, an equally gaudy hammock, a table flanked with benches, a big cooking stove in the rear, canvas pockets hung from the trees--adozen and one other conveniences and luxuries bespoke the occupants aswell-to-do and determined to be comfortable. Two Japanese servantsdressed all in white moved silently and mysteriously in the background, a final touch of incongruity in a rough country. 

Before Bob had moved on, two men stepped into view from the interior ofone of the tents. They paced slowly to the gaudy rocking chairs and satdown. In their progress they exhibited that peculiar, careless butconscious deliberation of gait affected everywhere by those accustomedto appearing in public. In their seating of themselves, their producingof cigars, their puffings thereon, was the same studied ignoring ofobservation; a manner which, it must be acknowledged, becomes secondnature to those forced to its adoption. It was a certain blownimpressiveness, a significance in the smallest movements, aself-importance, in short, too large for the affairs of any privatecitizen. It is to be seen in those who sit in high places, in clergy, actors off the boards, magistrates, and people behind shop windowsdemonstrating things to street crowds. Bob's first thought was ofamusement that this elaborate unconsciousness of his lone presenceshould be worth while; his second a realization that his presence or thepresence of any one else had nothing to do with it. He wondered, as weall wonder at times, whether these men acted any differently when aloneand in utter privacy, whether they brushed their teeth and bathed withall the dignity of the public man. 

The smaller, but evidently more important of these men, wore a completecamping costume. His hat was very wide and stiff of brim and had a wovenband of horsehair; his neckerchief was very red and worn bib fashion inthe way Bob had come to believe that no one ever wore a neckerchief savein Western plays and the illustrations of Western stories; his shirt wasof thick blue flannel, thrown wide open at the throat; his belt was verywide and of carved leather; his breeches were of khaki, but bagged aboveand fitted close below the knee into the most marvellous laced boots, with leather flaps, belt lacings, and rows of hobnails with which tomake tracks. Bob estimated these must weigh at least three poundsapiece. The man wore a little pointed beard and eyeglasses. About himBob recognized a puzzling familiarity. He could not place it, however, but finally decided he must have carried over a recollection from atailor's fashion plate of the Correct Thing for Camping. 

The other man was taller, heavier, but not near so impressive. His formwas awkward, his face homely, his ears stuck out like wings, and hisexpression was that of the always-appreciated buffoon. 

Bob was about to pass on, when he noticed that he was not the onlyspectator of all this ease of manner. A dozen of the campers hadgathered, and were staring across the ropes with quite frank andunabashed curiosity. More were coming from all directions. In a shorttime a crowd of several hundred had collected, and stood, evidently inexpectation. Then, and only then, did the small man with the pointedbeard seem to become aware of the presence of any one besides hiscompanion. He leaned across to exchange a few words with the latter, after which he laid aside his hat, arose and advanced to the ropebarrier on which he rested the tips of his fingers. 

"My friends, " he began in a nasal but penetrating voice, that carriedwithout effort to every hearer. "I am not a regularly ordained ministerof the gospel. I find, however, that there is none such among us, so Ihave gathered you here together this morning to hear a few wordsappropriate to the day. It has pleased Providence to call me to a publicposition wherein my person has become well known to you all; but that isan accident of the great profession to which I have been called, and Ibow my heart in humility with the least and most lowly. I am going totell you about myself this morning, not because I consider myself ofimportance, but because it seems to me from my case a great lesson maybe drawn. "

He paused to let his eye run over the concourse. Bob felt the gaze, impersonal, impassive, scrutinizing, cold, rest on him the barestappreciable flicker of a moment, and then pass on. He experienced afaint shock, as though his defences had been tapped against. 

"My father, " went on the nasal voice, "came to this country in the'sixties. It was a new country in the hands of a lazy people. It neededdevelopment, so my father was happy felling the trees, damming thestreams, building the roads, getting possession of the land. That washis job in life, and he did it well, because the country needed it. Hedidn't bother his head with why he was doing it; he just thought he wasmaking money. As a matter of fact, he didn't make money; he died nearlybankrupt. "

The orator bowed his head for a moment. 

"I might have done the same thing. It's all legitimate business. But Icouldn't. The country is being developed by its inhabitants: work ofthat kind couldn't satisfy me. Why, friends? _Because now it would beselfish work_. My father didn't know it, but the reason he was happy wasbecause the work he was doing for himself was also work for otherpeople. You can see that. He didn't know it, but he was helping developthe country. But it wouldn't have been quite so with me. The country isdeveloped in that way. If I did that kind of work, I'd be working formyself and nobody else at all. That turns out all right for most people, because they don't see it: they do their duty as citizens and goodbusiness men and fathers and husbands, and that ends it. But I saw it. Ifelt I had to do a work that would support me in the world--but it mustbe a work that helped humanity too. That is why, friends, I am what Iam. That a certain prominence is inevitable to my position is incidentalrather than gratifying. 

"So, I think, the lesson to be drawn is that each of us should make hislife help humanity, should conduct his business in such a way as to helphumanity. Then he'll be happy. "

He stood for a moment, then turned away. The tall, ungainly man with theoutstanding ears and the buffoon's face stepped forward and whisperedeagerly in his ear. He listened gravely, but shook his head. The tallman whispered yet more vehemently, at great length. Finally the oratorstepped back to his place. 

"We are here for a complete rest after exhausting labours, " he stated. "We have looked forward for months to undisturbed repose amongst thesegiant pines. No thought of care was to intrude. But my colleague's greatand tender heart has smitten him, and, I am ashamed to say against myfirst inclination, he urges me to a course which I'd have liked toavoid; but which, when he shows me the way, I realize is the only decentthing. We find ourselves in the midst of a community of some hundreds ofpeople. It may be some of these people are suffering, far from medicalor surgical help. If there are any such, and the case is reallypressing, you understand, we will be willing, just for common humanity, to do our best to relieve them. And friends, " the speaker steppedforward until his body touched the rope, and he was leaningconfidentially forth, "it would be poor humanity that would cause youpain or give you inferior treatments. I am happy to say we came to thisgreat virgin wilderness direct with our baggage from White Oaks where wehad been giving a two weeks' course of treatments--mainly charitable. Wehave our instruments and our medicines with us in their packin' cases. If need arises--which I trust it will not--we will not hesitate to go toany trouble for you. It is against our principles to give anything butour best. You will suffer no pain. But it must be understood, " he warnedimpressively. "This is just for you, our neighbours! We don't want thisnews spread to the lumber camps and over the countryside. We are herefor a rest. But we cannot be true to our high calling and neglect therelieving of pain. "

The man bowed slightly, and rejoined his companion to whom he conversedlow-voiced with absolute unconsciousness of the audience he had justbeen addressing so intimately. The latter hesitated, then slowlydispersed. Bob stood, his brows knit, trying to recall. There wassomething hauntingly familiar about the whole performance. Especially astrange nasal emphasis on the word "pain" struck sharply a chord in hisrecollection. He looked up in sudden enlightenment. 

"Painless Porter!" he cried aloud. 

The man looked up at the mention of his name. 

"That's my name, " said he. "What can I do for you?"

"I just remembered where I'd seen you, " explained Bob. 

"I'm fairly well known. "

Bob approached eagerly. The discourse, hollow, insincere, half-blasphemous, a buncombe bit of advertising as it was, neverthelesscontained the germ of an essential truth for which Bob had beensearching. He wanted to know how, through what experience, the man hadcome to this insight. 

But his attempts at conversation met with a cold reception. PainlessPorter was too old a bird ever to lower his guard. He met the youth onthe high plane of professionalism, refused to utter other than theplatitudinous counters demanded by the occasion. He held the young manat spear's length, and showed plainly by the ominous glitter of his eyethat he did not intend to be trifled with. 

Then Baker's jolly voice broke in. 

"Well! well! well!" he cried. "If here aren't my old friends, PainlessPorter and the Wiz! Simple life for yours, eh? Back to beans! What's thegeneral outline of _this_ graft?"

"We have come camping for a complete rest, " stated Waller gravely, hiscomical face cast in lines of reprobation and warning. 

"Whatever it is, you'll get it, " jibed Baker. "But I'll bet you atoothpick it isn't a rest. What's exhausted you fellows, anyway?Counting the easy money?"

"Our professional labours have been very heavy lately, " spoke up thepainless one. 

"What's biting you fellows?" demanded Baker. "There's nobody here. "

Waller indicated Bob by a barely perceptible jerk of the head. Bakerthrew back his head and laughed. 

"Thought you knew him, " said he. "You were all having such a love feastgab-fest when I blew in. This is Mr. Orde, who bosses this place--andmost of the country around here. If you want to do good to humanity onthis meadow you'd better begin by being good to him. He controls it. He's humanity with a capital H. "

Ten minutes later the four men, cigars alight, a bottle within reach, were sprawling about the interior of one of the larger tents. Bob wasenjoying himself hugely. It was the first time he had ever been behindthe scenes at this sort of game. 

"But that was a good talk, just the same, " he interrupted a cynical bitof bragging. 

"Say, wasn't it!" cried Porter. "I got that out of a shoutin'evangelist. The minute I heard it I saw where it was hot stuff for myspiel. I'm that way: I got that kind of good eye. I'll be going alongthe street and some little thing'll happen that won't amount to nothin'at all really. Another man wouldn't think twice about it. But like aflash it comes to me how it would fit in to a spiel. It's like an artistthat way finding things to put in a picture. You'd never spot a dagoapple peddler as good for nothing but to work a little graft on mebbe;but an artist comes along and slaps him in a picture and he's thefanciest-looking dope in the art collection. That's me. I got some of mybest spiels from the funniest places! That one this morning is a wonder, because it don't _listen_ like a spiel. I followed that evangelist yaparound for a week getting his dope down fine. You got to get thelanguage just right on these things, or they don't carry over. "

"Which one is it, Painful?" asked Baker. 

"You know; the make-your-work-a-good-to-humanity bluff. "

"And all about papa in the 'sixties?"

"That's it. "

"'And just don't you _dare_ tell the neighbours?'"

"Correct. "

"The whole mountains will know all about it by to-morrow, " Baker toldBob, "and they'll flock up here in droves. It's easy money. "

"Half these country yaps have bum teeth, anyway, " said Porter. 

"And the rest of them think they're sick, " stated Wizard Waller. 

"It beats a free show for results and expense, " said Painless Porter. "All you got to have is the tents and the Japs and theWillie-off-the-yacht togs. " He sighed. "There ought to be _some_advantages, " he concluded, "to drag a man so far from the streetlights. "

"Then this isn't much of a pleasure trip?" asked Bob with someamusement. 

"Pleasure, hell!" snorted Painless, helping himself to a drink. "Say, honest, how do you fellows that have business up here stick it out? Itgives me the willies!"

One of the Japanese peered into the tent and made a sign. 

Painless Porter dropped his voice. 

"A dope already, " said he. He put on his air, and went out. As Bob andBaker crossed the enclosed space, they saw him in conversation with agawky farm lad from the plains. 

"I shore do hate to trouble you, doctor, " the boy was saying, "and hitSunday, too. But I got a tooth back here--"

Painless Porter was listening with an air of the deepest and gravestattention. 

VII

The charlatan had babbled; but without knowing it he had given Bob whathe sought. He saw all the reasons for what had heretofore been obscure. 

Why had he been dissatisfied with business opportunities and successesbeyond the hopes of most young men?

How could he dare criticize the ultimate value of such successes withoutcriticizing the life work of such men as Welton, as his own father?

What right had he to condemn as insufficient nine-tenths of those in theindustrial world; and yet what else but condemnation did his attitude ofmind imply?

All these doubts and questionings were dissipated like fog. Quite simplyit all resolved itself. He was dissatisfied because this was not hiswork. The other honest and sincere men--such as his father andWelton--had been satisfied because this was their work. The oldgeneration, the one that was passing, needed just that kind of servicebut the need too was passing. Bob belonged to the new generation. He sawthat new things were to be demanded. The old order was changing. Themodern young men of energy and force and strong ability had a differenttask from that which their fathers had accomplished. The wilderness wassubdued; the pioneer work of industry was finished; the hard brutestruggle to shape things to efficiency was over. It had been necessaryto get things done. Now it was becoming necessary to perfect the meansand methods of doing. Lumber must still be cut, streams must still bedammed, railroads must still be built; but now that the pioneers, themen of fire, had blazed the way others could follow. Methods wereestablished. It was all a business, like the selling of groceries. Theindustrial rank and file could attend to details. The men who thoughtand struggled and carried the torch--they must go beyond what theirfathers had accomplished. 

Now Bob understood Amy Thorne's pride in the Service. He saw the truebasis of his feeling toward the Supervisor as opposed to his feelingtoward Baker. Thorne was in the current. With his pitiful eighteenhundred a year he was nevertheless swimming strongly in new waters. Hisbusiness went that little necessary step beyond. It not only earned himhis living in the world, but it helped the race movement of his people. At present the living was small, just as at first the pioneer openingthe country had wrested but a scanty livelihood from the stubbornwilderness; nevertheless, he could feel--whether he stopped to think itout or not--that his efforts had that coördination with the trend ofhumanity which makes subtly for satisfaction and happiness. Bob lookedabout the mill yard with an understanding eye. This work was necessary;but it was not his work. 

Something of this he tried to explain to his new friends at headquarterswhen next he found an opportunity to ride over. His explanations werenot very lucid, for Bob was no great hand at analysis. To any otheraudience they might have been absolutely incoherent. But Thorne had longsince reasoned all this out for himself; so he understood; while toCalifornia John the matter had always been one to take for granted. Bobleaned forward, his earnest, sun-browned young face flushed with thesincerity--and the embarrassment--of his exposition. Amy nodded fromtime to time, her eyes shining, her glance every few moments seeking intriumph that of her brother. California John smoked. 

Finally Bob put it squarely to Thorne. 

"So you'd like to join the Service, " said Thorne slowly. "I supposeyou've thought of the chance you're giving up? Welton will take you intopartnership in time, of course. "

"I know. It seems foolish. Can't make it seem anything else, " Bobadmitted. 

"You'd have to take your chances, " Thorne persisted. "I couldn't helpyou. A ranger's salary is ninety a month now, and find yourself andhorses. Have you any private means?"

"Not enough to say so. "

"There's another thing, " Thorne went on. "This forestry of ourgovernment is destined to be a tremendous affair; but what we need morejust now is better logging methods among the private loggers. It wouldcount more than anything else if you'd stay just where you are and giveus model operations in your own work. "

Bob shook his head. 

"Perhaps you don't know men like Mr. Welton as well as I do, " said he;"I couldn't change his methods. That's absolutely out of the question. And, " he went on with a sudden flash of loyalty to what the old-timershad meant, "I don't believe I'd want to. "

"Not want to!" cried Amy. 

"No, " pursued Bob doggedly, "not unless he could see the point himselfand of his own accord. He's done a great work in his time, and he'sgrown old at it. I wouldn't for anything in the world do anything toshake his faith in what he's done, even if he's doing it wrong now. "

"He and his kind have always slaughtered the forests shamefully!" brokein Amy with some heat. 

"They opened a new country for a new people, " said Bob gently. "Perhapsthey did it wastefully; perhaps not. I notice you've got to use lots oflubricating oil on a new machine. But there was nobody else to do it anydifferent. "

"Then you'd let them go on wasting and destroying?" demanded Amyscornfully. 

"I don't know, " hesitated Bob; "I haven't thought all this out. PerhapsI'm not very much on the think. It seems to me rather this way: We'vegot to have lumber, haven't we? And somebody has to cut it and supplyit. Men like Mr. Welton are doing it, by the methods they've foundeffective. They are working for the Present; we of the new generationwant to work for the Future. It's a fair division. Somebody's got toattend to them both. "

"Well, that's what I say!" cried Amy. "If they wouldn't waste and slashand leave good material in the woods--"

Bob smiled whimsically. 

"A lumberman doesn't like to leave things in the woods, " said he. "Ifsomebody will pay for the tops and the needles, he'll sell them; ifthere's a market for cull lumber, he'll supply it; and if somebody willcreate a demand for knotholes, _he'll invent some way of getting themout_! You see I'm a lumberman myself. "

"Why don't you log with some reference to the future, then?" demandedAmy. 

"Because it doesn't pay, " stated Bob deliberately. 

"Pay!" cried Amy. 

"Yes, " said Bob mildly. "Why not? The lumberman fulfills a commercialfunction, like any one else; why shouldn't he be allowed freely acommercial reward? You can't lead a commercial class by ideals thatabsolutely conflict with commercial motives. If you want to introduceyour ideals among lumbermen, you want to educate them; and in order toeducate them you must fix it so your ideals don't actually spell _loss!_Rearrange the scheme of taxation, for one thing. Get your ideas of fireprotection and conservation on a practical basis. It's all very well totalk about how nice it would be to chop up all the waste tops and pilethem like cordwood, and to scrape together the twigs and needles andburn them. It would certainly be neat and effective. But can't you getsome scheme that would be just as effective, but not so neat? It's thedifference between a yacht and a lumber schooner. We can't expecteverybody to turn right in and sacrifice themselves to bephilanthropists because the spirit of the age tells them they ought tobe. We've got to make it so easy to do things right that anybody at alldecent will be ashamed not to. Then we've got to wait for the spirit ofthe people to grow to new things. It's coming, but it's not here yet. "

California John, who had listened with the closest attention, slappedhis knee. 

"Good sense, " said he. 

"But you can educate people, can't you?" asked Amy, a trifle subdued andpuzzled by these practical considerations. 

"Some people can, " agreed Thorne, speaking up, "and they're doing it. But Mr. Orde is right; it's only the spirit of the people that can bringabout new things. We think we have leaders, but we have onlyinterpreters. When the time is ripe to change things, then the spirit ofthe people rises to forbid old practices. "

"That's it, " said Bob; "I just couldn't get at it. Well, the way I feelabout it is that when all these new methods and principles have becomewell known, then we can call a halt with some authority. You can'tcondemn a man for doing his best, can you?"

The girl, at a loss, flushed, and almost crying, looked at them allhelplessly. 

"But----" she cried. 

"I believe it will all come about in time, " said Thorne. "There's sureto come a time when it will not be too much off balance to _require_private firms to do things according to our methods. Then it will pay tolog the government forests on an extensive scale; and private forestswill have to come to our way of doing things. "

"What's the use of all our fights and strivings?" asked Amy; "what's theuse of our preaching decent woods work if it can't be carried out?"

"It's educational, " explained Thorne. "It starts people thinking, sothat when the time comes they'll be ready. "

"Furthermore, " put in Bob, "it fixes it so these young fellows who willthen be in charge of private operations will have no earthly excuse tolook at it wrong, or do it wrong. "

"It will then be the difference between their acting according togeneral ideas or against them, " agreed Thorne. 

"Never lick a pup for chasin' rabbits until yore ready to teach him tochase deer, " put in California John. 

VIII

Bob found it much more difficult to approach Welton. When he did, he hadto contend with the older man's absolute disbelief in what he wassaying. Welton sat down on a stump and considered Bob with a humoroustwinkle. 

"Want to quit the lumber business!" he echoed Bob's first statement. "What for?"

"I don't think I'm cut out for it. "

"No? Well, then, I never saw anybody that was. You don't happen to needno more money?"

"Lord, no!"

"Of course, you know you'll have pretty good prospects here----" statedWelton tentatively. 

"I understand that; but the work doesn't satisfy me, somehow: I'mthrough with it. "

"Getting restless, " surmised Welton. "What you need is a vacation. Iforgot we kept you at it pretty close all last winter. Take a coupleweeks off and make a trip in back somewheres. "

Bob shook his head. 

"It isn't that; I'm sorry. I'm just through with this. I couldn't keepon at it and do good work. I know that. "

"It's a vacation you need, " insisted Welton chuckling, "--or else you'rein love. Isn't that, is it?"

"No, " Bob laughed quite wholeheartedly. "It isn't that. "

"You haven't got a better job, have you?" Welton joked. 

Bob considered. "Yes; I believe I have, " he said at last; "at least I'mhoping to get it. "

Welton looked at him closely; saw that he was in earnest. 

"What is it?" he asked curtly. 

Bob, suddenly smitten with a sense of the futility of trying to argueout his point of view here in the woods, drew back. 

"Can't tell just yet, " said he. 

Welton climbed down from the stump; stood firmly for a moment, hissturdy legs apart; then moved forward down the trail. 

"I'll raise his ante, whatever it is, " he said abruptly at length. "Idon't believe in it, but I'll do it. I need you. "

"You've always treated me better than I ever deserved, " said Bobearnestly, "and I'll stay all summer, or all next winter--until you feelthat you do not need me longer; but I'm sure that I must go. "

For two days Welton disbelieved the reality of his intention. For twodays further he clung to a notion that in some way Bob must bedissatisfied with something tangible in his treatment. Then, convincedat last, he took alarm, and dropped his facetious attitude. 

"Look here, Bob, " said he, "this isn't quite fair, is it? This is a bigpiece of timber. It needs a man with a longer life in front of him thanI can hope for. I wanted to be able to think that in a few years, when Iget tired I could count on you for the heavy work. It's too big abusiness for an old man. "

"I'll stay with you until you find that young man, " said Bob. "There area good many, trained to the business, capable of handling thisproperty. "

"But nobody like you, Bobby. I've brought you up to my methods. We'vegrown up together at this. You're just like a son to me. " Welton'sround, red face was puckered to a wistful and comically pathetic twist, as he looked across at the serious manly young fellow. 

Bob looked away. "That's just what makes it hard, " he managed to say atlast; "I'd like to go on with you. We've gotten on famously. But Ican't. This isn't my work. "

Welton laboured in vain to induce him to change his mind. Several timeshe considered telling Bob the truth--that all this timber belongedreally to Jack Orde, Bob's father, and that his, Welton's interest in itwas merely that of the active partner in the industry. But this hisfriend had expressly forbidden. Welton ended by saying nothing about it. He resolved first to write Orde. 

"You might tell me what this new job is, though, " he said at last, inapparent acquiescence. 

Bob hesitated. "You won't understand; and I won't be able to make youunderstand, " he said. "I'm going to enter the Forest Service!"

"What!" cried Welton, in blank astonishment. "What's that?"

"I've about decided to take service as a ranger, " stated Bob, his faceflushing. 

From that moment all Welton's anxiety seemed to vanish. It becameunbearably evident that he looked on all this as the romance of youth. Bob felt himself suddenly reduced, in the lumberman's eyes, to thestatus of the small boy who wants to be a cowboy, or a sailor, or anIndian fighter. Welton looked on him with an indulgent eye as on one whowould soon get enough of it. The glamour--whatever it was--would soonwear off; and then Bob, his fling over, would return to sober, realbusiness once more. All Welton's joviality returned. From time to timehe would throw a facetious remark in Bob's direction, when, in thecourse of the day's work, he happened to pass. 

"It's sure going to be fine to wear a real tin star and be an officer!"

Or:

"Bob, it sure will seem scrumptious to ride out and boss the wholecountry--on ninety a month. Guess I'll join you. "

Or:

"You going to make me sweep up my slashings, or will a rake do, Mr. Ranger?"

To these feeble jests Bob always replied good-naturedly. He did notattempt to improve Welton's conception of his purposes. That must comewith time. To his father, however, he wrote at great length; trying hisbest to explain the situation. Mr. Orde replied that a governmentposition was always honourable; but confessed himself disappointed thathis son had not more steadfastness of purpose. Welton received a replyto his own letter by the same mail. 

"I shouldn't tell him anything, " it read. "Let him go be a ranger, or acowboy, or anything else he wants. He's still young. I didn't get mystart until I was thirty; and the business is big enough to wait forhim. You keep pegging along, and when he gets enough, he'll come back. He's apparently got some notions of serving the public, and doing goodin the world, and all that. We all get it at his age. By and by he'llfind out that tending to his business honestly is about one man's job. "

So, without active opposition, and with only tacit disapproval, Bob madehis change. Nor was he received at headquarters with any blare oftrumpets. 

"I'll put you on as 'temporary' until the fall examinations, " saidThorne, "and you can try it out. Rangering is hard work--all kinds ofhard work. It isn't just riding around, you know. You'll have to makegood. You can bunk up with Pollock at the upper cabin. Report to-morrowmorning with him. "

Amy smiled at him brightly. 

"Don't let him scare you, " said she. "He thinks it looks official to bean awful bear!"

California John met him as he rode out the gate. He reached out hisgnarled old hand. 

"Son, we'll get him to send us sometime to Jack Main's Caņon, " said he. 

Bob, who had been feeling the least shade depressed, rode on, his headhigh. Before him lay the great mysterious country where had penetratedonly the Pioneers! Another century would build therein the structuresof its institutions. Now, like Jack Main's Caņon, the far country of newthings was to be the field of his enterprise. In the future, when thenew generations had come, these things would all be ordered and secure, would be systematized, their value conceded, their acceptance a matterof course. All problems would be regulated; all difficulties smoothedaway; all opposition overcome. Then the officers and rangers of thatpeaceful and organized service, then the public--accepting such thingsas they accept all self-evident truths--would look back on thesebeginnings as men look back on romance. They would recall the time when, like knights errant, armed men rode abroad on horses through awilderness, lying down under the stars, living hard, dwelling lowly inpoverty, accomplishing with small means, striving mightily, combatingthe great elemental nature and the powers of darkness in men, enduringpatiently, suffering contempt and misunderstanding and enmity in orderthat the inheritance of the people yet to come might be assured. He wasone of them; he had the privilege. Suddenly his spirit felt freed. Hisold life receded swiftly. A new glory and uplift of soul swept him fromhis old moorings. 

PART FIVE

I

Next morning Bob was set to work with young Jack Pollock stringingbarbed wire fence. He had never done this before. The spools of wireweighed on him heavily. A crowbar thrust through the core made them asort of axle with which to carry it. Thus they walked forward, revolvingthe heavy spool with the greatest care while the strand of wire unwoundbehind them. Every once in a while a coil would kink, or buckle back, orstrike as swiftly and as viciously as a snake. The sharp barbs caught attheir clothing, and tore Bob's hands. Jack Pollock seemed familiar withthe idiosyncrasies of the stuff, for he suffered little damage. Indeed, he even found leisure, as Bob soon discovered, to scrutinize hiscompanion with a covert curiosity. In the eyes of the countryside, Bobhad been "fired, " and had been forced to take a job rangering. When theentangling strand had been laid along the ground by the newly plantedcedar posts, it became necessary to stretch and fasten it. Here, too, young Jack proved himself a competent teacher. He showed Bob how to geta tremendous leverage with the curve on the back of an ordinary hammerby means of which the wire was held taut until the staples could bedriven home. It was aggravating, nervous, painful work for one notaccustomed to it. Bob's hands were soon cut and bleeding, no matter howgingerly he took hold of the treacherous wire. To all his comments, heated and otherwise, Jack Pollock opposed the mountaineer's determinedinscrutability. He watched Bob's efforts always in silence until thatyoung man had made all his mistakes. Then he spat carefully, and, withquiet patience, did it right. 

Bob's sense of humour was tickled. With all his education and hissubsequent wide experience and training, he stood in the position of avery awkward subordinate to this mountain boy. The joke of it was thatthe matter was so entirely his own choice. In the normal relations ofindustry Bob would have been the boss of a hundred activities and twicethat number of men; while Jack Pollock, at best, would be water-boy orfuel-purveyor to a donkey engine. Along in the middle of the morningyoung Elliott passed carrying a crowbar and a spade. 

"How'll you trade jobs?" he called. 

"What's yours?" asked Bob. 

"I'm going to make two cedar posts grow where none grew before, " saidElliott. 

At noon they knocked off and went back to the ranger camp where theycooked their own meal. Most of the older rangers were afield. Ahalf-dozen of the newcomers and probationers only were there. Elliott, Jack Pollock, two other young mountaineers, Ware and one of the youthsfrom the valley towns had apparently passed the examinations and filledvacancies. All, with the exception of Elliott and this latteryouth--Curtis by name--were old hands at taking care of themselves inthe woods, so matters of their own accord fell into a rough system. Somebuilt the fire, one mixed bread, others busied themselves with the restof the provisions. Elliott rummaged about, and set the rough table withthe battered service. Only Curtis, seated with his back against a tree, appeared too utterly exhausted or ignorant to take hold at anything. Indeed, he hardly spoke to his companions, ate hastily, and disappearedinto his own quarters without offering to help wash the dishes. 

This task accomplished, the little group scattered to its afternoonwork. In the necessity of stringing wire without cutting himself toribbons, Bob forgot everything, even the flight of time. 

"I reckon it's about quittin' time, " Jack observed to him at last. 

Bob looked up in surprise. The sun was indeed dropping low. 

"We must be about half done, " he remarked, measuring the extent of themeadow with his eye. 

"Two more wires to string, " Pollock reminded him. 

The mountaineer threw the grain sack of staples against the last post, tossed his hammer and the hatchet with them. 

"Hold on, " said Bob. "You aren't going to leave them there?"

"Shore, " said Pollock. "We'll have to begin there to-morrow. "

But Bob's long training in handling large bodies of men with tools haddeveloped in him an instinct of tool-orderliness. 

"Won't do, " he stated with something of his old-time authority in histones. "Suppose for some reason we shouldn't get back here to-morrow?That's the way such things get mislaid; and they're valuable. "

He picked up the hatchet and the axe. Grumbling something under hisbreath, Pollock shouldered the staples and thrust the hammer in hispocket. 

"It isn't as if these things were ours, " said Bob, realizing that he hadspoken in an unduly minatory tone. 

"That's right, " agreed Jack more cheerfully. 

In addition to the new men, they found Ross Fletcher and Charley Mortonat the camp. The evening meal was prepared cheerfully and roughly, eatenunder a rather dim lamp. Pipes were lit, and they all began leisurely toclean up. The smoke hung low in the air. One by one the men dropped backinto their rough, homemade chairs, or sprawled out on the floor. Someone lit the fire in the stone chimney, for the mountain air nippedshrewdly after the sun had set. A general relaxing after the day's work, a general cheerfulness, a general dry, chaffing wit took possession ofthem. Two played cribbage under the lamp. One wrote a letter. The restgossiped of the affairs of the service. Only in the corner by himselfyoung Curtis sat. As at noon, he had had nothing to say to any one, andhad not attempted to offer assistance in the communal work. Bobconcluded he must be tired from the unaccustomed labour of the day. Bob's own shoulders ached; and he was in pretty good shape, too. 

"What makes me mad, " Ross Fletcher's voice suddenly clove the murmur, "is the things we have to do. I was breaking rock on a trail all dayto-day. Think of that! Day labourer's work! State prison work!"

Bob looked up in amazement, as did every one else. 

"When a man hires out to be a ranger, " Ross went on, "he don't expect tobe a carpenter, or a stone mason; he expects to be a _ranger_!"

Immediately Charley Morton chimed in to the same purpose. Bob listenedwith a rising indignation. This sort of talk was old, but he had notexpected to meet it here; it is the talk of incompetence againstauthority everywhere, of the sea lawyer, the lumberjack, the soldier, the spoiled subordinate in all walks of life. He had taken for granted afiner sort of loyalty here; especially from such men as Ross and CharleyMorton. His face flushed, and he leaned forward to say something. JackPollock jogged his elbow fiercely. 

"Hush up!" the young mountaineer whispered; "cain't you see they'retryin' for a rise?"

Bob laughed softly to himself, and relaxed. He should have beenexperienced enough, he told himself, to have recognized so obvious andusual a trick of all campers. 

But it was not for Bob, nor his like, that Ross was angling. In fact, hecaught his bite almost immediately. For the first time that day Curtiswoke up and displayed some interest. 

"That's what I say!" he cried. 

The older man turned to him. 

"What they been making you do to-day, son?" asked Ross. 

"I've been digging post holes up in those rocks, " said Curtisindignantly. 

"You don't mean to tell me they put you at that?" demanded Ross; "why, they're supposed to get _Injins_, just cheap dollar-a-day Digger Injins, for that job. And they put you at it!"

"Yes, " said Curtis, "they did. I didn't hire out for any such work. Myfather's county clerk down below. "

"You don't say!" said Ross. 

"Yes, and my hands are all blistered and my back is lame, and----"

But the expectant youngsters could hold in no longer. A roar of laughtercut the speaker short. Curtis stared, bewildered. Ross and CharleyMorton were laughing harder than anybody else. He started to his feet. 

"Hold on, son, " Ross commanded him, wiping his eyes. "Don't get hostileat a little joke. You'll get used to the work. Of course we all like toride off in the mountains, and do cattle work, and figure on things, anddo administrative work; and we none of us are stuck on construction. " Helooked around him at his audience, now quiet and attentive. "But we'vegot to have headquarters, and barns, and houses, and corrals andpastures. Once they're built, they're built and that ends it. But theygot to be built. We're just in hard luck that we happen to be rangersright now. The Service can't hire carpenters for us very well, way uphere; and _somebody's_ got to do it. It ain't as if we had to do it fora living, all the time. There's a variety. We get all kinds. Rangering'sno snap, any more than any other job. One thing, " he ended with a laugh, "we get a chance to do about everything. "

The valley youth had dropped sullenly back into the shadows, nor did hereply to this. After a little the men scattered to their quarters, forthey were tired. 

Bob and Jack Pollock occupied together one of the older cabins, a roughlittle structure, built mainly of shakes. It contained two bunks, arough table, and two stools constructed of tobacco boxes to which legshad been nailed. As the young men were preparing for bed, Bob remarked:

"Fletcher got his rise, all right. Much obliged for your tip. I nearlybit. But he wasted his talk in my notion. That fellow is hopeless. Rosslabours in vain if he tries to brace him up. "

"I reckon Ross knows that, " replied Jack, "and I reckon too, he hasmighty few hopes of bracin' up Curtis. I have a kind of notion Ross wasjust usin' that Curtis as a mark to talk at. What he was talkin' _to_was us. "

II

The week's hard physical toil was unrelieved. After Bob and Jack Pollockhad driven the last staple in the last strand of barbed wire, theyturned their horses into the new pasture. The animals, overjoyed to getfree of the picket ropes that had heretofore confined them, took long, satisfying rolls in the sandy corner, and then went eagerly to croppingat the green feed. Bob, leaning on the gate, with the rope still in hishand, experienced a glow of personal achievement greater than any heremembered to have felt since, as a small boy, he had unaided reasonedout the problem of clear impression on his toy printing press. Herecognized this as illogical, for he had, in all modesty, achievedaffairs of some importance. Nevertheless, the sight of his own animalenjoying its liberty in an enclosure created by his own two handspleased him to the core. He grinned in appreciation of Elliott'shumorous parody on the sentimental slogan of the schools--"to make twocedar posts grow where none grew before. " There was, after all, a ratherespecial satisfaction in that principle. 

It next became necessary, he found, that the roof over the new office atheadquarters should receive a stain that would protect it against theweather. He acquired a flat brush, a little seat with spikes in itssupports, and a can of stain whose base seemed to be a veryevil-smelling fish oil. Here all day long he clung, daubing on thestain. When one shingle was done, another awaited his attention, overand over, in unvarying monotony. It was the sort of job he had alwaysloathed, but he stuck to it cheerfully, driving his brush deep in thecracks in order that no crevice might remain for the entrance of theinsidious principle of decay. Casting about in his leisure there for thereason of his patience, he discovered it in just that; he was now at notask to be got through with, to be made way with; he was engaged in ajob that was to be permanent. Unless he did it right, it would not bepermanent. 

Below him the life of headquarters went on. He saw it all, and heard itall, for every scrap of conversation rose to him from within the office. He was amazed at the diversity of interests and the complexity ofproblems that came there for attention. 

"Look here, Mr. Thorne, " said one of the rangers, "this Use Book saysthat a settler has a right to graze ten head of stock _actually in use_free of grazing charge. Now there's Brown up at the north end. He runs alittle dairy business, and has about a hundred head of cattle up. Heclaims we ought not to charge him for ten head of them because they'reall 'actually in use. ' How about it?"

Thorne explained that the exemption did not apply to commercial uses andthat Brown must pay for all. He qualified the statement by saying thatthis was the latest interpretation of which he had heard. 

In like manner the policies in regard to a dozen little industries andinterests were being patiently defined and determined--dairies, beefcattle, shake makers, bees, box and cleat men, free timber users, miningmen, seekers for water concessions, those who desired rights of way, permits for posts, pastures, mill sites--all these proffered theirrequests and difficulties to the Supervisor. Sometimes they wereanswered on the spot. Oftener their remarks were listened to, theirpropositions taken under advisement. Then one or another of the rangerswas summoned, given instructions. He packed his mule, saddled his horse, and rode away to be gone a greater or lesser period of time. Others weresent out to run lines about tracts, to define boundaries. Still others, like Ross Fletcher, pounded drill and rock, and exploded powder on thenew trail that was to make more accessible the tremendous caņon of theriver. The men who came and went rarely represented any but the smallestinterests; yet somehow Bob felt their importance, and the importance ofthe little problems threshed out in the tiny, rough-finished officebelow him. These but foreshadowed the greater things to come. And theseminute decisions shaped the policies and precedents of what would becomemighty affairs. Whether Brown should be allowed to save his paltry threedollars and a half or not determined larger things. To Bob's half-mysticmood, up there under the mottled shadows, every tiny move of this gamebecame portentous with fate. A return of the old exultation lifted him. He saw the shadows of these affairs cast dim and gigantic against themists of the future. These men were big with the responsibility of a newthing. It behooved them all to act with circumspection, with due heed, with reverence----

Bob applied his broad brush and the evil-smelling stain methodically andwith minute care as to every tiny detail of the simple work. But hiseyes were wide and unseeing, and all the inner forces of his soul weremoving slowly and mightily. His personality had nothing to do with thematter. He painted; and affairs went on with him. His being held itselfpassive, in suspension, while the forces and experiences and influencesof one phase of his life crystallized into their foreordained shapesdeep within him. Yesterday he was this; now he was becoming that; andthe two were as different beings. New doors of insight were silentlyswinging open on their hinges, old prejudices were closing, freshconvictions long snugly in the bud were unfolding like flowers. Thesethings were not new. They had begun many years before when as a youngboy he had stared wide-eyed, unseeing and uncomprehending, gazing downthe sun-streaked, green, lucent depths of an aisle in the forest. Bobpainted steadily on, moving his little seat nearer and nearer theeaves. When noon and night came, he hung up his utensils very carefully, washed up, and tramped to the rangers' camp, where he took his part inthe daily tasks, assumed his share of the conversation, entered into thefun, and contributed his ideas toward the endless discussions. No onenoticed that he was in any way different from his ordinary self. But itwas as though some one outside of himself, in the outer circle of hisbeing, carried on these necessary and customary things. He, drawn apart, watched by the shrine of his soul. He did nothing, either by thought oreffort--merely watched, patient and rapt, while foreordained and mightychanges took place--

He reached the edge of the roof; stood on the ladder to finish the lastrow of the riven shingles. Slowly his brush moved, finishing the cracksdeep down so that the principle of decay might never enter. Inside theoffice Thorne sat dictating a letter to some applicant for privilege. The principle was new in its interpretation, and so Thorne was choosinghis words with the greatest care. Swiftly before Bob's inner vision theprospect widened. Thorne became a prophet speaking down the years; theleast of these men in a great new Service became the austere championsof something high and beautiful. For one moment Bob dwelt in awonderful, breathless, vast, unreal country where heroic figures movedin the importance of all the unborn future, dim-seen, half-revealed. Hedrew his brush across the last shingle of all. Something seemed toclick. Swiftly the gates shut, the strange country receded into infinitedistance. With a rush like the sucking of water into a vacuum theeveryday world drew close. Bob, his faculties once more in theiraccustomed seat, looked about him as one awakened. His hour was over. The change had taken place. 

Thorne was standing in the doorway with Amy, their dictation finished. 

"All done?" said he. "Well, you did a thorough job. It's the kind thatwill last. "

"I'm right on deck when it comes to painting things red, " retorted Bob. "What next?"

"Next, " said Thorne, "I want you to help one of the boys split somecedar posts. We've got a corral or so to make. "

Bob descended slowly from the ladder, balancing the remainder of the redstain. Thorne looked at him curiously. 

"How do you like it as far as you've gone?" he permitted himself to ask. "This isn't quite up to the romantic idea of rangering, is it?"

"Well, " said Bob with conviction, "I suppose it may sound foolish; but Inever was surer of anything in my life than that I've struck the rightjob. "

As he walked home that night, he looked back on the last few days with acurious bewilderment. It had all been so real; now apparently it meantnothing. Thorne was doing good work; these rangers were good men. Butwhere had vanished all Bob's exaltation? where his feeling of theportent and influence and far-reaching significance of what these menwere doing? He realized its importance; but the feeling of itsfatefulness had utterly gone. Things with him were back on a work-a-daybasis. He even laughed a little, good-humouredly, at himself. At thegate to the new pasture he once more stopped and looked at his horse. Adeep content came over him. 

"I've sure struck the right job!" he repeated aloud with conviction. 

And this, could he have known it, was the outward and visible and onlysign of the things spiritual that had been veiled. 

III

When Saturday evening came the men washed and shaved and put on cleangarments. Bob, dog tired after a hard day, was more inclined to lie onhis back. 

"Ain't you-all goin' over to-night?" asked Jack Pollock. 

"Over where?"

"Why, " explained the younger man, "always after supper Saturdays all theboys who are in camp go over to spend the evenin' at headquarters. "

Aggressively sleek and scrubbed, the little group marched down throughthe woods in the twilight. At headquarters Amy Thorne and her brotherwelcomed them and ushered them into the big room, with the stonefireplace. In this latter a fire of shake-bolts leaped and roared. Themen crowded in, a trifle bashfully, found boxes and home-made chairs, and perched about talking occasionally in very low tones to the nearestneighbour. Amy sat in a rocking chair by the table lamp, sewing onsomething, paying little attention to the rangers, save to throw out anoccasional random remark. Thorne had not yet entered. Finally Amydropped the sewing in her lap. 

"You're all as solemn as a camp-meeting, " she told them severely. "Howmany times must I tell you to smoke up and be agreeable? Here, Mr. Ware, set them a good example. "

She pushed a cigar box toward the older man. Bob saw it to be half fullof the fine-flaked tobacco so much used in the West. Thus encouraged, Ware rolled himself a cigarette. Others followed suit. Still othersproduced and filled black old pipes. A formidable haze eddied throughthe apartment. Amy, still sewing, said, without looking up:

"One of you boys go rummage the store room for the corn popper. Thecorn's in a corn-meal sack on the far shelf. "

Just then Thorne came in, bringing a draft of cold air with him. 

"Well, " said he, "this is a pretty full house for this time of year. "

He walked directly to the rough, board shelf and from it took down abook. 

"This man Kipling will do again for to-night, " he remarked. "He knowsmore about our kind of fellow than most. I've sent for one or two otherthings you ought to know, but just now I want to read you a story thatmay remind you of something you've run against yourself. We've a fewwild, red-headed Irishmen ourselves in these hills. "

He walked briskly to the lamp, opened the volume, and at once began toread. Every once in a while he looked up from the book to explain aphrase in terms the men would understand, or to comment pithily on somesimilarity in their own experience. When he had finished, he lookedabout at them, challenging. 

"There; what did I tell you? Isn't that just about the way they hand itout to us here? And this story took place the other side of the world!It's quite wonderful when you stop to think about it, isn't it? Listento this--"

He pounced on another story. This led him to a second incursion on themeagre library. Bob did not recognize the practical, rather hard Thorneof everyday official life. The man was carried away by his eagerness tointerpret the little East Indian to these comrade spirits of the West. The rangers listened with complete sympathy, every once in a whilethrowing in a comment or a criticism, never hesitating to interrupt wheninterruption seemed pertinent. 

Finally Amy, who had all this time been sewing away unmoved, ahalf-tender, half-amused smile curving her lips, laid down her work withan air of decision. 

"I'll call your attention, " said she, "to the fact that I'm hungry. Shutup your book; I won't hear another word. " She leaned across the table, and, in spite of Thorne's half-earnest protests, took possession of thevolume. 

"Besides, " she remarked, "look at poor Jack Pollock; he's been poppingcorn like a little machine, and he must be nearly roasted himself. "

Jack turned to her a face very red from the heat of the leaping pinefire. 

"That's right, " he grinned, "but I got about a dishpan done. "

"You'll be in practice to fight fire, " some one chaffed him. 

"Oh, he'll fight fire all right, if there's somethin' to eat the otherside, " drawled Charley Morton. 

"It's plenty, " said Amy, referring to the quantity of popcorn. 

"Why, " spoke up California John in an aggrieved and surprised tone, "ain't there nobody going to eat popcorn but me?"

Amy disappeared only to return bearing a cake frosted with chocolate. The respect with which this was viewed proved that the men appreciatedto the full what was represented by chocolate cake in this altitude oftiny stoves and scanty supplies. Again Amy dove into the store room. This time she bore back a huge enamel-ware pitcher which she set in themiddle of the round table. 

"There!" she cried, her cheeks red with triumph. 

"What you got, Amy?" asked her brother. 

Ross Fletcher leaned forward to look. 

"Great guns!" he cried. 

The men jostled around, striving for a glimpse, half in joke, half ingenuine curiosity. 

"Lemonade!" cried Ware. 

"None of your lime juice either, " pronounced California John; "look atthe genuine article floatin' around on top. "

They turned to Amy. 

"Where did you get them?" they demanded. 

But she shook her head, smiling, and declined to tell. 

They devoured the popcorn and the chocolate cake to the last crumb, andemptied the pitcher of genuine lemonade. Then they went home. It was allsimple enough: cheap tobacco; reading aloud; a little rude chaffing;lemonade, cake and popcorn! Bob smiled to himself as he thought of theconsternation a recital of these ingredients would carry to thesophisticated souls of most of his friends. Yet he had enjoyed theparty, enjoyed it deeply and thoroughly. He came away from it glowingwith good-fellowship. 

IV

At these and similar occupations the latter days of June slipped by. Bobhad little leisure, for the Service was undermanned for the work it mustdo. Curtis sooned resigned, to everybody's joy and relief. 

On only one occasion did Bob gain a chance to ride over to the scenes ofhis old activities. This was on a Sunday when, by a miracle, nothingunexpected came up to tie him to his duty. He had rather anunsatisfactory visit with Mr. Welton. It was cordial enough on bothsides, for the men were genuinely fond of each other; but they had losttouch of each other's interests. Welton persisted in regarding Bob witha covert amusement, as an older man regards a younger who is having hisfling, and will later settle down. Bob asked after the work, and wasanswered. Neither felt any real human interest in the questions northeir replies. A certain constraint held them, to Bob's very genuineregret. He rode back through the westering shadows vaguely uneasy in hismind. 

He and two of the new mountain men had been for two days cutting up somedead and down trees that encumbered the enclosure at headquarters. Theycross-cut the trunks into handy lengths; bored holes in them with atwo-inch augur; loaded the holes with blasting powder and a fuse, andtouched them off. The powder split the logs into rough posts smallenough to handle. These fragments they carried laboriously to the middleof the meadow, where they stacked them rack-fashion and on end. The ideawas to combine business with pleasure by having a grand bonfire thenight of the Fourth of July. 

For this day other preparations were forward. Amy promised a spread foreverybody, if she could get a little help at the last moment. As many ofthe outlying rangers as could manage it would come in for the occasion. A shooting match, roping and chopping contests, and other sports were incontemplation. 

As the time drew near, various mysteries were plainly afoot. Men claimedtheir turns in riding down the mountain for the mail. They took withthem pack horses. These they unpacked secretly and apart. Amy gave Bobto understand that this holiday, when the ranks were fullest andconditions ripe, went far as a substitute for Christmas among these men. 

Then at noon of July second Charley Morton dashed down the trail fromthe Upper Meadow, rode rapidly to Headquarters, flung himself from hishorse, and dove into the office. After a moment he reappeared, followedby Thorne. 

"Saddle up, boys, " said the latter. "Fire over beyond Baldy. Ride andgather in the men who are about here, " he told Bob. 

Bob sprang on Charley Morton's horse and rode about instructing theworkers to gather. When he returned, Thorne gave his instructions. 

"We're short-handed, " he stated, "and it'll be hard to get help just atthis time. Charley, you take Ware, Elliott and Carroll and see what itlooks like. Start a fire line, and do the best you can. Orde, you andPollock can get up some pack horses and follow later with grub, blankets, and so forth. I'll ride down the mountain to see what I can doabout help. It may be I can catch somebody by phone at the Power Housewho can let the boys know at the north end. You say it's a big fire?"

"I see quite a lot of smoke, " said Charley. 

"Then the boys over Jackass way and by the Crossing ought to see it forthemselves. "

The four men designated caught up their horses, saddled them, andmounted. Thorne handed them each a broad hoe, a rake and an axe. Theyrode off up the trail. Thorne mounted on his own horse. 

"Pack up and follow as fast as you can, " he told the two who stillremained. 

"What you want we should take?" asked Jack. 

"Amy will tell you. Get started early as you can. You'll have to followtheir tracks. "

Amy took direction of them promptly. While they caught and saddled thepack horses, she was busy in the storeroom. They found laid out for thema few cooking utensils, a variety of provisions tied up in strong littlesacks, several more hoes, axes and rakes, two mattocks, a half-dozenflat files, and as many big zinc canteens. 

"Now hurry!" she commanded them; "pack these, and then get some blanketsfrom your camp, and some hobbles and picket ropes. "

With Bob's rather awkward help everything was made fast. By the time thetwo had packed the blankets and returned to headquarters on their way tothe upper trail, they found Amy had changed her clothes, caught andsaddled her own horse, tied on well-filled saddle bags, and stoodawaiting them. She wore her broad hat looped back by the pine tree badgeof the Service, a soft shirtwaist of gray flannel, a short divided skirtof khaki and high-laced boots. A red neckerchief matched her cheeks, which were glowing with excitement. Immediately they appeared, she swungaboard with the easy grace of one long accustomed to the saddle. Bob'slower jaw dropped in amazement. 

"You going?" he gasped, unable even yet to comprehend the everyday factthat so many gently nurtured Western girls are accustomed to thoserough-and-ready bivouacs. 

"I wouldn't stay away for worlds!" she cried, turning her pony's head upthe trail. 

Beyond the upper meadow this trail suddenly began to climb. It made itsway by lacets in the dry earth, by scrambles in the rocks until, throughthe rapidly thinning ranks of the scrubby trees, Bob could look backover all the broad shelf of the mountain whereon grew the pines. It layspread before him as a soft green carpet of tops, miles of it, wrinklingand billowing gently as here and there the conformation of the countrychanged. At some distance it dropped over an edge. Beyond that, verydimly, he realized the brown shimmer rising from the plain. Far to theright was a tenuous smoke, a suggestion of thinning in the forest, aflash of blue water. This, Bob knew, must be the mill and the lake. 

The trail shortly made its way over the shoulder of the ridge andemerged on the wide, gentle rounding of the crest. Here the trees weresmall, stunted and wind-blown. Huge curving sheets of unbroken granitelay like armour across the shoulder of the mountain. Decomposing graniteshale crunched under the horses' hoofs. Here and there on it grewisolated tiny tufts of the hardy upland flowers. Above, the sky wasdeeply, intensely blue; bluer than Bob had ever seen a sky before. Theair held in it a tang of wildness, as though it had breathed from greatspaces. 

"I suppose this is the top of our ridge, isn't it?" Bob asked JackPollock. 

The boy nodded. 

Suddenly the trail dipped sharp to the left into a narrow and shallowlittle ravine. The bed of this was carpeted by a narrow stringer offresh grass and flowers, through which a tiny stream felt its hesitatingway. This ravine widened and narrowed, turned and doubled. Here andthere groups of cedars on a dry flat offered ideal shelter for a camp. Abruptly the stringer burst through a screen of azaleas to a round greenmeadow surrounded by the taller trees of the eastern slope of themountain. 

In other circumstances Bob would have liked to stop for a better sightof this little gem of a meadow. It was ankle deep with new grasses, starred with flowers, bordered with pink and white azaleas. The air, prisoned in a pocket, warmed by the sun, perfumed heavily by theflowers, lay in the cup of the trees like a tepid bath. A hundred birdssang in June-tide ecstasy. 

But Jack Pollock, without pause, skirted this meadow, crossed the tinysilver creek that bubbled from it down the slope, and stolidly mounted alittle knoll beyond. The trained pack horses swung along behind him, swaying gently from side to side that they might carry their packscomfortably and level. Bob turned involuntarily to glance at Amy. Theireyes met. She understood; and smiled at him brightly. 

Jack led the way to the top of the knoll and stopped. 

Here the edge of the mountain broke into a tiny outcropping spur thatshook itself free from the pines. It constituted a natural lookout tothe east. Bob drew rein so violently that even his well-trained mountainhorse shook its head in protest. 

Before him, hushed with that tremendous calm of vast distances, lay theSierras he had never seen, as though embalmed in the sunlight of athousand afternoons. A tremendous, deep caņon plunged below him, bluewith distance. It climbed again to his level eventually, but by thattime it was ten miles away. And over against him, very remote, were pineridges looking velvety and dark and ruffled and full of shadows, likethe erect fur of a beast that has been alarmed. From them here and thereprojected granite domes. And beyond them bald ranges; and beyond them, splintered granite with snow in the crevices; and beyond this the darkand frowning Pinnacles; and still beyond, other mountains so distant, soethereal, so delicately pink and rose and saffron that almost heexpected they might at any moment dissolve into the vivid sky. And, strangely enough, though he realized the tremendous heights and depthsof these peaks and caņons, the whole effect to Bob was as somethingspread out broad. The sky, the wonderful over-arching, very blue sky, was the most important thing in the universe. Compared to itsinfinitudes these mountains lay spread like a fair and wrinkled footrugto a horizon inconceivably remote and mysterious. 

Then his eye fell to the ridge opposite, across the blue caņon. From onepoint on it a straight column of smoke rolled upward, to mushroom outand hang motionless above the top of the ridge. Its base was shot byhalf-seen, half-guessed flaming streaks. 

Bob had vaguely expected to see a whole country-side ablaze. Thissingle, slender column was almost absurd. It looked like a camp-fire, magnified to fit the setting, of course. 

"There's the fire, all right, " said Jack. "We got to get across to itsomehow. Trail ends here. "

"Why, that doesn't amount to much!" cried Bob. 

"Don't it?" said Jack. "Well, I'd call that some shakes of a firemyself. It's covered mighty nigh three hundred acres by now. "

"Three hundred acres! Better say ten. "

"You're wrong, " said Jack; "I've rode all that country with cattle. "

"You'll find it fire enough, when you get there, " put in Amy. "It'sright in good timber, too. "

"All right, " agreed Bob; "I'll believe anything--after this. " He wavedhis hand abroad. "Jack, " he called, as that young man led the way offthe edge, "can you see where Jack Main's Caņon is from here?"

"Jack Main's!" repeated young Pollock. "Why, if you was on the top ofthe farthest mountain in sight, you couldn't see any place you could seeit from. "

"Good Lord!" said Bob. 

The way zigzagged down the slope of the mountain. As Jack had said, there was no trail, but the tracks left by the four rangers were plainlyto be discerned. Bob, following the pack horses, had leisure to observehow skilfully this way had been picked out. Always it held to the easyfooting, but always it was evident that if certain turns had not beenmade some distance back this easy footing would have lacked. At timesthe tracks led far to the left at nearly the same level until one, twoor three little streams had been crossed. Then without apparent reasonthey turned directly down the backbone of a steep ridge exactly like ahalf-dozen others they had passed over. But later Bob saw that thisridge was the only one of the lot that dipped over gently to lowerlevels; all the rest broke off abruptly in precipitous rocks. Bob was agood woodsman, but this was his first experience in that mountaineeringskill which noses its way by the "lay of the country. "

In the meantime they were steadily descending. The trees hemmed themcloser. Thickets of willows and alders had to be crossed. Dimly throughthe tree-tops they seemed to see the sky darkening by degrees as theyworked their way down. At first Bob thought it the lateness of theafternoon; then he concluded it must be the smoke of the fire; finally, through a clear opening, he saw this apparent darkening of the horizonwas in reality the blue of the caņon wall opposite, rising as theydescended. But, too, as they drew nearer, the heavy smoke of theconflagration began to spread over them. In time it usurped the heavens, and Bob had difficulty in believing that it could appear to any oneanywhere as so simple a mushroom-head over a slender smoke column. 

By the time the horses stepped from the slope to the bed of the caņon, it was quite dark. Jack turned down stream. 

"We'll cut the trail to Burro Rock pretty quick, " said he. 

Within five minutes of travel they did cut it; a narrow brown trough, trodden by the hoofs of many generations of cattlemen bound for the backcountry. Almost immediately it began to mount the slope. 

Now ahead, through the gathering twilight, lights began to show, sometimes scattered, sometimes grouped, like the camp-fires of animmense army. These were the stubs, stumps, down logs and the like leftstill blazing after all the more readily inflammable material had beenburned away. As the little cavalcade laboured upward, stopping every fewminutes to breathe the horses, these flickering lights definedthemselves. In particular one tall dead yellow pine standing boldlyprominent, afire to the top, alternately glowed and paled as the windbreathed or died. A smell of stale burning drifted down the damp nightair. Pretty soon Jack Pollock halted for a moment to call back:

"Here's their fire line!"

Bob spurred forward. Just beyond Jack's horse the country lay blackened. The pine needles had burned down to the soil; the seedlings and youngertrees had been withered away; the larger trees scorched; the fuel withwhich every forest is littered consumed in the fierceness of theconflagration. Here and there some stub or trunk still blazed andcrackled, outposts of the army whose camp-fires seemed to dot the hills. 

The line of demarcation between the burned and the unburned areas seemedextraordinarily well defined. Bob looked closer and saw that thisdefinition was due to a peculiar path, perhaps two yards wide. It lookedas though some one had gone along there with a huge broom, sweeping asone would sweep a path in deep dust. Only in this case the broom musthave been a powerful implement as well as one of wide reach. The brushedmarks went not only through the carpet of pine needles, but through thetarweed, the snow brush, the manzaņita. This was technically the fireline. At the sight of the positiveness with which it had checked thespread of the flames, Bob's spirits rose. 

"They seem to have stopped it here easy enough, already, " he cried. 

"Being as how this is the windward side of the fire, and on a downslope, I should think they might, " remarked Jack Pollock drily. 

Bob chuckled and glanced at the girl. 

"I'm finding out every day how little I know, " said he; "at my age, too!"

"The hard work is down wind, " said Amy. 

"Of course. "

They entered the burned area, and climbed on up the hill. Thoughevidently here the ferocity of the conflagration had passed, it had leftits rear guard behind. Fallen trees still blazed; standing trees flamedlike torches--but all harmlessly within the magic circle drawn by thedesperate quick work of the rangers. They threaded their way cautiouslyamong these isolated fires, watching lest some dead giant should fallacross their path. The ground smoked under their feet. Against thebackground of a faint and distant roaring, which now made itselfevident, the immediate surroundings seemed very quiet. The individualcracklings of flames were an undertone. Only once in a while a dullheavy crash smote the air as some great tree gave up the unequalstruggle. 

They passed as rapidly as they could through this stricken field. Thenight had fallen, but the forest was still bright, the trail stillplain. They followed it for an hour until it had topped the lower ridge. 

Then far ahead, down through the dark trunks of trees, they saw, wavering, flickering, leaping and dying, a line of fire. In some placesit was a dozen feet high; in others it sank to within a few inches ofthe ground--but nowhere could the eye discern an opening through it. Aroar and a crackling filled the air. Sparks were shooting upward in thesuction. A blast of heat rushed against Bob's cheek. All at once herealized that a forest fire was not a widespread general conflagration, like the burning of a city block. It was a line of battle, a ring offlame advancing steadily. All they had passed had been negligible. Herewas the true enemy, now charging rapidly through the dry, inflammablelow growth, now creeping stealthily in the needles and among the rocks;always making way, always gathering itself for one of its wild leapswhich should lay an entire new province under its ravaging. Somewhere onthe other side of that ring of fire were four men. They were trying tocut a lane over which the fire could not leap. 

Bob gazed at the wall of flame with some dismay. 

"How we going to get through?" he asked. 

"We got to find a rock outcrop somewheres up the ridge, " explained Jack, "where there'll be a break in the fire. "

He turned up the side of the mountain again, leading the way. After atime they came to an outcrop of the sort described, which, with somedifficulty and stumbling, they succeeded in crossing. 

Ahead, in the darkness, showed a tiny licking little fire, only a fewinches high. 

"The fire has jumped!" cried Bob. 

"No, that's their backfire, " Pollock corrected him. 

They found this to be true. The rangers had hastily hoed and raked out anarrow path. Over this a very small fire could not pass; but there couldbe no doubt that the larger conflagration would take the slight obstaclein its stride. Therefore the rangers had themselves ignited the smallfire. This would eat away the fuel, and automatically widen the path. Between the main fire and the back fire were still several hundred yardsof good, unburned country. To Bob's expression of surprise Amy added tothe two principles of fire-fighting he had learned from Pollock. 

"It doesn't do to try to stop a fire anywhere and everywhere, " said she. "A good man knows his country, and he takes advantage of it. This fireline probably runs along the line of natural defence. "

They followed it down the mountain for a long distance through theeddying smoke. The flames to their right shot up and died and crept. Theshadows to their left--their own among the number--leaped and fell. After a while, down through the mists, they made out a small figure, very busy at something. When they approached, they found this to beCharley Morton. The fire had leaped the cleared path and was greedilyeating in all directions through the short, pitchy growth of tarweed. Itwas as yet only a tiny leak, but once let it get started, the wholeforest beyond the fire line would be ablaze. The ranger had started tocut around this a half-circle connected at both ends with the main fireline. With short, quick jabs of his hoe, he was tearing away at thetough tarweed. 

"Hullo!" said he without looking up. "You'll find camp on the bald ridgenorth the fire line. There's a little feed there. "

Having completed his defence, he straightened his back to look at them. His face was grimed a dingy black through which rivulets of sweat hadmade streaks. 

"Had it pretty hot all afternoon, " he proffered. "Got the fire linedone, though. How're those canteens--full? I'll trade you my empty one. "He took a long draught. "That tastes good. Went dry about three o'clock, and haven't had a drop since. "

They left him there, leaning on the handle of his hoe. Jack Pollockseemed to know where the place described as the camp-site was located, for after various détours and false starts, he led them over the brow ofa knoll to a tiny flat among the pine needles where they were greeted bywhinnies from unseen animals. It was here very dark. Jack scrapedtogether and lit some of the pine needles. By the flickering light theysaw the four saddles dumped down in a heap. 

"There's a side hill over yander with a few bunches of grass and some ofthese blue lupins, " said Jack. "It ain't much in the way of hoss-feed, but it'll have to do. "

He gathered fuel and soon had enough of a fire to furnish light. 

"It certainly does seem plumb foolish to be lightin' _more_ fires!" heremarked. 

In the meantime Amy had unsaddled her own horse and was busy unpackingone of the pack animals. Bob followed her example. 

"There, " she said; "now here are the canteens, all full; and here's sixlunches already tied together that I put up before we started. You canget them to the other boys. Take your tools and run along. I'llstraighten up, and be ready for you when you can come back. "

"What if the fire gets over to you?" asked Bob. 

"I'll turn the horses loose and ride away, " she said gaily. 

"It won't get clost to there, " put in Jack. "This little ridge is rockall round it. That's why they put the camp here. "

"Where's water?" asked Amy. 

"I don't rightly remember, " confessed Pollock. "I've only been in hereonce. "

"I'll find out in the morning. Good luck!"

Jack handed Bob three of the canteens, a hoe and rake and one of theflat files. 

"What's this for?" asked Bob. 

"To keep the edge of your hoe sharp, " replied Jack. 

They shouldered their implements and felt their way in the darkness overthe tumbled rock outcrop. As they surmounted the shoulder of the hill, they saw once more flickering before them the fire line. 

V

Charley Morton received the lunch with joy. 

"Ain't had time to get together grub since we came, " said he, "anddidn't know when I would. "

"What do you want us to do?" asked Bob. 

"The fire line's drawn right across from Granite Creek down there in thecaņon over to a bald dome. We got her done an hour ago, and pretty wellback-fired. All we got to do now is to keep her from crossing anywheres;and if she does cross, to corral her before she can get away from us. "

"I wish we could have got here sooner!" cried Bob, disappointed that thelittle adventure seemed to be flattening out. 

"So?" commented Charley drily. "Well, there's plenty yet. If she getsout in one single, lonesome place, this fire line of ours won't be wortha cent. She's inside now--if we can hold her there. " He gazedcontemplatively aloft at a big dead pine blazing merrily to its verytop. Every once in a while a chunk of bark or a piece of limb cameflaring down to hit the ground with a thump. "There's the trouble, " saidhe. "What's to keep a spark or a coal from that old coon from falling orrolling on the wrong side of the line? If it happens when none of us arearound, why the fire gets a start. And maybe a coal will roll down hillfrom somewhere; or a breeze come up and carry sparks. One spark overhere, " he stamped his foot on the brushed line, "and it's all to do overagain. There's six of us, " added the ranger, "and a hundred of thesetrees near the line. By rights there ought to be a man camped down nearevery one of them. "

"Give us our orders, " repeated Bob. 

"The orders are to patrol the fire line, " said Morton. "If you find thefire has broken across, corral it. If it gets too strong for you, shootyour six-shooter twice. Keep a-moving, but take it easy and saveyourself for to-morrow. About two o'clock, or so, I'll shoot threetimes. Then you can come to camp and get a little sleep. You got to bein shape for to-morrow. "

"Why especially to-morrow?" asked Bob. 

"Fire dies in the cool of night; it comes up in the middle of the day, "explained Morton succinctly. 

Bob took to the right, while Jack went in the opposite direction. Hisway led down hill. He crossed a ravine, surmounted a little ridge. Nowhe was in the worse than total darkness of the almost extinct area. Embers and coals burned all over the side hill like so many evil winkingeyes. Far ahead, down the mountain, the rising smoke glowed incandescentwith the light of an invisible fire beneath, Bob, blinded by this glow, had great difficulty in making his way. Once he found that he hadsomehow crept out on the great bald roundness of a granite dome, and hadto retrace his steps. Twice he lost his footing utterly, but fortunatelyfell but a short distance. At last he found himself in the V of a narrowravine. 

All this time he had, with one exception, kept close track of the fireline. The exception was when he strayed out over the dome; but that wasnatural, for the dome had been adopted bodily as part of the system ofdefence. Everywhere the edge of the path proved to be black and dead. Noliving fire glowed within striking distance of the inflammable materialon the hither side the path. 

But here, in the bottom of the ravine, a single coal had lodged, and hadalready started into flame the dry small brush. It had fallen originallyfrom an oak fully a hundred feet away; and in some mysterious manner hadfound a path to this hidden pocket. The circumstances somewhat shookBob's faith in the apparent safety of the country he had just traversed. 

However, there were the tiny flames, licking here and there, insignificant, but nevertheless dangerous. Bob carefully laid hiscanteens and the rake on a boulder, and set to work with his sharpenedhoe. It looked to be a very easy task to dig out a path around thislittle fire. 

In the course of the miniature fight he learned considerable of the waysof fire. The brush proved unexpectedly difficult. It would not stand upto the force of his stroke, but bent away. The tarweed, especially, wasstubborn under even the most vigorous wielding of his sharpened hoe. 

He made an initial mistake by starting to hoe out his path too near theblaze, forgetting that in the time necessary to complete his half-circlethe flames would have spread. Discovering this, he abandoned hisbeginning and fell back twenty feet. This naturally considerablylengthened the line he would have to cut. When it was about half done, Bob discovered that he would have to hustle to prevent the fire breakingby him before he could complete his half-circle. It became a race. Heworked desperately. The heat of the flames began to scorch his face andhands, so that it was with difficulty he could face his work. Irrelevantly enough there arose before his mind the image of JackPollock popping corn before the fireplace at headquarters. Continualwielding of the hoe tired a certain set of muscles to the aching point. His mouth became dry and sticky, but he could not spare time to hunt uphis canteen. The thought flashed across his mind that the fire wasprobably breaking across elsewhere, just like this. The other men mustbe in the same fix. There were six of them. Suppose the fire shouldbreak across simultaneously in seven places? The little licking flameshad at last, by dint of a malignant persistence, become a personalenemy. He fought them absorbedly, throwing his line farther and fartheras the necessity arose, running to beat down with green brush the firstfeeble upstartings of the fire as it leaped here and there his barrier, keeping a vigilant eye on every part of his defences. 

"Well, " drawled Charley Morton's voice behind him, "what you thinkyou're doing?"

"Corralling this fire, of course, " Bob panted, dashing at a maraudinglittle flame. 

"What for?" demanded Charley. 

Bob looked up in sheer amazement. 

"See that rock dike just up the hill behind you?" explained Morton. "Well, our fire line already runs up to that on both sides. Firecouldn't cross it. We expected this to burn. "

Bob suddenly felt a little nauseated and dizzy from the heat andviolence of his exertions in this high altitude. 

"Here's your canteen, " Morton went on easily. "Take a swig. Better savea little. Feel better? Let me give you a pointer: don't try to stop afire going up hill. Take it on top or just over the top. It burns slowerand it ain't so apt to jump. "

"I know; I forgot, " said Bob, feeling a trifle foolish. 

"Never mind; you've learned something, " said Morton comfortably. "Let'sgo down below. There's fresh fire there; and it may have jumped pastElliott. "

They scrambled down. Elliott and Ware were found to be workingdesperately in the face of the flames. The fire had not here jumped theline, but it was burning with great ferocity up to the very edge of it. If the rangers could for a half-hour prevent the heat from igniting thegrowths across the defence, the main fire would have consumed its fueland died down to comparative safety. With faces averted, heads lowered, handkerchiefs over their mouths, they continually beat down the newlittle fires which as continually sprang into life again. Here theantagonists were face to face across the narrow line. The rangers couldnot give back an inch, for an inch of headway on the wrong side the pathwould convert a kindling little blaze to a real fire. They stood up totheir work doggedly as best they might. 

With entire understanding of the situation Charley motioned Bob to thefront. 

"We'll hold her for a minute, " he shouted to the others. "Drop back andget a drink. "

They fell back to seize eagerly their canteens. Bob gripped his handfulof green brush and set to work. For a minute he did not think itpossible to face the terrible heat. His garments were literally drenchedwith sweat which immediately dried into steam. A fierce drain sucked athis strength. He could hardly breathe, and could see only withdifficulty. After a moment Elliott and Ware, evidently somewhatrefreshed, again took hold. 

How they stuck it out for that infernal half-hour Bob could not havetold, but stick it out they did. The flames gradually died down; theheat grew less; the danger that the shrivelled brush on the wrong sidethe fire line would be ignited by sheer heat, vanished. The four menfell back. Their eyebrows and hair were singed; their skin blackened. Bob's face felt sore, and as though it had been stretched. He took along pull at his canteen. For the moment he felt as though his energyhad all been drained away. 

"Well, that was a good little scrap, " observed Charley Mortoncheerfully. "I certainly do wish it was always night when a man had tofight fire. In a hot sun it gets to be hard work. "

Elliott rolled his eyes, curiously white like a minstrel's in hisblackened face, at Bob, but said nothing. 

"We'll leave Elliott here to watch this a few minutes, and go down theline, " said Morton. 

Bob lifted his canteen, and, to his surprise, found it empty. 

"Why, I must have drunk a gallon!" he cried. 

"It's dry work, " said Morton. 

They continued on down the fire line, pausing every once in a while torake and scrape leisurely at the heavy bark beneath some blazing stub. The fierce, hard work was over. All along the fire line from the dome ofgranite over the ridge down to Granite Creek the fire had consumed allthe light fuel on its own side the defence. No further danger was to beapprehended in the breaking across. But everywhere through the nowdarkening forest blazed the standing trees. A wind would fill the airwith brands; and even in the present dead calm those near the line werea threat. 

The men traversed the fire line from end to end a half-dozen times. Bobbecame acquainted individually and minutely with each of the dangerspots. The new temporary features of country took on, from the effectsof vigilance and toil, the dignity of age and establishment. Anxiouslyhe widened the path here, kicked back glowing brands there, tried toassure himself that in no possible manner could the seed of a newconflagration find germination. After a long time he heard three shotsfrom up the mountain. This, he remarked, was a signal agreed upon. Heshouldered his blackened implements and commenced a laborious ascent. 

Suddenly he discovered that he was very tired, and that his legs wereweak and wobbly. Stubs and sticks protruded everywhere; stones rolledfrom under his feet. Once on a steep shale, he fell and rolled ten feetout of sheer weariness. In addition he was again very thirsty, and hiscanteen empty. A chill gray of dawn was abroad; the smell of staleburning hung in the air. 

By the time he had staggered into camp the daylight had come. He glancedabout him wearily. Across a tiny ravine the horses dozed, tied each to ashort picket rope. Bob was already enough of a mountaineer to noticethat the feed was very scant. The camp itself had been made under adozen big yellow pines. A bright little fire flickered. About it stoodutensils from which the men were rather dispiritedly helping themselves. Bob saw that the long pine needles had been scraped together to makesoft beds, over which the blankets had been spread. Amy herself, hercheeks red, her eyes bright, was passing around tin cups of strongcoffee, and tin plates of food. Her horse, saddled and bridled, stoodnearby. 

"Take a little of this, " she urged Bob, "and then turn in. "

Bob muttered his thanks. After swallowing the coffee, however, he felthis energies reviving somewhat. 

"How did you leave things at the lower end?" Morton was asking him. 

"All out but two or three smouldering old stubs, " replied Bob. "Everything's safe. "

"Nothing's safe, " contradicted Morton. "By rights we ought to watchevery minute. But we got to get some rest in a long fight. It's the coolof the morning and the fire burns low. Turn in and get all the sleep youcan. May need you later. "

"I'm all in, " acknowledged Bob, throwing back his blanket; "I'm willingto say so. "

"No more fire in mine, " agreed young Elliott. 

The other men said nothing, but fell to their beds. Only Charley Mortonrose a little stiffly to his feet. 

"Aren't you going to turn in too, Charley?" asked the girl quickly. 

"It's daylight now, " explained the ranger, "and I can see to ride ahorse. I reckon I'd better ride down the line. "

"I've thought of that, " said Amy. "Of course, it wouldn't do to let thefire take care of itself. See; I have Pronto saddled. I'll look over theline, and if anything happens I'll wake you. "

"You must be about dead, " said Charley. "You've been up all night fixingcamp and cooking----"

"Up all night!" repeated Amy scornfully. "How long do you think ittakes me to make camp and cook a simple little breakfast?"

"But the country's almighty rough riding. "

"On Pronto?"

"He's a good mountain pony, " agreed Charley Morton; "California Johnpicked him out himself. All right. I do feel some tired. "

This was about six o'clock. The men had slept but a little over an hourwhen Amy scrambled over the rim of the dike and dropped from her horse. 

"Charley!" she cried, shaking the ranger by the shoulder; "I'm sorry. But there's fresh smoke about half-way down the mountain. There wasnothing left to burn fresh inside the fire line, was there? I thoughtnot. "

Twenty minutes later all six were frantically digging, hoeing, chopping, beating in a frenzy against the spread of the flames. In some manner thefire had jumped the line. It might have been that early in the fight aspark had lodged. As long as the darkness of night held down thetemperature, this spark merely smouldered. When, however, the rays ofthe sun gathered heat, it had burst into flame. 

This sun made all the difference in the world. Where, in the cool of thenight, the flames had crept slowly, now they leaped forward with afierce crackling; green brush that would ordinarily have resisted for along time, now sprang into fire at a touch. The conflagration spreadfrom a single point in all directions, running swiftly, roaring in asheet of fire, licking up all before it. 

The work was fierce in its intensity. Bob, in common with the others, had given up trying--or indeed caring--to protect himself. His clothessmoked, his face smarted and burned, his skin burned and blistered. Hebreathed the hot air in gasps. Strangely enough, he did not feel in theleast tired. 

He did not need to be told what to do. The only possible defence wasacross a rock outcrop. To right and left of him the other men wereworking desperately to tear out the brush. He grubbed away trying toclear the pine needles and little bushes that would carry the firethrough the rocks like so many powder fuses. 

He had no time to see how the others were getting on; he worked onfaith. His own efforts were becoming successful. The fire, trying, oneafter another, various leads through the rocks, ran out of fuel anddied. The infernal roaring furnace below, however, leaped ever to newtrial. 

Then all at once Bob found himself temporarily out of the game. Intrying to roll a boulder out of the way, he caught his hand. A sharp, lightning pain shot up his arm and into the middle of his chest. When hehad succeeded in extricating himself, he found that his middle fingerwas squarely broken. 

VI

Bob stood still for a moment, looking at the injured member. CharleyMorton touched him on the shoulder. When he looked up, the rangermotioned him back. Casting a look of regret at his half-completeddefences, he obeyed. To his surprise he found the other four alreadygathered together. Evidently his being called off the work had nothingto do with his broken finger, as he had at first supposed. 

"Well, I guess we'll have to fall back, " said Morton composedly. "It'sgot away from us. "

Without further comment he shouldered his implements and took his way upthe hill. Bob handed his hoe and rake to Jack Pollock. 

"Carry 'em a minute, " he explained. "I hurt my hand a little. "

As he walked along he bound the finger roughly to its neighbour, and onboth tied a rude splint. 

"What's up?" he muttered to Jack, as he worked at this. 

"I reckon we must be goin' to start a fire line back of the nextcross-bridge somewheres, " Jack ventured his opinion. 

Bob stopped short. 

"Then we've abandoned the old one!" he exclaimed. 

"Complete, " spoke up Ware, who overheard. 

"And all the work we've done there is useless?"

"Absolutely. "

"We've got it all to do over again from the beginning?"

"Certain sure. "

Bob adjusted his mind to this new and rather overwhelming idea. 

"I saw Senator What's-his-name--from Montana--made a speech the otherday, " spoke up Elliott, "in which he attacked the Service because hesaid it was a refuge for consumptives and incompetents!"

At this moment Amy rode up draped with canteens and balancing carefullya steaming pail of coffee. She was accompanied by another womansimilarly provided. 

The newcomer was a decided-looking girl under thirty, with a full, strong figure, pronounced flaxen-blond hair, a clear though somewhatsunburned skin, blue eyes, and a flash of strong, white teeth. Bob hadnever seen her before, but he recognized her as a mountain woman. Sherode a pinto, guided by a hackamore, and was attired quite simply in theuniversal broad felt hat and a serviceable blue calico gown. In spite ofthis she rode astride; and rode well. A throwing rope, or riata, hung inthe sling at the right side of her saddle pommel; and it looked asthough it had been used. 

"Where's Charley?" she asked promptly as she rode up. "Is that you? Youlook like a nigger. How you feeling? You just mind me, and don't you tryto do too much. You don't get paid for overtime at this job. "

"Hullo, Lou, " replied Charley Morton; "I thought it was about time youshowed up. "

The woman nodded at the others. 

"Howdy, Mrs. Morton, " answered Tom Carroll, Pollock and Ware. Bob andElliott bowed. 

By now the fire had been left far in the rear. The crackling of flameshad died in the distance; even the smoke cleared from the atmosphere. All the forest was peaceful and cool. The Douglas squirrels scamperedand barked; the birds twittered and flashed or slanted in long flightthrough the trees; the sun shone soft; a cool breeze ruffled thefeathery tips of the tarweed. 

At the top of the ridge Charley Morton called a halt. 

"This is pretty easy country, " said he. "We'll run the line square downeither side. Get busy. "

"Have a cup of coffee first, " urged Amy. 

"Surely. Forgot that. "

They drank the coffee, finding it good, and tucked away the lunches Amy, with her unfailing forethought, had brought them. 

"Good-bye!" she called gaily; "I've got to get back to camp before thefire cuts me off. I won't see you again till the fire burns me out a wayto get to you. "

"Take my horse, too, " said Mrs. Morton, dismounting. "You don't need mein camp. "

Amy took the lead rein and rode away as a matter of course. She wasquite alone to guard the horses and camp equipage on the little knollwhile the fire spent its fury all around her. Everybody seemed to takethe matter for granted; but Bob looked after her with mingled feelingsof anxiety and astonishment. This Western breed of girl was still beyondhis comprehension. 

The work was at once begun. In spite of the cruel throb of his injuredhand, Bob found the labour pleasant by sheer force of contrast. The airwas cool, the shade refreshing, the frantic necessity of struggleabsent. He raked carefully his broad path among the pine needles, layingbare the brown earth; hoed and chopped in the tarweed and brush. Severaltimes Charley Morton passed him. Each time the ranger paused for amoment to advise him. 

"You ought to throw your line farther back, " he told Bob. "See that'dead-and-down' ahead? If you let that cross your fire line, it'll carrythe fire sooner or later, sure; and if you curve your line too quick togo around it, the fire'll jump. You want to keep your eye out 'wayahead. "

Once Bob caught a glimpse of blue calico through the trees. As he camenearer, he was surprised to see Mrs. Morton working away stoutly with ahoe. Her skirts were turned back, her sleeves rolled up to display awhite and plump forearm, the neck of her gown loosened to show a roundand well-moulded neck. The strokes of her hoe were as vigorous as thoseof any of the men. In watching the strong, free movements of her body, Bob forgot for a moment what had been intruding itself on him with moreand more insistance--the throb of his broken hand. 

In the course of an hour the fire line was well under way. But now wispsof smoke began to drift down the tree aisles. Birds shot past, at firstby ones and twos, later in flocks. A deer that must have lain perdu tolet them pass bounded across the ridge, his head high, his nostrilswide. The squirrels ran chattering down the trees, up others, leapedacross the gaps, working always farther and farther to the north. Thecool breeze carried with it puffs of hot air. Finally in distantopenings could be discerned little busy, flickering flames. All at oncethe thought gripped Bob hard: the might of the fire was about to testthe quality of his work!

"There she comes!" gasped Charley Morton. "My Lord, how she's runto-day! We got to close the line to that stone dike. "

By one of the lightning transitions of motive with which theseactivities seemed to abound, the affair had become a very deadly earnestsort of race. It was simple. If the men could touch the dike before thefire, they won. 

The realization of this electrified even the weary spirits of thefire-fighters. They redoubled their efforts. The hoes, mattocks and axesrose and fell feverishly. Mrs. Morton, the perspiration matting herbeautiful and shining hair across her forehead, laboured with the best. The fire, having gained the upward-rising slope, came at them with thespeed of an enemy charging. Soon they were fairly choked by the denseclouds of smoke, fairly scorched by the waves of heat. Sweat poured fromthem in streams. Bob utterly forgot his wounded hand. 

And then, when they were within a scant fifty yards of the dike whichwas intended to be their right wing, the flames sprang with a roar tonew life. Up the slope they galloped, whirled around the end of the fireline, and began eagerly to lick up the tarweed and needles of theridge-top. 

Bob and Elliott uttered a simultaneous cry of dismay. The victory hadseemed fairly in their grasp. Now all chance of it was snatched away. 

"Poor guess, " said Charley Morton. The men, without other comment, shouldered their implements and set off on a dog-trot after theirleader. The ranger merely fell back to the next natural barrier. 

"Now, let's see if we can't hold her, boys, " said he. 

Twice again that day were these scenes reënacted. The same resultobtained. Each time it seemed to Bob that he could do no more. His handfelt as big as a pillow, and his whole arm and shoulder ached. Besidesthis he was tired out. Amy had been cut off from them by the fire. Intwo days they had had but an hour's sleep. Water had long since givenout on them. The sun beat hot and merciless, assisting its kinsman, thefire. Bob would, if left to himself, have given up the contest longsince. It seemed ridiculous that this little handful of men should hopeto arrest anything so mighty, so proud, so magnificent as this greatconflagration. As well expect a colony of ants to stop a break in thelevee. But Morton continued to fall back as though each defeat were amatter of course. He seemed unwearied, though beneath the smoke-blackhis eyes were hollow. Mrs. Morton did her part with the rest, strong asa man for all her feminine attraction, for all the soft lines of herfigure. 

"I'll drop back far enough this time, " Charley muttered to her, as theywere thrown together in their last retreat. "Can't seem to get farenough back!"

"There's too few of us to handle such a big fire, " his wife replied. "You can't do it with six men. "

"Seven, " amended Charley. "You're as good as any of us. Don't youworry, Lou. Even if we don't stop her--and I think we will--we'rechecking the run of her until we get help. We're doing well. There'sonly two old fire-fighters in the lot--you and me. All the rest is greenhands. We're doing almighty well. "

Overhearing this Bob plucked up heart. These desperate stands were notthen so wasted as he had thought them. At least the fire was checked ateach defence--it was not permitted to run wild over the country. 

"We ought to get help before long, " he said. 

"To-morrow, I figure, " replied Charley Morton. "The boys are scatteredwide, finishing odds and ends before coming in for the Fourth. It'll beabout impossible to get hold of any of 'em except by accident. Butthey'll all come in for the Fourth. "

The next defence was successfully completed before the fire reached it. Bob felt a sudden rush of most extraordinary and vivifying emotion. Amoment ago he had been ready to drop in his tracks, indifferent whetherthe fire burned him as he lay. Now he felt ready to go on forever. BertElliott found energy enough to throw his hat into the air, while Jackshook his fist at the advancing fire. 

"We fooled him that time!" cried Elliott. 

"Bet you!" growled Pollock. 

The other men and the woman stood leaning on the long handles of theirimplements staring at the advancing flames. 

Morton aroused himself with an effort. 

"Do your best boys, " said he briefly. "There she comes. Another hourwill tell whether we've stopped her. Then we've got to hold her. Scatter!"

The day had passed without anybody's being aware of the fact. The coolof the evening was already falling, and the fierceness of theconflagration was falling in accord. 

They held the line until the flames had burned themselves out againstit. Then they took up their weary patrol. Last night, when Bob wasfresh, this part of fire-fighting had seemed the hardest kind of hardwork. Now, crippled and weary as he was, in contrast to the day'sgreater labour, it had become comparatively easy. About eight o'clockAmy, having found a way through, appeared leading all the horses, saddled and packed. 

"You boys came a long way, " she explained simply, "and I thought I'dbring over camp. "

She distributed food, and made trips down the fire line with coffee. 

In this manner the night passed. The line had been held. No one hadslept. Sunrise found Bob and Jack Pollock far down the mountain. Theywere doggedly beating back some tiny flames. The camp was a thousandfeet above, and their canteens had long been empty. Bob raised his wearyeyes. 

Out on a rock inside the burned area, like a sentinel cast in bronze, stood a horseman. The light was behind him, so only his outline could beseen. For a minute he stood there quite motionless, looking. Then hemoved forward, and another came up behind him on the rock. This oneadvanced, and a third took his place. One after the other, in singlefile, they came, glittering in the sun, their long rakes and hoesslanted over their shoulders like spears. 

"Look!" gasped Bob weakly. 

The two stood side by side spellbound. The tiny flames licked past themin the tarweed; they did not heed. The horsemen rode up, twenty strong. It seemed to Bob that they said things, and shouted. Certainly ahalf-dozen leaped spryly off their horses and in an instant had confinedthe escaping fire. Somebody took Bob's hoe from him. A cheery voiceshouted in his ear:

"Hop along! You're through. We're on the job. Go back to camp and take asleep. "

He and Pollock turned up the mountain. Bob felt stupid. After he hadgone a hundred feet, he realized he was thirsty, and wondered why hehad not asked for a drink. Then it came to him that he might haveborrowed a horse, but remembered thickly after a long time theimpassable dikes between him and camp. 

"That's why I didn't, " he said aloud. 

By this time it was too late to go back for the drink. He did not care. The excitement and responsibility had drained from him suddenly, leavinghim a hollow shell. 

They dragged themselves up the dike. 

"I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!" said Pollocksuddenly. 

They stumbled and staggered on. A twig sufficed to trip them. Pollockmuttered between set teeth, over and over again, his unvaryingcomplaint: "I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!"

Finally, with a flicker of vitality, Bob's sense of humour cleared foran instant. 

"Not high enough, " said he. "Make it two dollars, and maybe some angelwill hand you out a glass. "

"That's all right, " returned Pollock resentfully, "but I bet there'ssome down in that hollow; and I'm going to see!"

"I wouldn't climb down there for a million drinks, " said Bob; "I'll sitdown and wait for you. "

Pollock climbed down, found his water, drank. He filled the canteen andstaggered back up the steep climb. 

"Here you be, " said he. 

Bob seized the canteen and drank deep. When he took breath, he said:

"Thank you, Jack. That was an awful climb back. "

"That's all right, " nodded Jack shortly. 

"Well, come on, " said Bob. 

"The hell!" muttered Jack, and fell over sound asleep. 

An hour later Bob felt himself being shaken violently. He stirred andadvanced a little way toward the light, then dropped back like a plummetinto the abysses of sleep. Afterward he recalled a vague, half-conscious impression of being lifted on a horse. Possibly hemanaged to hang on; possibly he was held in the saddle--that he neverknew. 

The next thing he seemed conscious of was the flicker of a camp-fire, and the soft feel of blankets. It was night, but how it came to be so hecould not imagine. He was very stiff and sore and burned, and his handwas very painful. He moved it, and discovered, to his vast surprise, that it was bound tightly. When this bit of surgery had been performedhe could not have told. 

He opened his eyes. Amy and Mrs. Morton were bending over cookingutensils. Five motionless forms reposed in blankets. Bob counted themcarefully. After some moments it occurred to his dulled brain that thenumber represented his companions. Some one on horseback seemed to bearriving. A glitter of silver caught his eye. He recognized finallyCalifornia John. Then he dozed off again. The sound of voices rumbledthrough the haze of his half-consciousness. 

"Fifty hours of steady fire-fighting with only an hour's sleep!" hecaught Thorne's voice saying. 

Bob took this statement into himself. He computed painfully over andover. He could not make the figures. He counted the hours one after theother. Finally he saw. 

"Fifty hours for all but Pollock and me, " he said suddenly; "forty forus. "

No one heard him. As a matter of fact, he had not spoken aloud; thoughhe thought he had done so. 

"We found the two of them curled up together, " he next heard Thorne say. "Orde was coiled around a sharp root--and didn't know it, and Pollockwas on top of him. They were out in the full sun, and a procession ofred ants was disappearing up Orde's pants leg and coming out at hiscollar. Fact!"

"They're a good lot, " admitted California John. "Best unbroke lot I eversaw. "

"We found Orde's finger broken and badly swelled. Heaven knows when hedid it, but he never peeped. Morton says he noticed his hand done up ina handkerchief yesterday morning. "

Bob dozed again. From time to time he caught fragments--"Fourfire-lines--think of it--only one old-timer in the lot--I'm proud of myboys----"

He came next to full consciousness to hear Thorne saying:

"Mrs. Morton fought fire with the best of them. That's the ranger spiritI like--when as of old the women and children----"

"Don't praise me, " broke in Mrs. Morton tartly. "I don't give a red centfor all your forests, and your pesky rangering. I've got no use forthem. If Charley Morton would quit you and tend to his cattle, I'd bepleased. I didn't fight fire to help you, let me tell you. "

"What did you do it for?" asked Thorne, evidently amused. 

"I knew I couldn't get Charley Morton home and in bed and _resting_until that pesky fire was _out_; that's why!" shot back Mrs. Morton. 

"Well, Mrs. Morton, " said Thorne composedly, "if you're ever fixed sosass will help you out, you'll find it a very valuable quality. "

Then Bob fell into a deep sleep. 

VII

On returning to headquarters, as Bob was naturally somewhatincapacitated for manual work, he was given the fire patrol. This meantthat every day he was required to ride to four several "lookouts" on themain ridge, from which points he could spy abroad carefully over vaststretches of mountainous country. One of these was near the meadow ofthe cold spring whence the three of them had first caught sight of theGranite Creek fire. Thence he turned sharp to the north along the ridgetop. The trail led among great trees that dropped away to right and lefton the slopes of the mountain. Through them he caught glimpses of theblue distance, or far-off glittering snow, or unexpected caņon depths. The riding was smooth, over undulating knolls. Every once in a whilepassing through a "_puerto suelo_, " he looked on either side to tinygreen meadows, from which streams were born. Occasionally he saw a deer, or more likely small bands of the wild mountain cattle that swung alongbefore him, heads held high, eyes staring, nostrils expanded. Then Bobfelt his pony's muscles stiffen beneath his thighs, and saw the animal'slittle ears prick first forward at the cattle, then back for hismaster's commands. 

After three miles of this he came out on a broad plateau formed by thejoining of his ridge with that of the Baldy range. Here Granite Creekitself rose, and the stream that flowed by the mill. It was a country ofwild, park-like vistas between small pines, with a floor of granite andshale. Over it frowned the steeps of Baldy, with its massive domes, itssheer precipices, and its scant tree-growth clinging to its sides. Against the sky it looked very rugged, very old, very formidable; andthe sky, behind its yellowed age, was inconceivably blue. 

Sometimes Bob rode up into the pass. More often he tied his horse andtook the steep rough trail afoot. The way was guarded by strange, distorted trees, and rocks carved into fantastic shapes. Some of themwere piled high like temples. Others, round and squat, resembled the fatand obscene deities of Eastern religions. There were seals and elephantsand crocodiles and allegorical monsters, some of them as tiny as thegrotesque Japanese carvings, others as stupendous as Egypt. The trailled by them, among them, between them. At their feet clutched snowbush, ground juniper, the gnarled fingers of manzaņita, like devotees. Afoaming little stream crept and plunged over bare and splintered rocks. Twisted junipers and the dwarf pines of high elevations crouched likemalignant gnomes amongst the boulders, or tossed their arms like witcheson the crags. This bold and splintered range rose from the softness andmystery of the great pine woods on the lower ridge as a rock rises abovecool water. 

The pass itself was not over fifty feet wide. Either side of it likeportals were the high peaks. It lay like the notch of a rifle sightbetween them. Once having gained the tiny platform, Bob would sit downand look abroad over the wonderful Sierra. 

Never did he tire of this. At one eye-glance he could comprehend asummer's toilsome travel. To reach yonder snowy peak would consume thegreater part of a week. Unlike the Swiss alps, which he had oncevisited, these mountains were not only high, but wide as well. They hadthe whole of blue space in which to lie. They were like the stars, forwhen Bob had convinced himself that his eye had settled on the farthestpeak, then still farther, taking half-guessed iridescent form out of theblue, another shone. 

But his business was not with these distances. Almost below him, soprecipitous is the easterly slope of Baldy, lay caņons, pine forests, lesser ridges, streams, the green of meadows. Patiently, piece by piece, he must go over all this, watching for that faint blue haze, thatdeepening of the atmosphere, that almost imagined pearliness against thedistant hills which meant new fire. 

"Don't look for _smoke_, " California John had told him. "When a firegets big enough for smoke, you can't help but see it. It's the new fireyou want to spot before it gets started. Then it's easy handled. And newfire's almighty easy to overlook. Sometimes it's as hard for a greenhornto see as a deer. Look close!"

So Bob, concentrating his attention, looked close. When he had satisfiedhimself, he turned square around. 

From this point of view he saw only pine forests. They covered the ridgebelow him like a soft green mantle thrown down in folds. They softenedthe more distant ranges. They billowed and eddied, and dropped intounguessed depths, and came bravely up to eyesight again far away. Atlast they seemed to change colour abruptly, and a brown haze overcastthem through which glimmered a hint of yellow. This Bob knew was theplain, hot and brown under the July sun. It rose dimly through the mistto the height of his eye. Thus, even at eight thousand feet, Bob seemedto stand in the cup of the earth, beneath the cup of the sky. 

The other two lookouts were on the edge of the lower ridge. They gave anopportunity of examining various coves and valleys concealed by theshoulder of the ridge from the observer on Baldy. To reach them Bob rodeacross the plateau of the ridge, through the pine forests, past themill. 

Here, if the afternoon was not too far advanced, he used to allowhimself the luxury of a moment's chat with some of his old friends. Welton, coat off, his burly face perspiring and red, always greeted himjovially. 

"Spend all your salary this month?" he would ask. "Does the businesskeep you occupied?" And once or twice, seriously, "Bob, haven't you hadenough of this confounded nonsense? You're getting too old to find anygreat fun riding around in this kid fashion pretending to do things. There's big business to be done in this country, and we need you boys tohelp. When I was a youngster I'd have jumped hard at half the chancethat's offered you. "

But Bob never would answer seriously. He knew this to be his only chanceof avoiding even a deeper misunderstanding between himself and this manwhom he had learned to admire and love. 

Once he met Baker. That young man greeted him as gaily as ever, but intohis manner had crept the shadow of a cold contempt. The stout youth'sstandards were his own, and rigid, as is often the case with people ofhis type. Bob felt himself suddenly and ruthlessly excluded from theranks of those worthy of Baker's respect. A hard quality of character, hitherto unsuspected, stared from the fat young man's impudent blueeyes. Baker was perfectly polite, and suitably jocular; but he had notmuch time for Bob; and soon plunged into a deep discussion with Weltonfrom which Bob was unmistakably excluded. 

On one occasion, too, he encountered Oldham riding down the trail fromheadquarters. The older man had nodded to him curtly. His eyes hadgleamed through his glasses with an ill-concealed and frosty amusement, and his thin lips had straightened to a perceptible sneer. All at onceBob divined an enemy. He could not account for this, as he had neverdealt with the man; and the accident of his discovering the gasolinepump on the Lucky Land Company's creeks could hardly be supposed toaccount for quite so malignant a triumph. Next time Bob saw Welton, heasked his old employer about it. 

"What have I ever done to Oldham?" he inquired. "Do you know?"

"Oldham?" repeated Welton. 

"Baker's land agent. "

"Oh, yes. I never happened to run across him. Don't know him at all. "

Bob put down Oldham's manifest hatred to pettiness of disposition. 

Even from Merker, the philosophic storekeeper, Bob obtained scantcomfort. 

"Men like you, with ability, youth, energy, " said Merker, "producingnothing, just conserving, saving. Conditions should be such that thepossibility of fire, of trespass, of all you fellows guard against, should be eliminated. Then you could supply steam, energy, accomplishment, instead of being merely the lubrication. It's aneconomic waste. "

Bob left the mill-yards half-depressed, half-amused. All his people hadbecome alien. He opposed them in nothing, his work in no way interferedwith their activities; yet, without his volition, and probably withouttheir realization, he was already looked upon as one to be held at arms'length. It saddened Bob, as it does every right-thinking young man whenhe arrives at setting up his own standards of conduct and his own waysof life. He longed with a great longing, which at the same time herealized to be hopeless, to make these people feel as he felt. It gavehim real pain to find that his way of life could never gain anythingbeyond disapproval or incomprehension. It took considerable fortitude toconclude that he now must build his own structure, unsupported. He wasentering the loneliness of soul inseparable from complete manhood. 

After such disquieting contacts, the more uncomfortable in that theydefied analysis, Bob rode out to the last lookout and gazed abroad overthe land. The pineclad bluff fell away nearly four thousand feet. Belowhim the country lay spread like a relief map--valley, lesser ranges, foothills, far-off plain, the green of trees, the brown of grass andharvest, the blue of glimpsed water, the haze of heat and greatdistance, the thread-like gossamer of roads, the half-guessed shimmer oftowns and cities in the mirage of summer, all the opulence of earth andthe business of human activity. Millions dwelt in that haze, and beyondthem, across the curve of the earth, hundreds of millions more, eachactuated by its own selfishness or charity, by its own conception of thethings nearest it. Not one in a multitude saw or cared beyond theimmediate, nor bothered his head with what it all meant, or whether itmeant anything. Bob, sitting on his motionless horse high up there inthe world, elevated above it all, in an isolation of pines, close underhis sky, bent his ear to the imagined faint humming of the spheres. Affairs went on. The machine fulfilled its function. All things hadtheir place, the evil as well as the good, the waste as well as thebuilding, balancing like the governor of an engine the opposition offorces. He saw, by the soft flooding of light, rather than by any flashof insight, that were the shortsightedness, the indifference, theignorance, the crass selfishness to be eliminated before yet the world'swork was done, the energies of men, running too easily, would outstripthe development of the Plan, as a machine "races" without its load. Ahumility came to him. His not to judge his fellows by the mere externalsof their deeds. He could only act honestly according to what he saw, ashe hoped others were doing. 

"Just so a man isn't _mean_, I don't know as I have any right to despisehim, " he summed it all up to his horse. "But, " he added cheerfully, "that doesn't prevent my kicking him into the paths of righteousness ifhe tries to steal my watch. "

The sun dipped toward the heat haze of the plains. It was from a goldenworld that Bob turned at last to ride through the forest to thecheerfulness of his rude camp. 

VIII

Bob took his examinations, passed successfully, and was at onceappointed as ranger. Thorne had no intention of neglecting the youngman's ability. After his arduous apprenticeship at all sorts of labour, Bob found himself specializing. This, he discovered, was becoming moreand more the tendency in the personnel of the Service. Jack Pollockalready was being sent far afield, looking into grazing conditions, reporting on the state of the range, the advisable number of cattle, thetrespass cases. He had a natural aptitude for that sort of thing. Ware, on the other hand, developed into a mighty builder. Nothing pleased himmore than to discover new ways through the country, to open them up, toblast and dig and construct his trails, to nose out bridge sites and onthem to build spans hewn from the material at hand. He made himself aset of stencils and with them signed all the forks of the trails, sothat a stranger could follow the routes. Always he painstakingly addedthe letters U. S. F. S. To indicate that these works had been done by hisbeloved Service. Charley Morton was the fire chief--though any and alltook a hand at that when occasion arose. He could, as California Johnexpressed it, run a fire out on a rocky point and lose it there betterthan any other man on the force. Ross Fletcher was the best policeman. He knew the mountains, their infinite labyrinths, better than any other;and he could guess the location of sheep where another might havesearched all summer. 

Though each and every man was kept busy enough, and to spare, on all thevaried business inseparable from the activities of a National Forest, nevertheless Thorne knew enough to avail himself of these especial giftsand likings. So, early in the summer he called in Bob and Elliott. 

"Now, " he told them, "we have plenty of work to do, and you boys mustbuckle into it as you see fit. But this is what I want you to keep inthe back of your mind: someday the National Forests are going to supplya great part of the timber in the country. It's too early yet. There'stoo much private timber standing, which can be cut without restriction. But when that is largely reduced, Uncle Sam will be going into thelumber business on a big scale. Even now we will be selling a few shaketrees, and some small lots, and occasionally a bigger piece to some ofthe lumbermen who own adjoining timber. We've got to know what we haveto sell. For instance, there's eighty acres in there surrounded byWelton's timber. When he comes to cut, it might pay us and him to sellthe ripe trees off that eighty. "

"I doubt if he'd think it would pay, " Bob interposed. 

"He might. I think the Chief will ease up a little on cuttingrestrictions before long. You've simply got to over-emphasize a matterat first to make it carry. "

"You mean----?"

"I mean--this is only my private opinion, you understand--thatlumbering has been done so wastefully and badly that it has beennecessary, merely as education, to go to the other extreme. We'veinsisted on chopping and piling the tops like cordwood, and cutting upthe down trunks of trees, and generally 'parking' the forest simply toget the idea into people's heads. They'd never thought of such thingsbefore. I don't believe it's necessary to go to such extremes, practically; and I don't believe the Service will demand it when itcomes actually to do business. "

Elliott and Bob looked at each other a little astonished. 

"Mind you, I don't talk this way outside; and I don't want you to doso, " pursued Thorne. "But when you come right down to it, all that'snecessary is to prevent fire from running--and, of course, to leave afew seed-trees. Yo' can keep fire from running just as well by pilingthe debris in isolated heaps, as by chopping it up and stacking it. Andit's a lot cheaper. "

He leaned forward. 

"That's coming, " he continued. "Now you, Elliott, have had as thorough atheoretical education as the schools can give you; and you, Orde, havehad a lot of practical experience in logging. You ought to make a goodpair. Here's a map of the Government holdings hereabouts. What I want isa working plan for every forty, together with a topographicaldescription, an estimate of timber, and a plan for the easiest method oflogging it. There's no hurry about it; you can do it when nothing elsecomes up to take you away. But do it thoroughly, and to the best of yourjudgment, so I can file your reports for future reference when they areneeded. "

"Where do you want us to begin?" asked Bob. 

"Welton is the only big operator, " Thorpe pointed out, "so you'd betterlook over the timber adjoining or surrounded by his. Then the basin andranges above the Power Company are important. There's a fine body oftimber there, but we must cut it with a more than usual attention towater supplies. "

This work Bob and Elliott found most congenial. They would start earlyin the morning, carrying with them their compass on its Jacob's-staff, their chain, their field notes, their maps and their axes. Arrived atthe scene of operations, they unsaddled and picketed their horses. Thencommenced a search for the "corner, " established nearly fifty yearsbefore by the dead and gone surveyor, a copy of those field notes nowguided them. This was no easy matter. The field notes describedaccurately the location, but in fifty years the character of a countrymay change. Great trees fall, new trees grow up, brush clothes anerstwhile bare hillside, fire denudes a slope, even the rocks andboulders shift their places under the coercion of frost or avalanche. The young men separated, shoulder deep in the high brakes and alders ofa creek bottom, climbing tiny among great trees on the open slope of adistant hill, clambering busily among austere domes and pinnacles, fading in the cool green depths of the forest. Finally one would shoutloudly. The other scrambled across. 

"Here we are, " Bob said, pointing to the trunk of a huge yellow pine. 

On it showed a wrinkle in the bark, only just appreciable. 

"There's our line blaze, " said Bob. "Let's see if we can find it in thenotes. " He opened his book. "'Small creek three links wide, course SW, '"he murmured. "'Sugar pine, 48 in. Dia. , on line, 48 links. ' That's notit. 'Top of ridge 34 ch. 6 1. Course NE. ' Now we come to the down slope. Here we are! 'Yellow pine 20 in. Dia. , on line, 50 chains. ' Twentyinches! Well, old fellow, you've grown some since! Let's see yourcompass, Elliott. "

Having thus cut the line, they established their course and went duenorth, spying sharply for the landmarks and old blazes as mentioned inthe surveyor's field notes. 

When they had gone about the required distance, they began to look forthe corner. After some search, Elliott called Bob's attention to agrown-over blaze. 

"I guess this is our witness tree, " said he. 

Without a word Bob began to chop above and below the wrinkle in thebark. After ten minutes careful work, he laid aside a thick slab ofwood. The inner surface of this was shiny with pitch. The space fromwhich it had peeled was also coated with the smooth substance. Thispitch had filmed over the old blaze, protecting it against the new woodand bark which had gradually grown over it. Thus, although the originalblaze had been buried six inches in the living white pine wood, nevertheless the lettering was as clear and sharp as when it had beencarved fifty years before. Furthermore, the same lettering, onlyreversed and in relief, showed on the thick slab that Bob had peeledaway. So the tree had preserved the record in its heart. 

"Now let's see, " said Bob. "This witness bears S 80 W. Let's findanother. "

This proved to be no great matter. Sighting the given directions fromthe two, they converged on the corner. This was described by the oldsurveyor as: "Oak post, 4 in. Dia. , set in pile of rocks, " etc. The pileof rocks was now represented by scattered stones; and the oak post hadlong since rotted. Bob, however, unearthed a fragment on which ran asingle grooved mark. It was like those made by borers in dead limbs. Were it not for one circumstance, the searchers would not have beenjustified in assuming that it was anything else. But, as Bob pointedout, the passageways made by borers are never straight. The fact thatthis was so, established indisputably that it had been made by thesurveyor's steel "scribe. "

Having thus located a corner, it was an easy matter to determine theposition of a tract of land. At first hazy in its general configurationand extent, it took definition as the young men progressed with theaccurate work of timber estimating. Before they had finished with it, they knew every little hollow, ridge, ravine, rock and tree in it. Outof the whole vast wilderness this one small patch had become thoroughlyknown. 

The work was the most pleasant of any Bob had ever undertaken. Itdemanded accuracy, good judgment, knowledge. It did not require feverishhaste. The surroundings were wonderfully beautiful; and if the menpaused in their work, as they often did, the spirit of the woods, whichas always had drawn aside from the engrossments of human activity, camecloser as with fluttering of wings. Sometimes, nervous and impatientfrom the busy, tiny clatter of facts and figures and guesses, from therestless shuttle-weaving of estimates and plans, Bob looked up suddenlyinto a deathless and eternal peace. Like the cool green refreshment ofwaters it closed over him. When he again came to the surface-world ofhis occupation, he was rested and slowed down to a respectable patience. 

Elliott was good company, interested in the work, well-bred, intelligent, eager to do his share--an ideal companion. He and Bobdiscussed many affairs during their rides to and from the work andduring the interims of rest. As time went on, and the tracts to beestimated and plotted became more distant, they no longer attempted toreturn at night to Headquarters. Small meadows offered them restingplaces for the day or the week. They became expert in taking care ofthemselves so expeditiously that the process stole little time fromtheir labours. On Saturday afternoon they rode to headquarters toreport, and to spend Sunday. 

IX

Toward the end of the season they had worked well past the main ridge onwhich were situated Welton's operations and the Service Headquarters. Several deep caņons and rocky peaks, by Thorne's instructions, theyskipped over as only remotely available as a timber supply. This broughtthem to the ample circle of a basin, well-timbered, wide, containing anunusual acreage of gently sloping or rolling table-land. Behind thisrose the spurs of the Range. A half-hundred streams here had theirorigin. These converged finally in the Forks, which, leaping andplunging steadily downward from a height of over six thousand feet, wastrapped and used again and again to turn the armatures of Baker'sdynamos. After serving this purpose at six power houses strung down thecontour line of its descent, the water was deflected into wide, deepditches which forked and forked again until a whole plains province wasrendered fertile and productive by irrigation. 

All this California John, who rode over to show them some corners, explained to them. They sat on the rim of the basin overlooking it as itlay below them like a green cup. 

"You can see the whole of her from here, " said California John, "andthat's why we use this for fire lookout. It saves a heap of riding, forlet me tell you it's a long ways down this bluff. But you bet we keep aclose watch on this Basin. It's the most valuable, as a watershed, ofany we've got. This is about the only country we've managed to throw afire-break around yet. It took a lot of time to do it, but it's worthwhile. "

"This is where the Power Company gets its power, " remarked Bob. 

"Yes, " replied California John, drily. "Which same company is putting upthe fight of its life in Congress to keep from payin' anything at allfor what it gets. "

They gave themselves to the task of descending into the Basin by a steepand rough trail. At the end of an hour, their horses stepped from theside of the hill to a broad, pleasant flat on which the tall trees grewlarger than any Bob had seen on the ridge. 

"What magnificent timber!" he cried. "How does it happen this wasn'ttaken up long ago?"

"Well, " said California John, "a good share of it _is_ claimed by thePower Company; and unless you come up the way we did, you don't see it. From below, all this looks like part of the bald ridge. Even if acruiser in the old days happened to look down on this, he wouldn'trealize how good it was unless he came down to it--it's all just treesfrom above. And in those days there were lots of trees easier to comeat. "

"It's great timber!" repeated Bob. "That 'sugar's' eight feet through ifit's an inch!"

"Nearer nine, " said California John. 

"It'll be some years' work to estimate and plot all this, " mused Bob. "If it's so important a watershed, what do they _want_ it plotted for?They'll never want to cut it. "

"There ain't so much of it left, as you'll see when you look at yourmap. The Power Company owns most. Anyway, government cutting won't hurtthe watershed, " stated California John. 

As they rode forward through the trees, a half-dozen deer jumpedstartled from a clump of low brush and sped away. 

"That's more deer than I've seen in a bunch since I left Michigan, "observed Bob. 

"Nobody ever gets into this place, " explained California John. "Thereain't been a fire here in years, and we don't none of us have anyreason to ride down. She's too hard to get out of, and we can see hertoo well from the lookout. The rest of the country feels pretty much thesame way. "

"How about sheep?" inquired Elliott. 

"They got to get in over some trail, if they get in at all, " CaliforniaJohn pointed out, "and we can circle the Basin. "

By now they were riding over a bed of springy pine needles through amagnificent open forest. Undergrowth absolutely lacked; even the softgreen of the bear clover was absent. The straight columns of the treesrose grandly from a swept floor. Only where tiny streams trickled andsang through rocks and shallow courses, grew ferns and the huge leavesof the saxifrage. In this temple-like austerity dwelt a silence unusualto the Sierra forests. The lack of undergrowth and younger trees implieda scarcity of insects; and this condition meant an equal scarcity ofbirds. Only the creepers and the great pileated woodpeckers seemed toinhabit these truly cloistral shades. The breeze passed through branchestoo elevated to permit its whisperings to be heard. The very sound ofthe horses' hoofs was muffled in the thick carpet of pine needles. 

California John led them sharp to the right, however, and in a fewmoments they emerged to cheerful sunlight, alders, young pines among theold, a leaping flashing stream of some size, and multitudes of birds, squirrels, insects and butterflies. 

"There's a meadow, and a good camping place just up-stream, " said he. "It's easy riding. You'd better spread your blankets there. Now, here'sthe corner to 34. We reëstablished it four years ago, so as to have_something_ to go by in this country. You can find your way about fromthere. That bold cliff of rock you see just through the trees there youcan climb. From the top you can make out the lookout. If you're wantedat headquarters we'll hang out a signal. That will save a hard ridedown. Let's see; how long you got grub for?"

"I guess there's enough to last us ten days or so, " replied Elliott. 

"Well, if you keep down this stream until you strike a big bald sliderock, you'll run into an old trail that takes you to the Flats. It'spretty old, and it ain't blazed, but you can make it out if you'll sortof keep track of the country. It ain't been used for years. "

California John, anxious to make a start at the hard climb, now saidgood-bye and started back. Bob and Elliott, their pack horse following, rode up the flat through which ran the river. They soon found themeadow. It proved to be a beautiful spot, surrounded by cedars, warmwith the sun, bright with colour, alive with birds. A fringe of azaleas, cottonwoods and quaking asps screened it completely from all that layoutside its charmed circle. A cheerful blue sky spread its canopyoverhead. Here Bob and Elliott turned loose their horses and made theircamp. After lunch they lay on their backs and smoked. Through a notch inthe trees showed a very white mountain against a very blue sky. The sunwarmed them gratefully. Birds sang. Squirrels scampered. Their horsesstood dozing, ears and head down-drooped, eyes half-closed, one hind legtucked up. 

"Confound it!" cried Elliott suddenly, following his unspoken thought. "I feel like a bad little boy stealing jam! By night I'll be scared. Ifthose woods over behind that screen aren't full of large, dignified godsthat disapprove of me being so cheerful and contented and light-mindedand frivolous, I miss my guess!"

"Same here!" said Bob with, a short laugh. "Let's get busy. "

They started out that very afternoon from the corner California John hadshowed them. It took all that day and most of the following to defineand blaze the boundaries of the first tract they intended to estimate. In the accomplishment of this they found nothing out of the ordinary;but when they began to move forward across the forty, they were soonbrought to a halt by the unexpected. 

"Look here!" Bob shouted to his companion; "here's a brand new corneraway off the line. "

Elliott came over. Bob showed him a stake set neatly in a pile of rocks. 

"It's not a very old one, either, " said Bob. "Now what do you make ofthat?"

Elliott had been spying about him. 

"There's another just like it over on the hill, " said he. "I should callit the stakes of a mining claim. There ought to be a notice somewhere. "

They looked about and soon came across the notice in question. It wasmade out in the name of a man neither Bob nor Elliott had ever heard ofbefore. 

"I suppose that's his ledge, " remarked Elliott, kicking a littleoutcrop, "but it looks like mighty slim mining to me!"

They proceeded with their estimating. In due time they came upon anothermining claim, and then a third. 

"This is getting funny!" remarked Elliott. "Looks as though somebodyexpected to make a strike for fair. More timber than mineral here, Ishould say. "

"That's it!" cried Bob, slapping his leg; "I'd just about forgotten!This must be what Baker was talking about one evening over at camp. Hehad some scheme for getting some timber and water rights somewhere underthe mineral act. I didn't pay so very much attention to it at the time, and it had slipped my mind. But this must be it!"

"Do you mean to say that any man was going to take this beautiful timberaway from us on that kind of a technicality?"

"I believe that's just what he did. "

Two days later Elliott straightened his back after a squint through thecompass sights to exclaim:

"I wish we had a dog!"

"Why?" laughed Bob. "Can't you eat your share?"

"I've a feeling that somebody's hanging around these woods; I've had itever since we got here. And just now while I was looking through thesights I thought I saw something--you know how the sights willconcentrate your gaze. "

"It's these big woods, " said Bob; "I've had the same hunch before. Besides, you can easily look for tracks along your line of sights. "

They did so, but found nothing. 

"But among these rocks a man needn't leave any tracks if he didn't wantto, " Elliott pointed out. 

"The bogy-man's after you, " said Bob. 

Elliott laughed. Nevertheless, as the work progressed, from time to timehe would freeze to an attitude of listening. 

"It's like feeling that there's somebody else in a dark room with you, "he told Bob. 

"You'll end by giving me the willy-willies, too, " complained Bob. "I'mbeginning to feel the same way. Quit it!"

By the end of the week it became necessary to go to town after moresupplies. Bob volunteered. He saddled his riding horse and the packanimal, and set forth. Following California John's directions he tracedthe length of the river through the basin to the bald rock where the oldtrail was said to begin. Here he anticipated some difficulty in pickingup the trail, and more in following it. To his surprise he ranimmediately into a well-defined path. 

"Why, this is as plain as a strip of carpet!" muttered

Bob to himself. "If this is his idea of a dim trail, I'd like to see agood one!"

He had not ridden far, however, before, in crossing a tiny trickle ofwater, he could not fail to notice a clear-cut, recent hoof print. Themark was that of a barefoot horse. Bob stared at it. 

"Now if I were real _good_, " he reflected, "like oldwhat-you-may-call-him--the Arabian Sherlock Holmes--I'd be able to tellwhether this horse was loose and climbing for pasture, or carrying arider, and if so, whether the rider had ever had his teeth filled. There's been a lot of travel on this trail, anyway. I wonder where itall went to?" He paused irresolutely. "It isn't more than two jumps backto the rock, " he decided; "I'll just find out what direction they takeanyway. "

Accordingly he retraced his steps to the bald rock, and commenced anexamination of its circumference to determine where the trail led away. He found no such exit. Save from the direction of his own camp the waywas closed either by precipitous sides or dense brush. The conclusionwas unavoidable that those who had travelled the trail, had either endedtheir journeys at the bald rock or actually taken to the bed of theriver. 

"Well, " concluded Bob, "I'm enough of a sleuth to see that that barefoothorse had a rider and wasn't just looking pasture. No animal in itssenses would hike uphill and then hike down again, or wade belly deep upa stream. "

Puzzling over this mystery, he again took his way down the trail. Hefound it easy to follow, for it had been considerably travelled. In someplaces the brush had been cut back to open easier passage. Examiningthese cuttings, Bob found their raw ends only slightly weathered. Allthis might have been done by the men who had staked the mineral claims, to be sure, but even then Bob found it difficult to reconcile all thefacts. In the first place, the trail had indubitably been much usedsince the time the claims were staked. In the second place, if theprospector had wished to conceal anything, it should have been the factof his going to the Basin at all, not his whereabouts after arrivingthere. In other words, if desiring to keep his presence secret, he wouldhave blinded the _beginning_ of the trail rather than its end. 

He kept a sharp lookout. Near the entrance to the caņon he managed todiscover another clear print of the barefoot horse, but headed the otherway. Clearly the rider had returned. Bob had hunted deer enough torecognize that the track had been made within the last twenty-fourhours. 

At Sycamore Flats he was treated to further surprises. Martin, of whomhe bought his supplies, at first greeted him with customary joviality. 

"Hullo! hullo!" he cried; "quite a stranger! Out in camp, eh?"

"Yes, " said Bob, "they've got us working for a change. "

"Where you located?"

"We're estimating timber up in the Basin, " replied Bob. 

The silence that followed was so intense that Bob looked up from the baghe was tying. He met Martin's eyes fixed on him. 

"The Basin, " repeated Martin slowly, at last. "Since when?"

"About ten days. "

"We! Who's we?"

"Elliott and I, " answered Bob, surprised. "Why?"

Martin's gaze shifted. He plainly hesitated for a next remark. 

"How'd you like it there?" he asked lamely, at length. "I thought noneof you fellows ever went there. "

"Fine timber, " answered Bob, cheerfully. "We don't usually. Somebodydoes though. California John told me that trail was old and out of use;but it's been used a lot. Who gets up there?"

"The boys drive in some cattle occasionally, " replied Martin, with aneffort. 

Bob stared in surprise. He knew this was not so, and started to speak, but thought better of it. After he had left the store, he looked back. Martin was gazing after him, a frown between his brows. 

Before he left town a half-dozen of the mountain men had asked him, withan obvious attempt to make the question casual, how he liked the Basin, how long he thought his work would keep him there. Each, as he turnedaway, followed him with that long, speculative, brooding look. Always, heretofore, his relations with these mountain people had been easy, sympathetic and cordial. Now all at once, without reason, they held himat arm's length and regarded him with suspicious if not hostile eyes. 

Puzzling over this he rode back up the road past the Power House. Thenceissued Oldham to hail him. He pulled up. 

"I hear you're estimating the timber in the Basin, " said the gray man, with more appearance of disturbance than Bob had ever seen him display. 

Bob acknowledged the accuracy of his statement. 

"Indeed!" said Oldham, pulling at his clipped moustache, and after alittle, "Indeed!" he repeated. 

So the news had run ahead of him. Bob began to think the news important, but for some reason at which he could not as yet guess. This convictionwas strengthened by the fact that from the two mountain cabins he passedon his way to the beginning of the trail, men lounged out to talk withhim, and in each case the question, craftily rendered casual, was put tohim as to his business in the Basin. Before one of these cabins stood asweating horse. 

"Look here, " he demanded of the Carrolls, "why all this interest aboutour being in the Basin? Every man-jack asks me. What's the point?"

Old man Carroll stroked his long beard. 

"Do they so?" he drawled comfortably. "Well, I reckon little things makenews, as they say, when you're in a wild country. They ain't been nowork done in the Basin for so long that we're all just nat'rallyinterested; that's all. "

He looked Bob tranquilly in the eye with the limpid gaze of innocencebefore which Bob's scrutiny fell abashed. For a while his suspicions ofanything unusual were almost lulled; the countryside _was_ proverbiallycurious of anything out of the course of events. Then, from a pointmidway up the steep trail, he just happened to look back, and justhappened through an extraordinary combination of openings to catch aglimpse of a rider on the trail. The man was far below. Bob watched along time, his eye fixed on another opening. Nothing appeared. Fromsomewhere in the caņon a coyote shrilled. Another answered him from upthe mountain. A moment later Bob again saw the rider through the sameopening as before, but this time descending. 

"A signal!" he exclaimed, in reference to the coyote howls. 

On arriving at the bare rock, he dismounted and hastily looked it overon all sides. Near the stream it had been splashed. A tiny eddy out ofreach of the current still held mud in suspension. 

X

On his arrival at camp he found Elliott much interested over discoveriesof his own. It seemed that the Easterner had spent the afternoonfishing. At one point, happening to look up, he caught sight of a mansurveying him intently from a thicket. As he stared, the man drew backand disappeared. 

"I couldn't see him very plainly, " said Elliott. "He had a beard and anold gray hat; but that doesn't mean much of course. When I got my nerveup, and had concluded to investigate, I could hardly find a trace ofhim. He must wear moccasins, I think. "

In return Bob detailed his own experiences. The two could make nothingof it all. 

"If we were down South I'd say 'moonshiners, '" said Elliott, "but thebeautiful objection to that is, that we aren't!"

"It's some mystery to do with the Basin, " said Bob, "and the wholecountryside is 'on'--except our boys. I don't believe California Johnknew a thing about it. "

"Didn't act so. Question: what possibly could everybody in the mountainsbe interested in that the Forest Service would object to?"

"Lots of things, " replied Bob promptly, "but I don't believe themountains are unfriendly to us--as a unit. I know Martin isn't, and hewas the first one I noticed as particularly worried. "

Elliott reflected. 

"If he's so friendly, perhaps he was a little uneasy about _us_, " hesuggested at length. "If somebody doesn't want the Forest Service inthis neck of the woods--if that somebody is relying on the fact that wenever come down in here farther than the lookout, why then it may not bevery healthy here. "

"Hadn't thought of that, " said Bob. "That looks cheerful. But what's thepoint? Nine-tenths of this timber is private property anyway. There'scertainly no trespass--sheep, timber or otherwise--on the governmentland. What in blazes is the point?"

"Give it up; but we'd better wear our guns. "

Bob laughed. 

"I'd have a healthy show against a man who really wanted to get me witha gun. Presumably he'd be an expert, or he wouldn't be sent. "

It was agreed, however, "in view of the unsettled state of the country, "as Bob gravely characterized the situation, that the young men shouldstick together in their work. 

"There's no use taking chances, of course, " Bob summed up, "but there'sno sense in making fools of ourselves, either. Lord love you, I don'tmind being _haunted_! They can spring as many mysterious apparitions asthey please, so long as said apparitions don't take to heaving bricks. We'd look sweet and lovely, wouldn't we, to go back to headquarters andtell them we'd decided to come in because a bad man with whiskers who'dnever been introduced came and looked at us out of the trees. "

In pursuance of this determination Bob and Elliott combined forcesclosely in their next day's work. That this was not a useless precautionearly became apparent. As, momentarily separated by a few feet, theypassed a dense thicket, Bob was startled by a low whistle. He looked up. Within fifty feet of him, but so far in the shadow as to beindistinguishable, a man peered at him. As he caught Bob's eyes he madea violent gesture whose purport Bob could not guess. 

"Did you whistle?" asked Elliott at his elbow. "What's up?"

Bob pointed; but the man had vanished. Where he had stood they found theprint of moccasins. 

Thrice during the day they were interrupted by this mysterious presence. On each occasion Bob saw him first. Always he gestured, but whether inwarning or threat Bob could not tell. Each time be vanished as thoughthe earth had swallowed him the instant Elliott turned at Bob'sexclamation. 

"I believe he's crazy!" exclaimed Elliott impatiently. 

"I'd think so, too, " replied Bob, "if it weren't for the way everybodyacted down below. Do you suppose he's trying to warn us out or scare usoff?"

"I'm going to take a crack at him next time he shows up, " threatenedElliott. "I'm getting sick of this. "

"No, you can't do that, " warned Bob. 

"I'm going to tell him so anyway. "

"That's all right. "

For this experiment they had not long to await the opportunity. 

"Hi, there!" shouted Elliott at the place from which the mysteriousapparition had disappeared; "I give you fair warning! Step out anddeclare yourself peaceably or accept the consequences. If you showyourself again after five minutes are up, I'll open fire!"

The empty forest gave no sign. For an hour nothing happened. Then all atonce, when Elliott was entangled in a tiny thicket close at Bob's elbow, the latter was startled by the appearance of the man not ten feet away. He leaped apparently from below a rounded rock, and now stood in fullview of its crown. Bob had time only to catch cognizance of a blue eyeand a long beard, to realize that the man was saying something rapidlyand in a low voice, when Elliott's six-shooter exploded so near his earas almost to deafen him. At the report the man toppled backward off therock. 

"Good Lord! You've killed him!" cried Bob. 

"I did not; I fired straight up!" panted Elliott, dashing past him. "Quick! We'll catch him!"

But catch him nor see him again they did not. 

Ten minutes later while working in a wide open stretch of forest, theywere brought to a stand by the report of a rifle. At the same instantthe shock of a bullet threw a shower of dead pine needles and humus overElliott. Another and another followed, until six had thudded into thesoft earth at the young man's feet. He stood quite motionless, andthough he went a little pale, his coolness did not desert him. After thesixth shot silence fell abruptly. Elliott stood still for some moments, then moved forward a single step. 

"Guess the show's over, " he remarked with a curt laugh. He stooped toexamine the excavation the bullets had made. "Quaint cuss, " he remarkeda trifle bitterly. "Just wanted to show me how easy it would be. Allright, my friend, I'm obliged to you. We'll quit the gun racket; butnext time you show your pretty face I'll give you a run for it. "

"And get shot, " interposed Bob. 

"If it's shoot, we'll get ours any minute. Say, " went on the young manin absolutely conversational tones, "don't you see I'm mad?"

Bob looked and saw. 

"Maybe you think shooting at me is one of my little niece's favouritesummer-day stunts?" went on Elliott. "Well, uncle isn't used to it yet. "

His tone was quiet, but his eyes burned and the muscles around his mouthwere white. 

"He's probably crazy, and he's armed, " Bob pointed out. "For heaven'ssake, go slow. "

"I'm going to paddle his pantalettes, if he commands a gatling, " statedElliott. 

But the mysterious visitor appeared no more that afternoon, andElliott's resolutions had time to settle. 

That night the young men turned in rather earlier than usual, as theywere very tired. Bob immediately dropped into a black sleep. So deep washis slumber that it seemed to him he had just dropped off, when he wasawakened by a cool hand placed across his forehead. He opened his eyesquietly, without alarm, to look full into the waning moon sailing highabove. His first drowsy motion was one of astonishment, for the luminaryhad not arisen when he had turned in. The camp fire had fallen to a fewfaintly glowing coals. These perceptions came to him so gently that hewould probably have dropped asleep again had not the touch on hisforehead been repeated. Then he started broad awake to find himselfstaring at a silhouetted man leaning over him. 

With a gesture of caution, the stranger motioned him to arise. Bobobeyed mechanically. The man bent toward him. 

"Put on your pants and sweater and come along, " he whispered guardedly. 

Bob peered at him through the moonlight and recognized, vaguely, the manwho had been so mysteriously pursuing them all day. He drew back. 

"For the Lord's sake do what I tell you!" whispered the man. "Here!"

His hand sought the shadow of his side, and instantly gleamed with aweapon. Bob started back; but the man was holding the revolver's butt tohim. 

"Now come on!" besought the stranger with a strange note of pleading. "Don't wake your pardner!"

Yielding, with a pleasant thrill, to the adventure of the situation, andit must be confessed, to a strong curiosity, Bob hastily assumed hisouter clothing. Then, with the muzzle of the revolver, he motioned thestranger to proceed. 

Stepping cautiously they gained the open forest beyond the screen ofbrush. Here the man led the way more rapidly. Bob followed close at hisheels. They threaded the forest aisles without hesitation, crossed adeep ravine where the man paused to drink, and began to clamber theprecipitous and rocky sides of Baldy. 

"That'll do for that!" growled Bob suddenly. 

The man looked around as though for information. 

"You needn't go so fast. Keep about three feet in front of me. And whenwe strike your gang, you keep close to me. _Sabe_?"

"I'm alone, " expostulated the man. 

Nevertheless he slackened pace. 

After five minutes' climb they entered a narrow ravine gashed almostperpendicularly in the side of the mountain. At this point, however, itflattened for perhaps fifty paces, so that there existed a tinyfoothold. It was concealed from every point, and nevertheless, directlyto the west, Bob, pausing for breath, looked out over Californiaslumbering in the moon. On this ledge flowed a tiny stream, and over itgrew a score of cedar and fir trees. A fire smouldered near an opencamp. On this the man tossed a handful of pitch pine. Immediately theflames started up. 

"Here we are!" he remarked aloud. 

"Yes, I see we are, " replied Bob, looking suspiciously about him, "butwhat does all this mean?"

"I couldn't get to talk with you no other way, could I?" said the man intones of complaint; "I sure tried hard enough! But you and your pardnerstick closer than brothers. "

"If you wanted to speak to me, why didn't you say so?" demanded Bob, histemper rising. 

"Well, I don't know who your pardner is, or whether he's reliable, nornothin'. A man can't be too careful. I thought mebbe you'd make a chanceyourself, so I kept giving you a show to. 'Course I didn't want to beseen by him. "

"Not seen by him!" broke in Bob impatiently. "What in blazes are youdriving at! Explain yourself!"

"I showed myself plain only to you--except when he cut loose that timewith his fool six-shooter. I thought he was further in the brush. Whydidn't you make a chance to talk?"

"Why should I?" burst out Bob. "Will you kindly explain to me why Ishould make a chance to talk to you; and why I've been dragged out herein the dead of night?"

"No call to get mad, " expostulated the man in rather discouraged tones;"I just thought as how mebbe you was still feeling friendly-like. Mymistake. But I reckon you won't be giving me away anyhow?"

During this speech he had slowly produced from his hip pocket a frayedbandana handkerchief; as slowly taken off his hat and mopped his brow. 

The removal of the floppy and shady old sombrero exposed to the mingledrays of the fire and the moon the man's full features. Heretofore, Bobhad been able to see indistinctly only the meagre facts of a heavy beardand clear eyes. 

"George Pollock!" he cried, dropping the revolver and leaping forwardwith both hands outstretched. 

XI

Pollock took his hands, but stared at him puzzled. "Surely!" he said atlast. His clear blue eyes slowly widened and became bigger. "Honest!Didn't you know me! Is that what ailed you, Bobby? I thought you'd doneclean gone back on me; and I sure always remembered you for a friend!"

"Know you!" shouted Bob. "Why, you eternal old fool, how should I knowyou?"

"You might have made a plumb good guess. "

"Oh, sure!" said Bob; "easiest thing in the world. Guess that the firstshadow you see in the woods is a man you thought was in Mexico. "

"Didn't you know I was here?" demanded Pollock earnestly. "Sure pop?"

"How should I know?" asked Bob again. 

George Pollock's blue eyes smouldered with anger. 

"I'll sure tan that promising nephew of mine!" he threatened; "I've donesent you fifty messages by him. Didn't he never give you none of them?"

"Who; Jack?"

"That's the whelp. "

Bob laughed. 

"That's a joke, " said he; "I've been bunking with him for a year. Narymessage!"

"I told Carroll and Martin and one or two more to tell you. "

"I guess they're suspicious of any but the mountain people, " said Bob. "They're right. How could they know?"

"That's right, they couldn't, " agreed George reluctantly. "But I donetold them you was my friend. And I thought you'd gone back on me sure. "

"Not an inch!" cried Bob, heartily. 

George kicked the logs of the fire together, filled the coffee pot atthe creek, hung it over the blaze, and squatted on his heels. Bob tossedhim a sack of tobacco which he caught. 

"Thought you were bound for Mexico, " hazarded Bob at length. 

"I went, " said Pollock shortly, "and I came back. "

"Yes, " said Bob after a time. 

"Homesick, " said Pollock; "plain homesick. Wasn't so bad that-a-way atfirst. I was desp'rit. Took a job punching with a cow outfit nearNogales. Worked myself plumb out every day, and slept hard all night, and woke up in the morning to work myself plumb out again. "

He fished a coal from the fire and deftly flipped it atop his pipe bowl. After a dozen deep puffs, he continued:

"Never noticed the country; had nothing to do with the people. All Iknew was brands and my bosses. Did good enough cow work, I reckon. For afact, it was mebbe half a year before I begun to look around. Thatcountry is worse than over Panamit way. There's no trees; there's nowater; there's no green grass; there's no folks; there's no nothin'! Themountains look like they're made of paper. After about a half year, as Isaid, I took note of all this, but I didn't care. What the helldifference did it make to me what the country was like? I hadn't notheories to that. I'd left all that back here. "

He looked at Bob questioningly, unwilling to approach nearer his tragedyunless it was necessary. Bob nodded. 

"Then I begun to dream. Things come to me. I'd see places plain--likethe falls at Cascadell--and smell things. For a fact, I smelt azaleasplain and sweet once; and woke up in the damndest alkali desert you eversee. I thought I'd never want to see this country again; the farther Igot away, the more things I'd forget. You understand. "

Again Bob nodded. 

"It wasn't that way. The farther off I got, the more I remembered. Soone day I cashed in and come back. "

He paused for some time, gazing meditatively on the coffee pot bubblingover the fire. 

"It's good to get back!" he resumed at last. "It smells good; it tastesgood. For a while that did me well enough.... I used to sneak downnights and look at my old place.... In summer I go back to Jim and thecattle, but it's dangerous these days. The towerists is getting thicker, and you can't trust everybody, even among the mountain folks. "

"How many know you are back here?" asked Bob. 

"Mighty few; Jim and his family knows, of course, and Tom Carroll andMartin and a few others. They ride up trail to the flat rock sometimesbringing me grub and papers. But it's plumb lonesome. I can't go onlivin' this way forever, and I can't leave this yere place. Since I havebeen living here it seems like--well, I ain't no call as I can see it todesert my wife dead or alive!" he declared stoutly. 

"You needn't explain, " said Bob. 

George Pollock turned to him with sudden relief. 

"Well, you know about such things. What am I to do?"

"There are only two courses that I can see, " answered Bob, afterreflection, "outside the one you're following now. You can give yourselfup to the authorities and plead guilty. There's a chance that mitigatingcircumstances will influence the judge to give you a light sentence; andthere's always a possibility of a pardon. When all the details are madeknown there ought to be a good show for getting off easy. "

"What's the other?" demanded Pollock, who had listened with the closestattention. 

"The other is simply to go back home. "

"They'd arrest me. "

"Let them, " said Bob. "Plead not guilty, and take your chances on thetrial. Their evidence is circumstantial; you don't have to incriminateyourself; I doubt if a jury would agree on convicting you. Have you evertalked with anybody about--about that morning?"

"About me killing Plant?" supplied Pollock tranquilly. "No. A man don'task about those things. "

"Not even to Jim?"

"No. We just sort of took all that for granted. "

"Well, that would be all right. Then if they're called on the stand, they can tell nothing. There are at least no witnesses to the deeditself. "

"There's you----" suggested George. 

Bob brought up short in his train of reasoning. 

"But you won't testify agin me?"

"There's no reason why I should be called. Nobody even knows I was outof bed at that time. If my name happens to be mentioned--which isn't atall likely--Auntie Belle or a dozen others will volunteer that I was inbed, like the rest of the town. There's no earthly reason to connect mewith it. "

"But if you are called?" persisted the mountaineer. 

"Then I'll have to tell the truth, of course, " said Bob soberly; "it'llbe under oath, you know. "

Pollock looked at him strangely askant. 

"I didn't much look to hear you talk that-a-way, " said he. 

"George, " said Bob, "this will take money. Have you any?"

"I've some, " replied the mountaineer sulkily. 

"How much?"

"A hundred dollars or so. "

"Not enough by a long patch. You must let me help you on this. "

"I don't need no help, " said Pollock. 

"You let me help you once before, " Bob reminded him gently, "if it wasonly to hold a horse. "

"By God, that's right!" burst out George Pollock, "and I'm a fool! Ifthey call you on the stand, don't you lie under oath for me! I don'tbelieve you'd do it for yourself; and that's what I'm going to do formyself. I reckon I'll just plead guilty!"

"Don't be in a hurry, " Bob warned him. "It isn't a matter to go offhalf-cock on. Any man would have done what you did. I'd have done itmyself. That's why I stood by you. I'm not sure you aren't right to takeadvantage of what the law can do for you. Plenty do just that with onlythe object of acquiring other people's dollars. I don't say it's rightin theory; but in this case it may be eternally right in practice. Goslow on deciding. "

"You're sure a good friend, Bobby, " said Pollock simply. 

"Whatever you decide, don't even mention my name to any one, " warnedBob. "We don't want to get me connected with the case in any man's mind. Hardly let on you remember to have known me. Don't overdo it though. You'll want a real good lawyer. I'll find out about that. And themoney--how'll we fix it?"

George thought for a moment. 

"Fix it with Jack, " said he at length. "He'll stay put. Tell him not totell his own father. He won't. He's reliable. "

"Sure?"

"Well, I'm risking my neck on it. "

"I'll simply tell him the name of the lawyer, " decided Bob, "and get himactual cash. "

"I'll pay that back--the other I can't, " said Pollock with suddenfeeling. "Here, have a cup of coffee. "

Bob swallowed the hot coffee gratefully. Without speaking further, Pollock arose and led the way. When finally they had reached the openforest above the camp, the mountaineer squeezed Bob's fingers hard. 

"Good-bye, " said the younger man in a guarded voice. "I won't see youagain. Remember, even at best it's a long wait in jail. Think it overbefore you decide!"

"I'm in jail here, " replied Pollock. 

Bob walked thoughtfully to camp. He found a fire burning and Elliottafoot. 

"Thank God, you're here!" cried that young man; "I was getting scaredfor you. What's up?"

"You are and I am, " replied Bob. "Couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. Think that bogy-man of yours had got me?"

"I surely began to. "

"Nothing doing. I guess I can snooze a little now. "

"I can't, " complained Elliott. "You've got me good and waked up, confound you!"

Bob kicked off his boots, and without further disrobing rolled himselfinto his gray blanket. As he was dropping asleep two phrases flashedacross his brain. They were: "compounding a felony, " and "accessoryafter the fact. "

"Don't feel much like a criminal either, " murmured Bob to himself; andafter a moment: "Poor devil!"

XII

Two days later, from the advantage of the rock designated by CaliforniaJohn, Elliott reported the agreed signal for their recall. Accordingly, they packed together their belongings and returned to headquarters. 

"We're getting short-handed, and several things have come up, " saidThorne. "I have work for both of you. "

Having dispatched Elliott, Thorne turned to Bob. 

"Orde, " said he, "I'm going to try you out on a very delicate matter. Atthe north end lives an old fellow named Samuels. He and his family areliving on a place inside the National forests. He took it up years ago, mainly for the timber, but he's one of these hard-headed old coonsthat's 'agin the Government, ' on general principles. He never proved up, and when his attention was called to the fact, he refused to doanything. No reason why not, except that 'he'd always lived there andalways would. ' You know the kind. "

"Ought to--put in two years in the Michigan woods, " said Bob. 

"Well, as a matter of fact, he gave up the claim to all intents andpurposes, but now that the Yellow Pine people are cutting up toward him, he's suddenly come to the notion that the place is worth while. So he'spatched up his cabin, and moved in his whole family. We've got to get arelinquishment out of him. "

"If he has no right there, why not put him off?" asked Bob. 

"Well, in the first place, this Samuels is a hard old citizen with ashotgun; in the second place, he has some shadow of right on which hecould make a fight; in the third place, the country up that way doesn'tcare much for us anyway, and we want to minimize opposition. "

"I see, " said Bob. 

"You'll have to go up and look the ground over, that's all. Do what youthink best. Here are all the papers in the matter. You can look themover at your leisure. "

Bob tucked the bundle of papers in his _cantinas_, or pommel bags, andleft the office. Amy was rattling the stove in her open-air kitchen, shaking down the ashes preparatory to the fire. Bob stopped to lookacross at her trim, full figure in its starched blue, immaculate asalways. 

"Hullo, Colonel!" he called. "How are the legions of darkness andignorance standing the cannonading these days? Funny paper any newjokes?"

This last was in reference to Amy's habit of reading the CongressionalRecord in search of speeches or legislation affecting the forests. Bobstoutly maintained, and nobody but Amy disputed him, that she was theonly living woman, in or out of captivity, known to read that series ofdocuments. 

Amy shook her head, without looking up. 

"What's the matter?" asked Bob solicitously. "Nothing wrong with theHero, nor any of the Assistant Heroes?"

Thus in their banter were designated the President, and such senators asstood behind his policies of conservation. 

"Then the villains must have been saying a few triumphant ha! has!"pursued Bob, referring to Fulton, Clark, Heyburn and the rest of thesenatorial representatives of the anti-conservationists. "Or is itmerely the stove? Let me help. "

Amy stood upright, and thrust back her hair. 

"Please don't, " said she. "I don't feel like joking to-day. "

"It _is_ something!" cried Bob. "I do beg your pardon; I didn't realize... You know I'd like to help, if it's anything I can do. "

"It is nothing to do with any of us, " said Amy, seating herself for amoment, and letting her hands fall in her lap. "It's just some news thatmade me feel sorry. Ware came up with the mail a little while ago, andhe tells us that George Pollock has suddenly reappeared and is livingdown at his own place. "

"They've arrested him!" cried Bob. 

"Not yet; but they will. The sheriff has been notified. Of course, hisfriends warned him in time; but he won't go. Says he intends to stay. "

"Then he'll go to jail. "

"And to prison. What chance has a poor fellow like that without money orinfluence? All he has is his denial. "

"Then he denies?" asked Bob eagerly. 

"Says he knows nothing about Plant's killing. His wife died that samemorning, and he went away because he could not stand it. That's hisstory; but the evidence is strong against him, poor fellow. "

"Do you believe him?" asked Bob. 

Amy swung her foot, pondering. 

"No, " she said at last. "I believe he killed Plant; and I believe he didright! Plant killed his wife and child, and took away all his property. That's what it amounted to. "

"There are hardships worked in any administration, " Bob pointed out. 

Amy looked at him slowly. 

"You don't believe that in this case, " she pronounced at last. 

"Then Pollock will perjure himself, " suggested Bob, to try her. 

"And if he has friends worth the name, they'll perjure themselves, too!"cried Amy boldly. "They'll establish an alibi, they'll invent a murdererfor Plant, they'll do anything for a man as persecuted and hunted aspoor George Pollock!"

"Heavens!" returned Bob, genuinely aghast at this wholesale programme. "What would become of morals and honour and law and all the rest of it, if that sort of thing obtained?"

"Law?" Amy caught him up. "Law? It's become foolish. No man livescapable of mastering it so completely that another man cannot find flawsin his best efforts. Reuf and Schmitz are guilty--everybody says so, even themselves. Why aren't they in jail? Because of the law. Don't talkto me of law!"

"But how about ordinary mortals? You can't surely permit a man to lie ina court of justice just because he thinks his friend's cause is just!"

"I don't know anything about it, " sighed Amy, as though weary all atonce, "except that it isn't right. The law should be a great and wisejudge, humane and sympathetic. George Pollock should be able to go tothat judge and say: 'I killed Plant, because he had done me an injuryfor which the perpetrator should suffer death. He was permitted to dothis because of the deficiency of the law. ' And he should be able to sayit in all confidence that he would be given justice, eternal justice, and not a thing so warped by obscure and forgotten precedents that itfits nothing but some lawyer's warped notion of logic!"

"Whew!" whistled Bob, "what a lady of theory and erudition it is!"

Amy eyed him doubtfully, then smiled. 

"I'm glad you happened along, " said she. "I feel better. Now I believeI'll be able to do something with my biscuits. "

"I could do justice to some of them, " remarked Bob, "and it would be thereal thing without any precedents in that line whatever. "

"Come around later and you'll have the chance, " invited Amy, againaddressing herself to the stove. 

Still smiling at this wholesale and feminine way of leaping directly toa despotically desired ideal result, Bob took the trail to his own camp. Here he found Jack Pollock poring over an old illustrated paper. 

"Hullo, Jack!" he called cheerfully. "Not out on duty, eh?"

"I come in, " said Jack, rising to his feet and folding the old papercarefully. He said nothing more, but stood eyeing his colleague gravely. 

"You want something of me?" asked Bob. 

"No, " denied Jack, "I don't know nothing I want of you. But I was toldto come and get a piece of paper and maybe some money that a strangerwas goin' to leave by our chimbley. It ain't there. You ain't seen it, by any chance?"

"It may have got shoved among some of my things by mistake, " replied Bobgravely. "I haven't had a chance of looking. I'm just in from theBasin. " At these last words he looked at Jack keenly, but that youngman's expression remained inscrutable. "I'll look when I get back, " hecontinued after a moment; "just now I've got to ride over to the mill tosee Mr. Welton. "

Jack nodded gravely. 

"If you find them, leave them by the chimbley, " said he. "I'm going toheadquarters. "

Bob rode to the mill. By the exercise of some diplomacy he brought theconversation to good lawyers without arousing Welton's suspicions thathe could have any personal interest in the matter. 

"Erbe's head and shoulders above the rest, " said Welton. "He has halfthe business. He's for Baker's interests, and our own; and he's shrewd. Maybe you'll get into trouble yourself some day, Bob. Better send forhim. He's the greatest criminal lawyer in the business. "

Bob laughed heartily with his old employer. From Poole he easilyobtained currency for his personal check of two hundred dollars. Thiswould do to go on with for the time being. He wrote Erbe's name andaddress--in a disguised hand--on a piece of rough brown paper. This hewrapped around the money, and deposited by the alarm clock on the roughlog mantelpiece of his cabin. The place was empty. When he had returnedfrom his invited supper with the Thornes, the package had disappeared. He did not again catch sight of Jack Pollock, for next morning hestarted out on his errand to the north end. 

XIII

At noon of the second day of a journey that led him up the windingwatered valleys of the lower ranges, Bob surmounted a ridge higher thanthe rest and rode down a long, wide slope. Here the character of thecountry changed completely. Scrub oaks, young pines and chaparralcovered the ground. Among this growth Bob made out the ancient stumps ofgreat trees. The ranch houses were built of sawn lumber, and possessedbrick chimneys. In appearance they seemed midway between the farm housesof the older settled plains and the rougher cabins of the mountaineers. 

Bob continued on a dusty road until he rode into a little town which heknew must be Durham. Its main street contained three stores, twosaloons, a shady tree, a windmill and watering trough and a dozenchair-tilted loafers. A wooden sidewalk shaded by a wooden awning ranthe entire length of this collection of commercial enterprises. Aredwood hitching rail, much chewed, flanked it. Three saddle horses, andas many rigs, dozed in the sun. 

Bob tied his saddle horse to the rail, leaving the pack animal to itsown devices. Without attention to the curious stares of the loafers, hepushed into the first store, and asked directions of the proprietor. Theman, a type of the transplanted Yankee, pushed the spectacles up overhis forehead, and coolly surveyed his questioner from head to footbefore answering. 

"I see you're a ranger, " he remarked drily. "Well, I wouldn't go toSamuels's if I was you. He's give it out that he'll kill the next rangerthat sets foot on his place. "

"I've heard that sort of talk before, " replied Bob impatiently. 

"Samuels means what he says, " stated the storekeeper. "He drove off thelast of you fellows with a shotgun--and he went too. "

"You haven't told me how to get there, " Bob pointed out. 

"All you have to do is to turn to the right at the white church andfollow your nose, " replied the man curtly. 

"How far is it?"

"About four mile. "

"Thank you, " said Bob, and started out. 

The man let him get to the door. 

"Say, you!" he called. 

Bob stopped. 

"You might be in better business than to turn a poor man out of hishouse and home. "

Bob did not wait to hear the rest. As he untied his saddle horse, a manbrushed by him with what was evidently intentional rudeness, for heactually jostled Bob's shoulder. The man jerked loose the tie rein ofhis own mount, leaped to the saddle, and clattered away. Bob noticedthat he turned to the right at the white church. 

The four-mile ride, Bob discovered, was almost straight up. At the endof it he found himself well elevated above the valley, and once more inthe sugar-pine belt. The road wound among shades of great trees. Pilesof shakes, gleaming and fragrant, awaited the wagon. Rude signs, daubedon the riven shingles, instructed the wayfarer that this or that dimtrack through the forest led to So-and-so's shake camp. 

It was by now after four of the afternoon. Bob met nobody on the road, but he saw in the dust fresh tracks which he shrewdly surmised to bethose of the man who had jostled him. Samuels had his warning. Themountaineer would be ready. Bob had no intention of delivering a frontalattack. 

He rode circumspectly, therefore, until he discerned an opening in theforest. Here he dismounted. The opening, of course, might be only thatof a natural meadow, but in fact proved to be the homestead claim ofwhich Bob was in search. 

The improvements consisted of a small log cabin with a stone and mudchimney; a log stable slightly larger in size; a rickety fence madepartly of riven pickets, partly of split rails, but long since weatheredand rotted; and what had been a tiny orchard of a score of apple trees. At some remote period this orchard had evidently been cultivated, butnow the weeds and grasses grew rank and matted around neglected trees. The whole place was down at the heels. Tin cans and rusty baling wirestrewed the back yard; an ill-cared-for wagon stood squarely in front;broken panes of glass in the windows had been replaced respectively byan old straw hat and the dirty remains of overalls. The supports of thelittle verandah roof sagged crazily. Over it clambered a vine. Closeabout drew the forest. That was it: the forest! The "homestead" was amere hovel; the cultivation a patch; the improvements sketchy andancient; but the forest, become valuable for lumber where long it hadbeen considered available only for shakes, furnished the real motive forthis desperate attempt to rehabilitate old and lapsed rights. 

The place was populous enough, for all its squalor. A half-dozen smallchildren, scantily clothed, swarmed amongst the tin cans; two women, onewith a baby in her arms, appeared and disappeared through the lowdoorway of the cabin; a horse or two dozed among the trees of theneglected orchard; chickens scratched everywhere. Square in the middleof the verandah, in a wooden chair, sat an old man whom Bob guessed tobe Samuels. He sat bolt upright, facing the front, his knees spreadapart, his feet planted solidly. A patriarchal beard swept his greatchest; thick, white hair crowned his head; bushy white brows, likethatch, overshadowed his eyes. Even at the distance, Bob could imaginethe deep-set, flashing, vigorous eyes of the old man. For everythingabout him, save the colour of his hair and beard, bespoke great vigour. His solidly planted attitude in his chair, the straight carriage of hisback, the set of his shoulders, the very poise of his head told of thepower and energy of an autocrat. Across his knees rested a shotgun. 

As Bob watched, a tall youth sauntered around the corner of the cabin. He spoke to the old man. Samuels did not look around, but nodded hismassive head. The young man disappeared in the cabin to return after amoment, accompanied by the individual Bob had seen in Durham. The twospoke again to the old man; then sauntered off in the direction of thebarn. 

Bob returned, untied his horse; and, leading that animal, approached thecabin afoot. No sooner had he emerged into view when the old man aroseand came squarely and uncompromisingly to meet him. The two encounteredperhaps fifty yards from the cabin door. 

Bob found that a closer inspection of his antagonist rather strengthenedthan diminished the impression of force. The old man's eyes wereflashing fire, and his great chest rose and fell rapidly. He held hisweapon across the hollow of his left arm, but the muscles of his righthand were white with the power of his grip. 

"Get out of here!" he fairly panted at Bob. "I warned you fellows!"

Bob replied calmly. 

"I came in to see if I could get to stay for supper, and to feed myhorse. "

At this the old man exploded in a violent rage. He ordered Bob off theplace instantly, and menaced him with his shotgun. Had Bob been mounted, Samuels would probably have shot him; but the mere position of ahorseman afoot conveys subtly an impression of defencelessness that isdifficult to overcome. He is, as it were, anchored to the spot, and atthe other man's mercy. Samuels raged, but he did not shoot. 

At the sounds of altercation, however, the whole hive swarmed. Thenumerous children scuttled for cover like quail, but immediately peeredforth again. The two women thrust their heads from the doorway. From thedirection of the stable the younger men came running. One of them held arevolver in his hand. 

During all this turmoil and furore Bob had stood perfectly still, sayingno word. Provided he did nothing to invite it, he was now safe frompersonal violence. To be sure, a very slight mistake would invite it. Bob waited patiently. 

He remembered, and was acting upon, a conversation he had once held withWare. The talk had fallen on gunfighting, and Bob, as usual, was tryingto draw Ware out. The latter was, also, as usual, exceedingly reticentand disinclined to open up. 

"What would you do if a man got your hands up?" chaffed Bob. 

Ware turned on him quick as a flash. 

"No man ever got my hands up!"

"No?" said Bob, hugely delighted at the success of his stratagem. "Whatdo you do, then, when a man gets the cold drop on you?"

But now Ware saw the trap into which his feet were leading him, and drewback into his shell. 

"Oh, shoot out, or bluff out, " said he briefly. 

"But look here, Ware, " insisted Bob, "it's all very well to talk likethat. But suppose a man actually has his gun down on you. How can you'shoot out or bluff out'?"

Ware suddenly became serious. 

"No man, " said he, "can hold a gun on you for over ten seconds withouthis eyes flickering. It's too big a strain. He don't let go for mor'nabout the hundredth part of a second. After that he has holt again foranother ten seconds, and will pull trigger if you bat an eyelash. _Butif you take it when his eyes flicker, and are quick, you'll get him!_"

"What about the other way around?" asked Bob. 

"I never pulled a gun unless I meant to shoot, " said Ware grimly. 

The practical philosophy of this Bob was now utilizing. If he had riddenup boldly, Samuels would probably have shot him from the saddle. Havinggained the respite, Bob now awaited the inevitable momentary relaxingfrom this top pitch of excitement. It came. 

"I have not the slightest intention of tacking up any notices or servingany papers, " he said quietly, referring to the errand of the man whomSamuels had driven off at the point of his weapon. "I am travelling onbusiness; and I asked for shelter and supper. "

"No ranger sets foot on my premises, " growled Samuels. 

"Very well, " said Bob, unpinning and pocketing his pine tree badge. (_"Oh, I'd have died rather than do that!" cried Amy when she heard. "I'd have stuck to my guns!" "Heroic, but useless, " replied her brotherdrily. _) "I don't care whether the ranger is fed or not. But I'm a lotinterested in me. I ask you as a man, not as an official. "

"Your sort ain't welcome here; and if you ain't got sense enough to seeit, you got to be shown!" the youngest man broke in roughly. 

Bob turned to him calmly. 

"I am not asking your sufferance, " said he, "nor would I eat where I amnot welcome. I am asking Mr. Samuels to bid me welcome. If he will notdo so, I will ride on. " He turned to the old man again. "Do you mean totell me that the North End is so far behind the South End in commonhospitality? We've fed enough men at the Wolverine Company in our time. "

Bob let fly this shaft at a venture. He knew how many passingmountaineers paused for a meal at the cook house, and surmised itprobable that at least one of his three opponents might at some timehave stopped there. This proved to be the case. 

"Are you with the Wolverine Company?" demanded the man who had jostledhim. 

"I was for some years in charge of the woods. "

"I've et there. You can stay to supper, " said Samuels ungraciously. 

He turned sharp on his heel and marched back to the cabin, leaving Bobto follow with his horse. The two younger men likewise went about theirbusiness. Bob found himself quite alone, with only this ungraciouspermission to act on. 

Nevertheless, quite imperturbably, Bob unsaddled, led his animal intothe dark stable, threw it some of the wild hay stacked therein, washedhimself in the nearby creek, and took his station on the desertedverandah. The twilight fell. Some of the children ventured into sight, but remained utterly unmoved by the young man's tentative advances. Heheard people moving about inside, but no one came near him. Finally, just at dusk, the youngest man protruded his head from the doorway. 

"Come to supper, " said he surlily. 

Bob ducked his head to enter a long, low room. Its walls were of therough logs; its floor of hewn timbers; its ceiling of round beams onwhich had been thrown untrimmed slabs as a floor to the loft above. Aboard table stood in the centre of this, flanked by homemade chairs andstools of all varieties of construction. A huge iron cooking stoveoccupied all of one end--an extraordinary piece of ordnance. The lightfrom a single glass lamp cast its feeble illumination over coarse dishessteaming with food. 

Bob bowed politely to the two women, who stood, their arms crossed ontheir stomachs, without deigning his salutation the slightest attention. The children, of all sizes and ages, stared at him unblinking. The twomen shuffled to their seats, without looking up at the visitor. Only theold man vouchsafed him the least notice.... 

"Set thar!" he growled, indicating a stool. 

Bob found on the board that abundance and variety which always so muchsurprises the stranger to a Sierra mountaineer's cabin. Besides theusual bacon, beans, and bread, there were dishes of canned string-beansand corn, potatoes, boiled beef, tomatoes and pressed glass dishes ofpreserves. Coffee, hot as fire, and strong as lye, came in thick chinacups without handles. 

The meal went forward in absolute silence, which Bob knew better than tointerrupt. It ended for each as he or she finished eating. The two womenwere left at the last quite alone. Bob followed his host to the veranda. There he silently offered the old man a cigar; the younger men hadvanished. 

Samuels took the cigar with a grunt of thanks, smelled it carefully, bitan inch off the end, and lit it with a slow-burning sulphur match. Bobalso lit up. 

For one hour and a half--two cigars apiece--the two sat side by sidewithout uttering a syllable. The velvet dark drew close. The heavenssparkled as though frosted with light. Bob, sitting tight on what heknew was the one and only plan to accomplish his purpose, began todespair of his chance. Of his companion he could make out dimly only thewhite of his hair and beard, the glowing fire of his cigar. Inside thehouse the noises made by the inhabitants thereof increased and diedaway; evidently the household was seeking its slumber. A tree-toadchirped, loudest in all the world of stillness. 

Suddenly, without warning, the old man scraped back his chair. Bob'sheart leaped. Was his one chance escaping him? Then to his reliefSamuels spoke. The long duel of silence was at an end. 

XIV

"What might your name be?" inquired Samuels. 

"Orde. "

"I heerd of you ... What might you be doing up here?"

"I'm just riding through. "

"Best thing any of you can do, " commented the old man grimly. 

"I wish you'd tell me now why you jumped on me so this evening, " saidBob. 

"If you don't know, you're a fool, " growled Samuels. 

"I've knocked around a good deal, " persisted Bob, "and I've discoveredthat one side always sounds good until you hear the other man's story. I've only heard one side of this one. "

"And that's all you're like to hear, " Samuels told him. "You don't getno evidence out of me against myself. "

Bob laughed. 

"You're mighty suspicious--and I don't know as I blame you. Bless yoursoul, what evidence do you suppose I could get from you in a case likethis? You've already made it clear enough with that old blunderbuss ofyours what you think of the merits of the case. I asked you out ofpersonal interest. I know the Government claims you don't own thisplace; and I was curious to know why you think you do. The Governmentreasoning looks pretty conclusive to a man who doesn't know all thecircumstances. "

"Oh, it is, is it!" cried Samuels, stung to anger. "Well, what claim doyou think the Government has?"

But Bob was too wily to be put in the aggressive. 

"I'm not thinking; I'm asking, " said he. "They say you're holding thisfor the timber, and never proved up. "

"I took it up bony-fidy, " fairly shouted Samuels. "Do you think a manplants an orchard and such like on a timber claim. The timber is worthsomething, of course. Well, don't every man take up timber? What aboutthat Wolverine Company of yours? What about the Yellow Pine people? Whatabout everybody, everywhere? Ain't I got a right to it, same aseverybody else?"

He leaned forward, pounding his knee. A querulous and sleepy voice spokeup from the interior of the cabin:

"Oh, pa, for heaven's sake don't holler so!"

The old man paused in mid-career. Over the treetops the moon was risingslowly. Its light struck across the lower part of the verandah, showingclearly the gnarled hand of the mountaineer suspended above his sturdyknee; casting into dimness the silver of his massive head. The handdescended noiselessly. 

"Ain't I got my rights, same as another man?" he asked, more reasonably. "Just because I left out some little piece of their cussed red-tape am Ia-goin' to be turned out bag and baggage, child, kit, and kaboodle, while fifty big men steal, just plain steal, a thousand acres apiece andthere ain't nothing said? Not if I know it!"

He talked on. Slowly Bob came to an understanding of the man's position. His argument, stripped of its verbiage and self-illusion, was simplicityitself. The public domain was for the people. Men selected therefromwhat they needed. All about him, for fifty years, homesteads had beentaken up quite frankly for the sake of timber. Nobody made anyobjections. Nobody even pretended that these claims were ever intendedto be lived on. The barest letter of the law had been complied with. 

"I've seen a house, made out'n willow branches, and out'n coal-oil cans, called resident buildin's under the act, " said Samuels, "and _they_ wasso lost in the woods that it needed a compass to find 'em. "

He, Samuels, on the other hand, had actually planted an orchard and madeimprovements, and even lived on the place for a time. Then he had letthe claim lapse, and only recently had decided to resume what hesincerely believed to be his rights in the matter. 

Bob did not at any point suggest any of the counter arguments he mightvery well have used. He listened, leaning back against the rail, watching the moonlight drop log by log as the luminary rose above theverandah roof. 

"And so there come along last week a ranger and started to tack up asign bold as brass that read: 'Property of the United States. ' Propertyof hell!"

He ceased talking. Bob said nothing. 

"Now you got it; what you think?" asked the old man at last. 

"It's tough luck, " said Bob. "There's more to be said for your side ofthe case than I had thought. "

"There's a lot more goin' to be said yet, " stated Samuels, truculently. 

"But I'm afraid when it comes right down to the law of it, they'lldecide against your claim. The law reads pretty plain on how to go aboutit; and as I understand it, you never did prove up. "

"My lawyer says if I hang on here, they never can get me out, " saidSamuels, "and I'm a-goin' to hang on. "

"Well, of course, that's for the courts to decide, " agreed Bob, "and Idon't claim to know much about law--nor want to. "

"Me neither!" agreed the mountaineer fervently. 

"But I've known of a dozen cases just like yours that went against theclaimant. There was the Brown case in Idaho, for instance, that wasexactly like yours. Brown had some money, and he fought it through up tothe Supreme Court, but they decided against him. "

"How was that?" asked Samuels. 

Bob explained at length, dispassionately, avoiding even the colour ofargument, but drawing strongly the parallel. 

"Even if you could afford it, I'm almighty afraid you'd run up againstexactly the same thing, " Bob concluded, "and they'd certainly use theBrown case as a precedent. "

"Well, I've got money!" said Samuels. "Don't you forget it. I don't haveto live in a place like this. I've got a good, sawn-lumber house, painted, in Durham and a garden of posies. "

"I'd like to see it, " said Bob. 

"Sometime you get to Durham, ask for me, " invited Samuels. 

"Well, I see how you feel. If I were in your fix, I'd probably fight ittoo, but I'm morally certain they'd get you in the courts. And it is atremendous expense for nothing. "

"Well, they've got to git me off'n here first, " threatened Samuels. 

Bob averted the impending anger with a soft chuckle. 

"I wouldn't want the job!" said he. "But if they had the courts withthem, they'd get you off. You can drive those rangers up a tree quickenough (_"You know that isn't so!" cried Amy at the subsequentrecital. _), but this is a Federal matter, and they'll send troopsagainst you, if necessary. "

"My lawyer----" began Samuels. 

"May be dead right, or he _may_ enjoy a legal battle at the other man'sexpense, " put in Bob. "The previous cases are all dead against him; andthey're the only ammunition. "

"It's a-gittin' cold, " said Samuels, rising abruptly. "Let's gitinside!"

Bob followed him to the main room of the cabin where the mountaineer lita tallow candle stuck in the neck of a bottle. 

"Oh, pa, come to bed!" called a sleepy voice, "and quit yourpalavering. "

"Shet up!" commanded Samuels, setting the candle in the middle of thetable, and seating himself by it. "Ain't there no decisions the otherway?"

"I'm no lawyer, " Bob pointed out, dropping into a stool on the otherside, so that the candle stood between them, "and my opinion is of novalue"--the old man grunted what might have been assent, or a mereindication of attention--"but as far as I know, there have been none. Iknow all the leading cases, I _think_" he added. 

"So they can put me off, and leave all these other fellows, who areworse off than I be in keepin' up with what the law wants!" criedSamuels. 

"I hope they'll begin action against every doubtful claim, " said Bobsoberly. 

"It may be the law to take away my homestead, but it ain't justice, "stated the old man. 

Bob ventured his first aggressive movement. 

"Did you ever read the Homestead Law?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"Well, as you remember, that law states pretty plainly the purpose ofthe Homestead Act. It is to provide, out of the public lands, for anycitizen not otherwise provided, with one hundred and sixty acres as afarm to cultivate or a homestead on which to live. When a man takes thatland for any other purpose whatever, he commits an injustice; and whenthat land is recalled to the public domain, that injustice is righted, not another committed. "

"Injustice!" challenged the old man; "against what, for heaven's sake!"

"Against the People, " replied Bob firmly. 

"I suppose these big lumber dealers need a home and a farm too!" sneeredSamuels. 

"Because they did wrong is no reason you should. "

"Who dares say I done wrong?" demanded the mountaineer. "Look here! Whydoes the Government pick on me and try to drive me off'n my little placewhere I'm living, and leave these other fellows be? What right orjustice is there in that?"

"I don't know the ins and out of it all, " Bob reminded him. "As I saidbefore, I'm no lawyer. But they've at least conformed with the forms ofthe law, as far as the Government has any evidence. You have not. Iimagine that's the reason your case has been selected first. "

"To hell with a law that drives the poor man off his home and leaves therich man on his ill-got spoils!" cried Samuels. 

The note in this struck Bob's ear as something alien. "I wonder whatthat echoes from!" was his unspoken thought. Aloud he merely remarked:

"But you said yourself you have money and a home in Durham. "

"That may be, " retorted Samuels, "but ain't I got as much right to thetimber, I who have been in the country since '55, as the next man?"

"Why, of course you have, Mr. Samuels, " agreed Bob heartily. "I'm withyou there. "

"Well?"

"But you've exercised your rights to timber claims already. You took upyour timber claim in '89, and what is more, your wife and her brotherand your oldest son also took up timber claims in '90. As I understandit, this is an old homestead claim, antedating the others. "

Samuels, rather taken aback, stared uncertainly. He had been lured fromhis vantage ground of force to that of argument; how he scarcely knew. It had certainly been without his intention. 

Bob, however, had no desire that the old man should again take his standbehind the impenetrable screen of threat and bluster from which he hadbeen decoyed. 

"We've all got to get together, as citizens, to put a stop to this sortof thing, " he shifted his grounds. "I believe the time is at hand whengraft and grab by the rich and powerful will have to go. It will go onlywhen we take hold together. Look at San Francisco--" With great skillhe drew the old man into a discussion of the graft cases in that city. 

"Graft, " he concluded, "is just the price the people are willing to payto get their politics done for them while they attend to the pressingbusiness of development and building. They haven't time nor energy to doeverything, so they're willing to pay to have some things taken offtheir hands. The price is graft. When the people have more time, whenthe other things are done, then the price will be too high. They'lldecide to attend to their own business. "

Samuels listened to this closely. "There's a good deal in what you say, "he agreed. "I know it's that way with us. If I couldn't build a betterroad with less money and less men than our Supervisor, Curtis, does, I'dlie down and roll over. But I ain't got time to be supervisor, even ifanybody had time to elect me. There's a bunch of reformers down our way, but they don't seem to change Curtis much. "

"Reformers are no good unless the rank and file of the people come tothink the way they do, " said Bob. "That's why we've got to start bybeing good citizens ourselves, no matter what the next man would do. "

Samuels peered at him strangely, around the guttering candle. Boballowed him no time to express his thought. 

"But to get back to your own case, " said he. "What gets me is why youdestroy your homestead right for a practical certainty. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, I personally think it's a certainty that you will be dispossessedhere. If you wait for the law to put you off, you'll have no right totake up another homestead--your right will be destroyed. "

"What good would a homestead right do me these days?" demanded Samuels. "There's nothing left. "

"New lands are thrown open constantly, " said Bob, "and it's better, other things being equal, to have a right than to want it. On the otherhand, if you voluntarily relinquish this claim, your right to take upanother homestead is still good. "

At the mention of relinquishment the old mountaineer shied like a colt. With great patience Bob took up the other side of the question. Theelements of the problem were now all laid down--patriotism, thecertainty of ultimate loss, the advisability of striving to save rights, the desire to do one's part toward bringing the land grabbers in line. Remained only so to apply the pressure of all these cross-motives thatthey should finally bring the old man to the point of definite action. 

Bob wrestled with the demons of selfishness, doubt, suspicion, pride, stubbornness, anger, acquisitiveness that swarmed in the old man'sspirit, as Christian with Apollyon. The labour was as great. At times, as he retraced once more and yet again ground already covered, hispatience was overcome by a great weariness; almost the elementalobstinacy of the man wore him down. Then his very soul clamoured withinhim with the desire to cut all this short, to cry out impatientlyagainst the slow stupidity or mulishness, or avariciousness, or whateverit was, that permitted the old man to agree to every one of thepremises, but to balk finally at the conclusion. The night wore on. Bobrealized that it was now or never; that he must take advantage of thisreceptive mood a combination of skill and luck had gained for him. Theold man must be held to the point. The candle burned out. The room grewchill. Samuels threw an armful of pitch pine on the smouldering logs ofthe fireplace that balanced the massive cook stove. By its light thediscussion went on. The red flames reflected strangely from unexpectedplaces, showing the oddest inconsequences. Bob, at times, found himselfdrifting into noticing these things. He stared for a moment hypnoticallyon the incongruous juxtaposition of a skillet and an ink bottle. Then heroused himself with a start; for, although his tongue had continuedsaying what his brain had commanded it to say, the dynamics had gonefrom his utterance, and the old man was stirring restlessly as thoughabout to bring the conference to a close. Warned by this incident, heforced his whole powers to the front. His head was getting tired, but hemust continuously bring to bear against this dead opposition all theforces of his will. 

At last, with many hesitations, the old man signed. The other two men, rubbing their eyes sleepily, put down their names as witnesses, and, shivering in the night chill, crawled back to rest, without any veryclear idea of what they had been called on to do. Bob leaned back in hischair, the precious document clasped tight. The taut cords of his beinghad relaxed. For a moment he rested. To his consciousness dullypenetrated the sound of a rooster crowing. 

"Don't see how you keep chickens, " he found himself saying; "we can't. Coyotes and cats get 'em. I wish you'd tell me. "

Opposite him sat old Samuels, his head forward, motionless as a gravenimage. Between them the new candle, brought for the signing of therelinquishment, flared and sputtered. 

Bob stumbled to his feet. 

"Good night, " said he. 

Samuels neither moved nor stirred. He might have been a figure such asused to be placed before the entrances of wax works exhibitions, sostill he sat, so fixed were his eyes, so pallid the texture of hisweather-tanned flesh after the vigil. 

Bob went out to the verandah. The chill air stirred his blood, set inmotion the run-down machinery of his physical being. From the darkness abird chirped loudly. Bob looked up. Over the still, pointed tops of thetrees the sky had turned faintly gray. From the window streamed thecandle light. It seemed unwontedly yellow in contrast to a daylightthat, save by this contrast, was not yet visible. Bob stepped from theverandah. As he passed the window, he looked in. Samuels had risen tohis feet, and stood rigid, his clenched fist on the table. 

At the stable Bob spoke quietly to his animals, saddled them, and ledthem out. For some instinctive reason which he could not have explained, he had decided to be immediately about his journey. The cold gray ofdawn had come, and objects were visible dimly. Bob led his horses to theedge of the wood. There he mounted. When well within the trees he lookedback. Samuels stood on the edge of the verandah, peering out into theuncertain light of the dawn. From the darkness of the trees Bob made outdistinctly the white of his mane-like hair and the sweep of hispatriarchal beard. Across the hollow of his left arm he carried hisshotgun. 

Bob touched spur to his saddle horse and vanished in the depths of theforest. 

XV

Bob delivered his relinquishment at headquarters, and received the news. 

George Pollock had been arrested for the murder of Plant, and now lay injail. Erbe, the White Oaks lawyer, had undertaken charge of his case. The evidence was as yet purely circumstantial. Erbe had naturally givenout no intimation of what his defence would be. 

Then, within a week, events began to stir in Durham County. Samuelswrote a rather violent letter announcing his change of mind in regard tothe relinquishment. To this a formal answer of regret was sent, togetherwith an intimation that the matter was now irrevocable. Somebody sent acopy of the local paper containing a vituperative interview with the oldmountaineer. This was followed by other copies in which other citizenscontributed letters of expostulation and indignation. The matter wascommented on ponderously in a typical country editorial containing suchphrases as "clothed in a little brief authority, " "arrogant minions ofthe law, " and so forth. Tom Carroll, riding through Durham on business, was treated to ugly looks and uglier words. Ross Fletcher, visiting thecounty seat, escaped a physical encounter with belligerent members of aninflamed populace only by the exercise of the utmost coolness and goodnature. Samuels moved further by petitioning to the proper authoritiesfor the setting aside of the relinquishment and the reopening of thewhole case, on the ground that his signature had been obtained by"coercion and undue influence. " On the heels of this a mass meeting inDurham was called and largely attended, at which a number of speakersuttered very inflammatory doctrines. It culminated in resolutions ofprotest against Thorne personally, against his rangers, and his policy, alleging that one and all acted "arbitrarily, arrogantly, unjustly andoppressively in the abuse of their rights and duties. " Finally, as acrowning absurdity, the grand jury, at its annual session, oversteppingin its zeal the limits of its powers, returned findings against "oneAshley Thorne and Robert Orde, in the pay of the United StatesGovernment, for arbitrary exceeding of their rights and authorities; forillegal interference with the rights of citizens; for oppression, " andso on through a round dozen vague counts. 

All this tumult astonished Thorne. 

"I had no idea this Samuels case interested them quite so much up there;nor did I imagine it possible they would raise such a row over that oldlong-horn. I haven't been up in that country as much as I should haveliked, but I did not suspect they were so hostile to the Service. "

"They always have been, " commented California John. 

"All this loud mouthing doesn't mean much, " said Thorne, "though ofcourse we'll have to undergo an investigation. Their charges don't meananything. Old Samuels must be a good deal of a demagogue. "

"He's got a good lawyer, " stated California John briefly. 

"Lawyer? Who?"

"Erbe of White Oaks. "

Thorne stared at him puzzled. 

"Erbe? Are you sure of that? Why, the man is a big man; he's generally acut or so above cases of this sort--with as little foundation for them. He's more in the line of fat fees. Here's two mountain cases he'sundertaken. "

"I never knew Johnny Erbe to refuse any sort of case he'd get paid for, "observed California John. 

"Well, he's certainly raising a dust up north, " said Thorne. "Everypaper all at once is full of the most incendiary stuff. I hate to send aranger up there these days. "

"I reckon the boys can take care of themselves!" put in Ross Fletcher. 

California John turned to look at him. 

"Sure thing, Ross, " he drawled, "and a first-class row between a brutalranger--who could take care of himself--and an inoffensive citizen wouldread fine in print. "

"That's the idea, " approved Thorne. "We can't afford a row right now. Itwould bring matters to a head. "

"There's the Harris case, and the others, " suggested Amy; "what are yougoing to do about them, now?"

"Carry them through according to my instructions, unless I get orders tothe contrary, " said Thorne. "It is the policy of the Service throughoutto clear up and settle these doubtful land cases. We must get suchthings decided. We can't stop because of a little localized popularclamour. "

"Are there many such cases up in the Durham country?" asked Bob. 

"Probably a dozen or so. "

"Isn't it likely that those men have got behind Samuels in order todiscourage action on their own cases?"

"I think there's no doubt of it, " answered Thorne, "but the point is, they've been fighting tooth and nail from the start. We had felt outtheir strength from the first, and it developed nothing like this. "

"That's where Erbe comes in, " suggested Bob. 

"Probably. "

"It don't amount to nothin', " said California John. "In the first place, it's only the 'nesters, ' [A] the saloon crowd, who are after you forAustin's case; and the usual muck of old-timers and loafers who eitherthink they own the country and ought to have a free hand in everythingjust as they're used to, or who are agin the Government on generalprinciples. I don't believe the people at Durham are behind this. I beta vote would give us a majority right now. "

"Well, the majority stays in the house, then, " observed Ross Fletcherdrily. "I didn't observe none of them when I walked down the street. "

"I believe with John, " said Thorne. "This crowd makes an awful noise, but it doesn't mean much. The Office cannot fail to uphold us. There'snobody of any influence or importance behind all this. "

Nevertheless, so skilfully was the campaign conducted, pressure soonmade itself felt from above. The usual memorials and largely-signedprotests were drawn up and presented to the senators from California, and the representatives of that and neighbouring districts. Men in theemploy of the saloon element rode actively in all directions obtainingsignatures. A signature to anything that does not carry financialobligation is the easiest thing in the world to get. Hundreds who had nogrievance, and who listened with the facile indignation of the ignorantto the representations of these emissaries, subscribed their names asvoters and constituents to a cause whose merits or demerits were quiteuncomprehended by them. The members of Congress receiving thesememorials immediately set themselves in motion. As Thorne could notofficially reply to what had not as yet been officially urged, his handswere tied. A clamour that had at first been merely noisy andmeaningless, began now to gain an effect. 

Thorne confessed himself puzzled. 

"If it isn't a case of a snowball growing bigger the farther it rolls, Ican't account for it, " said he. "This thing ought to have died down longago. It's been fomented very skilfully. Such a campaign as this oneagainst us takes both ability and money--more of either than I thoughtSamuels could possibly possess. "

In the meantime, Erbe managed rapidly to tie up the legal aspects of thesituation. The case, as it developed, proved to be open-and-shut againsthis client, but apparently unaffected by the certainty of this, hepersisted in the interposition of all sorts of delays. Samuels continuedto live undisturbed on his claim, which, as Thorne pointed out, had abad moral effect on the community. 

The issue soon took on a national aspect. It began to be commented on byoutside newspapers. Publications close to the administration andthoroughly in sympathy with its forest policies, began gravely to doubtthe advisability of pushing these debatable claims at present. 

"They are of small value, " said one, "in comparison with the largepublic domain of which they are part. At a time when the Forest Serviceis new in the saddle and as yet subjected to the most violent attacks bythe special interests on the floors of Congress, it seems unwise to doanything that might tend to arouse public opinion against it. "

As though to give point to this, there now commenced in Congress thatvirulent assault led by some of the Western senators, aimed at the verylife of the Service itself. Allegations of dishonesty, incompetence, despotism; of depriving the public of its heritage; of the curtailmentsof rights and liberties; of folly; of fraud were freely brought forwardand urged with impassioned eloquence. Arguments special to cattlemen, tosheepmen, to lumbermen, to cordwood men, to pulp men, to power men wereemphasized by all sorts of misstatements, twisted statements, or specialappeals to greed, personal interest and individual policy. To supporttheir eloquence, senators supposedly respectable did not hesitate boldlyto utter sweeping falsehoods of fact. The Service was fighting for itsvery life. 

Nevertheless, persistently, the officials proceeded with theirinvestigations. Bob had conducted his campaign so skilfully againstSamuels that Thorne used him further in similar matters. Little bylittle, indeed, the young man was withdrawn from other work. He nowspent many hours with Amy in the little office going over maps andfiles, over copies of documents and old records. When he had thoroughlymastered the ins and outs of a case, he departed with his pack animaland saddle horse to look the ground over in person. 

Since the _éclat_ of the Samuels case, he had little hope of obtainingrelinquishments, nor did he greatly care to do so. A relinquishmentsaved trouble in the courts, but as far as avoiding adverse publicnotice went, the Samuels affair showed the absolute ineffectiveness ofthat method. But by going on the ground he was enabled to see, with hisown eyes, just what sort of a claim was in question, the improvementsthat had been made on it, the value both to the claimant and theGovernment. Through an interview he was able to gauge the claimant, toweigh his probable motives and the purity of both his original andpresent intentions. A number of cases thus he dropped, and that on noother than his own responsibility. They were invariably those whoseissue in the courts might very well be in doubt, so that it wasimpossible to tell, without trying them, how the decision would jump. Furthermore, and principally, he was always satisfied that the claimanthad meant well and honestly throughout, and had lapsed throughignorance, bad advice, or merely that carelessness of the letter of thelegal form so common among mountaineers. Such cases were far morenumerous than he had supposed. The men had, in many instances, come intothe country early in its development. They had built their cabins by thenearest meadow that appealed to them; for, to all intents and purposes, the country was a virgin wilderness whose camping sites were many andopen to the first comer. Only after their households had been longestablished as squatters did these pioneers awake to an imperfectunderstanding that further formality was required before these, theirhomes, could be legally their own. Living isolated these men, even then, blundered in their applications or in the proving up of their claims. Such might be legally subject to eviction, but Bob in hisrecommendations gave them the benefit of the doubt and advised that fullpapers be issued. In the hurried days of the Service suchrecommendations of field inspectors were often considered as final. 

There were other cases, however, for which Bob's sympathies werestrongly enlisted, but which presented such flagrant irregularities ofprocedure that he could not consistently recommend anything but a courttest of the rights involved. To this he added a personal note, goingcompletely into details, and suggesting a way out. 

And finally, as a third class, he was able, as in Samuels's case, todeclare war on behalf of the Government. Men who had already taken upall the timber claims to which they or their families were legallyentitled, nevertheless added an alleged homestead to the lot. Other menwere taking advantage of twists and interpretations of the law to gainpossession of desirable tracts of land still included in the NationalForests. These men knew the letter of the law well enough, and tookpains to conform accurately to it. Their lapses were of intention. Theexcuses were many--so-called mineral claims, alleged agricultural land, all the exceptions to reservation mentioned in the law; the actual endsaimed at were two--water rights or timber. In these cases Bob reporteduncompromisingly against the granting of the final papers. Thousands ofacres, however, had been already conveyed. Over these, naturally, he hadno jurisdiction, but he kept his eyes open, and accumulated evidencewhich might some day prove useful in event of a serious effort to regainthose lands that had been acquired by provable fraud. 

But on the borderland between these sharply defined classes lay many inthe twilight zone. Bob, without knowing it, was to a certain extentexercising a despotic power. He possessed a latitude of choice as towhich of these involved land cases should be pushed to a court decision. If the law were to be strictly and literally interpreted, there could beno doubt but that each and every one of these numerous claimants couldbe haled to court to answer for his short-comings. But that, in manyinstances, could not but work an unwarranted hardship. The expensesalone, of a journey to the state capital, would strain to the breakingpoint the means of some of the more impecunious. Insisting on theminutest technicalities would indubitably deprive many an honest, well-meaning homesteader of his entire worldly property. It was all verywell to argue that ignorance of the law was no excuse; that it is aman's own fault if he does not fulfill the simple requirements of takingup public land. As a matter of cold fact, in such a situation as this, ignorance is an excuse. Legalizing apart, the rigid and invariableenforcement of the law can be tyrannical. Of course, this can never beofficially recognized; that would shake the foundations. But it is notto be denied that the literal and universal and _invariable_ enforcementof the minute letter of any law, no matter how trivial, for the space ofthree months would bring about a mild revolution. As witness thesweeping and startling effects always consequent on an order fromheadquarters to its police to "enforce rigidly"--for a time--someparticular city ordinance. Whether this is a fault of our system of law, or a defect inherent in the absolute logic of human affairs, is a matterfor philosophy to determine. Be that as it may, the powers that enforcelaw often find themselves on the horns of a dilemma. They must taketheir choice between tyranny and despotism. 

So, in a mild way, Bob had become a despot. That is to say, he had todecide to whom a broken law was to apply, and to whom not, and thiswithout being given any touchstone of choice. The matter rested with hisown experience, knowledge and personal judgment. Fortunately he was abeneficent despot. A man evilly disposed, like Plant, could have workedincalculable harm for others and great financial benefit to himself. That this is not only possible but inevitable is another defect of lawor system. No sane man for one single instant believes that literalenforcement of every law at all times is either possible or desirable. No sane man for one single instant believes that the law can be exceptedto or annulled for especial occasions without undermining the publicconfidence and public morals. Yet where is the middle ground?

In Bob's capacity as beneficent despot, he ran against many problemsthat taxed his powers. It was easy to say that Samuels, having fullintention to get what he very well knew he had no right to have, and foracquiring which he had no excuse save that others were allowed to dolikewise, should be proceeded against vigorously. It was likewise easyto determine that Ward, who had lived on his mountain farm, andcultivated what he could, and had himself made shakes of his timber, butwho had blundered his formal processes, should be given a chance to makegood. But what of the doubtful cases? What of the cases whereinapparently legality and equity took opposite sides?

Bob had adventures in plenty. For lack of a better system, he started atthe north end and worked steadily south, examining with patience thepedigree of each and every private holding within the confines of theNational Forests. These were at first small and isolated. Only one largetract drew his attention, that belonging to old Simeon Wright in the bigmeadows under Black Peaks. These meadows, occupying a wide plateau grownsparsely with lodgepole pine, covered perhaps a thousand acres of goodgrazing, and were held legally, but without the shadow of equity, by theold land pirate who owned so much of California. In going over both theoriginal records, the newer geological survey maps, and the countryitself, Bob came upon a discrepancy. He asked and obtained leave for aresurvey. This determined that Wright's early-day surveyor had made amistake--no extraordinary matter in a wild country so remote from baselines. Simeon's holdings were actually just one mile farther north, which brought them to the top of a bald granite ridge. His title to thiswas indubitable; but the broad and valuable meadows belonged still tothe Government. As the case was one of fact merely, Wright had noopportunity to contest, or to exercise his undoubtedly powerfulinfluence. The affair served, however, to draw Bob's name and activitiesinto the sphere of his notice. 

Among the mountain people Bob was at first held in a distrust thatsometimes became open hostility. He received threats and warningsinnumerable. The Childs boys sent word to him, and spread that wordabroad, that if this government inspector valued his life he would dowell to keep off Iron Mountain. Bob promptly saddled his horse, rodeboldly to the Childs' shake camp, took lunch with them, and rode back, speaking no word either of business or of threats. Having occasion totake a meal with some poor, squalid descendants of hog-raising PikeCounty Missourians, he detected a queer bitterness to his coffee, managed unseen to empty the cup into his canteen, and later found, as hehad suspected, that an attempt had been made to poison him. He rode backat once to the cabin. Instead of taxing the woman with the deed--for heshrewdly suspected the man knew nothing of it--he reproached her withcondemning him unheard. 

"I'm the best friend you people have, " said he. "It isn't my fault thatyou are in trouble with the regulations. The Government must straightenthese matters out. Don't think for a minute that the work will stop justbecause somebody gets away with me. They'll send somebody else. And thechances are, in that case, they'll send somebody who is instructed tostick close to the letter of the law: and who will turn you out mightysudden. I'm trying to do the best I can for you people. "

This family ended by giving him its full confidence in the matter. Bobwas able to save the place for them. 

Gradually his refusal to take offence, his refusal to debate any mattersave on the impersonal grounds of the Government servant acting solelyfor his masters, coupled with his willingness to take things intoconsideration, and his desire to be absolutely fair, won for Bob areluctant confidence. At the north end men's minds were as yet tooinflamed. It is a curious matter of flock psychology that if the publicmind ever occupies itself fully with an idea, it thereby becomes for thetime being blind, impervious, to all others. But in other parts of themountains Bob was not wholly unwelcome; and in one or two cases--whichpleased him mightily--men came in to him voluntarily for the purpose ofasking his advice. 

In the meantime the Samuels case had come rapidly to a crisis. Theresounding agitation had resulted in the sending of inspectors toinvestigate the charges against the local officials. The first of theseinspectors, a rather precise and formal youth fresh from Easterntraining, was easily handled by the versatile Erbe. His report, voluminous as a tariff speech, and couched in very official language, exonerated Thorne and Orde of dishonesty, of course, but it emphasizedtheir "lack of tact and business ability, " and condemned strongly theirattitude in the Durham matter. This report would ordinarily have gone nofarther than the district office, where it might have been acted on bythe officers in charge to the great detriment of the Service. At thattime the evil of sending out as inspectors men admirably trained intheory but woefully lacking in practice and the knowledge of Westernhumankind was one of the great menaces to effective personnel. Fortunately this particular report came into the hands of the Chief, whohappened to be touring in the West. A fuller investigation exposed tothe sapient experience of that able man the gullibility of theinspector. From the district a brief statement was issued upholding thelocal administration. 

The agitation, thus deprived of its chief hope, might very well havebeen expected to simmer down, to die away slowly. As a matter of fact, it collapsed. The newspaper attacks ceased; the public meetings werediscontinued; the saloons and other storm centres applied their powersto a discussion of the Gans-Nelson fight. Samuels was very brieflydeclared a trespasser by the courts. Erbe disappeared from the case. The United States Marshal, riding up with a posse into a supposedlyhostile country, found no opposition to his enforcement of the court'sdecree. Only old Samuels himself offered an undaunted defence, but wassoon dislodged and led away by men who half-pitied, half-ridiculed hisviolence. The sign "Property of the U. S. " resumed its place. Thorne madeof the ancient homestead a ranger's post. 

"It's incomprehensible as a genuine popular movement, " said he on one ofBob's periodical returns to headquarters. The young man now held acommission, and lived with the Thornes when at home. "The opposition upthere was so rabid and it wilted too suddenly. "

"'The mutable many, '" quoted Amy. 

But Thorne shook his head. 

"It's as though they'd pricked a balloon, " said he. "They don't love usup there, yet; but it's no worse now than it used to be here. Last weekit was actually unsafe on the streets. If they were so strong forSamuels then, why not now? A mere court decision could not change theirminds so quickly. I should have expected the real bitterness and thereal resistence when the Marshal went up to put the old man off. "

"That's the way I sized it up, " admitted Bob. 

"It's as if somebody had turned off the steam and the engine quitrunning, " said Thorne, "and for that reason I'm more than ever convincedthat it was a made agitation. Samuels was only an excuse. "

"What for?" asked Bob. 

"Struck me the same way, " put in California John. "Reminded me of thewar. Looked like they held onto this as a sort of first defence as longas they could, and then just abandoned it and dropped back. "

"That's it, " nodded Thorne. "That's my conclusion. Somebody bigger thanSamuels fears investigation; and they hoped to stop our sort ofinvestigation short at Samuels. Well, they haven't succeeded. "

Amy arose abruptly and ran to her filing cases. 

"That ought to be easily determined, " she cried, looking over hershoulder with shining eyes. "I have the papers about all ready for thewhole of our Forest. Here's a list of the private holdings, by whomheld, how acquired and when. " She spread the papers out on the table. "Now let's see who owns lots of land, and who is powerful enough toenlist senators, and who would fear investigation. "

All four bent over the list for a few moments. Then Thorne made fivedots with his pencil opposite as many names. 

"All the rest are little homesteaders, " said he. "One of these must beour villain. "

"Or all of them, " amended California John drily. 

[Footnote A: "Nester"--Western term meaning squatters, smallsettlers--generally illegally such. ]

XVI

The little council of war at once commenced an eager discussion of thenames thus indicated. 

"There's your own concern, the Wolverine Company, " suggested Thorne. "What do you know about the way it acquired its timber?"

"Acquired in 1879, " replied Amy, consulting her notes. "Partly from theBank, that held it on mortgage, and partly from individual owners. "

"Welton is no crook, " struck in Bob. "Even if he'd strained the law, which I doubt; he wouldn't defend himself at this late date with anymethod as indirect as this. "

"I think you're right on the last point, " agreed Thorne. "Proceed. "

"Next is the Marston N. Leavitt firm. "

"They bought their timber in a lump from a broker by the name ofRobinson; and Robinson got it of the old Joncal [A] Mill outfit; andheaven knows where they got it, " put in California John. 

"How long ago?"

"'84--the last transfer, " said Amy. 

"Doesn't look as though the situation ought to alarm them to immediateand violent action, " observed Thorne. "Aren't there any more recentclaims?" he asked Amy. 

"Here's one; the Modoc Mining Company, about one thousand mineralclaims, amounting to approximately 28, 000 acres, filed 1903. "

"That looks more promising. Patents issued in the reign of our esteemedpredecessor, Plant. "

"Where are most of the claims?" asked California John. 

"_All_ the claims are in the same place, " replied Amy. 

"The Basin!" said Bob. 

Amy recited the "descriptions" within whose boundaries lay the bulk ofthe claims. 

"That's it, " said Bob. 

"Is there any real mineral there?" inquired Thorne. 

"Not that anybody ever heard of, " said California John, who was himselfan old miner; "but gold is where you find it, " he added cautiously. 

"How's the timber?"

"It's the best stand I've seen in the mountains, " said Bob. 

"Well, " observed Thorne, "of course it wouldn't do to say so, but Ithink we've run against the source of our opposition in the Samuelscase. "

"That explains Erbe's taking the case, " put in Bob; "he's counsel formost of these corporations. "

"The fact that this is not a mineral country, " continued Thorne, "together with the additional considerations of a thousand claims in solimited an area, and the recent date, makes it look suspicious. Iimagine the Modoc Mining Company intends to use a sawmill, rather morethan a stamp mill. "

"Who are they?" asked California John. 

"We must find that out. Also we must ourselves ascertain just whatcolour of mineral there is over there. "

"That ought to be on the records somewhere already, " Amy pointed out. 

"Plant's records, " said Thorne drily. 

"I'm ashamed to say I haven't looked up the mineral lands act, "confessed Bob. "How did they do it?"

"Well, it's simple enough. The company made application under the lawthat allows mineral land in National Forests to be 'freely prospected, located, developed and patented. ' It is necessary to show evidence of'valuable deposits. '"

"Gold and silver?"

"Not necessarily. It may be even building stone, or fine clay, limestoneor slate. Then it's up to the Forest Officer to determine whether thedeposits are actually 'valuable' or not. You can drive a horse and cartthrough the law; and it's strictly up to the Forest Officer--or has beenin the past. If he reports the deposits valuable, and on that report apatent is issued, why that settles it. "

"Even if the mineral is a fake?"

"A patent is a patent. The time to head off the fraud is when theapplication is made. "

"Cannot the title be upset if fraud is clearly proved?"

"I do not see how, " replied Thorne. "Plant is dead. The law is veryliberal. Predetermining the value of mineral deposits is largely amatter of personal judgment. The company could, as we have seen, bringan enormous influence to bear. "

"Well, " said Bob, "that land will average sixty thousand feet to theacre. That's about a billion and a half feet. It's a big stake. "

"If the company wasn't scared, why did they try so hard to head us off?"observed California John shrewdly. 

"It will do us no harm to investigate, " put in Bob, his eye kindlingwith eagerness. "It won't take long to examine the indications thoseclaims are based on. "

"It's a ticklish period, " objected Thorne. "I hate to embarrass theAdministration with anything ill-timed. We have much to do straighteningout what we now have on hand. You must remember we are short of men; wecan't spare many now. "

"I'll tell you, " suggested Amy. "Put it up to the Chief. Tell him justhow the matter stands. Let him decide. "

"All right; I'll do that, " agreed Thorne. 

In due time the reply came. It advised circumspection in the matter; butcommanded a full report on the facts. Time enough, the Chief wrote, todecide on the course to be pursued when the case should be establishedin their own minds. 

Accordingly Thorne detached Bob and Ware to investigate the mineralstatus of the Basin. The latter's long experience in prospecting nowpromised to stand the Service in good stead. 

The two men camped in the Basin for three weeks, until the close ofwhich time they saw no human being. During this period they examinedcarefully the various ledges on which the mineral claims had been based. Ware pronounced them valueless, as far as he could judge. 

"Some of them are just ordinary quartz dikes, " said he. "I suppose theyclaim gold for them. There's nothing in it; or if this does warrant aman developing, then every citizen who lives near rock has a mine in hisback yard. "

Nevertheless he made his reports as detailed as possible. In themeantime Bob accomplished a rough, or "cruiser's" estimate of thetimber. 

As has been said, they found the Basin now quite deserted. The trail toSycamore Flats had apparently not been travelled since George Pollockhad ridden down it to give himself up to authority. Their preliminarylabours finished, the two Forest officers packed, and were on the verypoint of turning up the steep mountain side toward the lookout, when twohorsemen rode over the flat rock. 

Naturally Bob and Ware drew up, after the mountain custom, to exchangegreetings. As the others drew nearer, Bob recognized in one the slantingeyeglasses, the close-lipped, gray moustache and the keen, cold featuresof Oldham. Ware nodded at the other man, who returned his salutation ascurtly. 

"You're off your beat, Mr. Oldham, " observed Bob. 

"I'm after a deer, " replied Oldham. "You are a little off your own beat, aren't you?"

"My beat is everywhere, " replied Bob carelessly. 

"What devilment you up to now, Sal?" Ware was asking of the other man, a tall, loose-jointed, freckle-faced and red-haired individual with anevil red eye. 

"I'm earnin' my salary; and I misdoubt you ain't, " sneered theindividual thus addressed. 

"As what; gun man?" demanded Ware calmly. 

"You may find that out sometime. "

"I'm not as easy as young Franklin was, " said Ware, dropping his handcarelessly to his side. "Don't make any mistakes when you get around toyour demonstration. "

The man said nothing, but grinned, showing tobacco-stained, irregularteeth beneath his straggling, red moustache. 

After a moment's further conversation the little groups separated. Bobrode on up the trail. Ware followed for perhaps ten feet, or until outof sight behind the screen of willows that bordered the stream. Then, without drawing rein, he dropped from his saddle. The horse, urged by agentle slap on the rump, followed in the narrow trail after Bob and thepack animal. Ware slipped quietly through the willows until he hadgained a point commanding the other trail. Oldham and his companion wereriding peacefully. Satisfied, Ware returned, climbed rapidly until hehad caught up with his horse, and resumed his saddle. Bob had only thatmoment noticed his absence. 

"Look here, Bob, " said Ware, "that fellow with Mr. Oldham is a mancalled Saleratus Bill. He's a hard citizen, a gun man, and brags ofeleven killin's in his time. Mr. Oldham or no one else couldn't pick upa worse citizen to go deer hunting with. When you track up with himnext, be sure that he starts and keeps going before you stir out of yourtracks. "

"You don't believe that deer hunting lie, do you?" asked Bob. 

Ware chuckled. 

"I was wondering if _you_ did, " said he. 

"I guess there's no doubt as to who the Modoc Mining Company is. "

"Oldham?"

"No, " said Bob; "Baker and the Power Company. Oldham is Baker's man. "

Ware whistled. 

"Well, I suppose you know what you're talking about, " said he, "but it'spretty generally understood that Oldham is on the other side of thefence. He's been bucking Baker in White Oaks on some franchise business. Everybody knows that. "

Bob opened his eyes. Casting his mind back over the sources of hisinformation, he then remembered that intimation of the connectionbetween the two men had come to him when he had been looked on as amember of the inner circle, so that all things were talked of openlybefore him; that since Plant's day Oldham had in fact never appeared inBaker's interests. 

"He's up in this country a good deal, " Bob observed finally. "What's hesay is his business?"

"Why, he's in a little timber business, as I understand it; and he buysa few cattle--sort of general brokerage. "

"I see, " mused Bob. 

He rode in silence for some time, breathing his horse mechanically everyfifty feet or so of the steep trail. He was busily recalling and piecingtogether the fragments of what he had at the time considered anunimportant discussion, and which he had in part forgotten. 

"It's a blind, " he said at last; "Oldham is working for Baker. "

"What makes you think that?"

"Something I heard once. "

He rode on. The Basin was dropping away beneath them; the prospect tothe north was broadening as peak after peak raised itself into the lineof ascending vision. The pines, clinging to the steep, cast bars ofshadow across the trail, which zigzagged and dodged, taking advantage ofevery ledge and each strip of firm earth. Occasionally they crossed asinging brook, shaded with willows and cottonwoods, with fragrant bayand alders, only to clamber out again to the sunny steeps. 

Now Bob remembered and pieced together the whole. Baker had beenbragging that he intended to pay nothing to the Government for his waterpower. Bob could almost remember the very words. "'They've swiped abouteverything in sight for these pestiferous reserves, '" he murmured tohimself, "'but they encourage the honest prospector.... Oldham's got thewhole matter ... '" and so on, in the unfolding of the very scheme bywhich these acres had been acquired. "Near headwaters, " he had said; andthat statement, combined with the fact that nothing had occurred to stirindistinct memories, had kept Bob in the dark. At the time "nearheadwaters" had meant to him the tract of yellow pine near the head ofSycamore Creek. So he had dismissed the matter. Now he saw clearly thata liberal construction could very well name the Basin as the headwatersof the drainage system from which Sycamore Creek drew, if not itssource, at least its main volume of water. He exclaimed aloud in disgustat his stupidity; which, nevertheless, as all students of psychologyknow, typified a very common though curious phenomenon in the mentalworld. Suddenly he sat up straight in his saddle. Here, should Baker andthe Modoc Mining Company prove to be one and the same, was the evidenceof fraudulent intent! Would his word suffice? Painfully reconstructingthe half-forgotten picture, he finally placed the burly figure ofWelton. Welton was there too. His corroboration would make the testimonyirrefutable. 

Certainties now rushed to Bob's mind in flocks. If he had been stupid inthe matter, it was evident that Baker and Oldham had not. The fight inDurham was now explained. All the demagogic arousing of the populace, the heavy guns brought to bear in the newspaper world, the pressureexerted through political levers, even the concerted attacks on theService from the floors of Congress traced, by no great stretch ofprobabilities, to the efforts of the Power Company to stop investigationbefore it should reach their stealings. That, as California John hadsaid, was the first defence. If all investigation could be called off, naturally Baker was safe. Now that he realized the investigation must, in the natural course of events, come to his holdings, what would be hissecond line?

Of course, he knew that Bob possessed the only testimony that couldseriously damage him. Even Thorne's optimism had realized thedifficulties of pressing to a conviction against such powerful interestswithout some evidence of a fraudulent intent. Could it be that thepresence of this Saleratus Bill in company with Oldham meant that Bakerwas contemplating so sinister a removal of damaging testimony?

A moment's thought disabused him of this notion, however. Baker was notthe man to resort to violence of this sort; or at least he would not doso before exhausting all other means. Bob had been, in a way, thecapitalist's friend. Surely, before turning a gun man loose, Baker wouldhave found out definitely whether, in the first place, Bob was inclinedto push the case; and secondly, whether he could not be persuaded torefrain from introducing his personal testimony. The longer Bob lookedat the state of affairs, the more fantastic seemed the hypothesis thatthe gun man had been brought into the country for such a purpose. 

"Why do you suppose Oldham is up there with this Saleratus Bill?" heasked Ware at length. 

"Search me!"

"Is Bill good for anything beside gun work?"

"Well, " said Ware, judicially, "he sure drinks without an effort. "

"I don't believe Oldham is interested in the liquor famine, " laughedBob. "Anything else?"

"They _may_ be after deer, " acknowledged Ware, reluctantly, "though Ihate to think that rattlesnake is out for anything legitimate. I willsay he's a good hunter; and an A1 trailer. "

"Oh, he's a good trailer, is he?" said Bob. "Well, I rather suspectedyou'd say that. Now I know why they're up there; they want to figure outfrom the signs we've left just what we've been up to. "

"That's easy done, " remarked Ware. 

This explanation fitted. Bob had been in the Basin before, but on thebusiness of estimating government timber. Baker knew this. Now that theForest officer had gone in for a second time, it might be possible thathe was doing the same thing; or it might be equally possible that he wasengaged in an investigation of Baker's own property. This the power manhad decided to find out. Therefore he had sent in, with his land man, anindividual expert at deducing from the half-obliterated marks of humanoccupation the activities that had left them. That Oldham and hissinister companion had encountered the Forest men was a sheer accidentdue to miscalculation. 

Having worked this out to his own satisfaction, Bob knew what next toexpect. Baker must interview him. Bob was sure the young man would takehis own time to the matter, for naturally it would not do to make thefact of such a meeting too public. Accordingly he submitted his reportto Thorne, and went on about his further investigations, certain thatsooner or later he would again see the prime mover of all these dubiousactivities. 

He was not in the least surprised, therefore, to look up when riding oneday along the lonely and rugged trail that cuts across the lower caņonof the River, to see Baker seated on the top of a round boulder. Theincongruity, however, brought a smile to his lips. The sight of theround, smooth face, the humorous eyes, and the stout, city-fed figure ofthis very urban individual on a rock in a howling figure of this veryurban individual on a rock in a howling wilderness, with the eternalmountains for a background, was inexpressibly comical. 

"Hullo, merry sunshine!" called Baker, waving his hand as soon as he wascertain Bob had seen him. "Welcome to our thriving little hamlet. "

"Hullo, Baker, " said Bob; "what are you doing 'way off here?"

"Just drifting down the Grand Canal and listening to the gondoliers; andincidentally, waiting for you. Climb off your horse and come up here andget a tailor-made cigarette. "

"I'm on my way over to Spruce Top, " said Bob, "and I've got to keepmoving. "

"Haste not, hump not, hustle not, " said Baker, with the air of onequoting a hand-illuminated motto. "It will only get you somewhere. Come, gentle stranger, I would converse with thee; and I've come a long way todo it. "

"I live nearer home than this, " grinned Bob. 

"I wanted to see you in your office, " grinned back Baker appreciatively, "and this is strictly business. "

Bob dismounted, threw the reins over his horse's head, and ascended tothe top of the boulder. 

"Fire ahead, " said he; "I keep union hours. "

[Footnote A: Pronounced Hone-kal. ]

XVII

"Union hours suit me, " said Baker. "Why work while papa has his health?What I want to know is, how high is the limit on this game anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"This confounded so-called 'investigation' of yours? In other words, doyou intend to get after me?"

"As how?"

Baker's shrewd eyes looked at him gravely from out his smiling fat face. 

"Modoc Mining Company's lands. "

"Then you are the Modoc Mining Company?" asked Bob. 

Baker eyed him again. 

"Look here, my angel child, " said he in a tone of good-humoured pity, "Ican make all that kind of talk in a witness box--if necessary. In anycase, I didn't come 'way out here to exchange that sort with you. Youknow perfectly well I'm the Modoc Mining Company, and that I've got afine body of timber under the mineral act, and all the rest of it. Youknow all this not only because you've got some sense, but because I toldyou so before a competent witness. It stands to reason that I don't mindtelling you again where there are no witnesses. Now smoke up and jointhe King's Daughters--let's have a heart-to-heart and find out how westand. "

Bob laughed, and Baker, with entirely whole-hearted enjoyment, laughedtoo. 

"You're next on the list, " said Bob, "and, personally, I think----"

Baker held up his hand. 

"Let's not exchange thinks, " said he. "I've got a few thinks comingmyself, you know. Let's stick to facts. Then the Government is going toopen up on us?"

"Yes. "

"On the grounds of fraudulent entry, I suppose. "

"That's it. "

"Well, they'll never win----"

"Let's not exchange thinks, " Bob reminded him. 

"Right! I can see that you're acting under orders, and the suit must bebrought. Now I tell you frankly, as one Modern Woods-pussy of the Worldto another, that you're the only fellow that has any real testimony. What I want to know is, are you going to use it?"

Bob looked at his companion steadily. 

"I don't see why, even without witnesses, I should give away governmentplans to you, Baker. "

Baker sighed, and slid from the boulder. 

"I'm practically certain how the cat jumps, and I've long since made myplans accordingly. Whatever you say does not alter my course of action. Only I hate to do a man an injustice without being sure. You needn'tanswer. Your last remark means that you are. I have too much sense to dothe little Eva to you, Orde. You've got the gray stuff in your head, even if it is a trifle wormy. Of course, it's no good telling you thatyou're going back on a friend, that you'll be dragging Welton into thegame when he hasn't got a chip to enter with, that you're betrayingprivate confidence--well, I guess the rest is all 'thinks. '"

"I'm sorry, Baker, " said Bob, "and I suppose I must appear to be a spyin the matter. But it can't be helped. "

Baker's good-humoured, fat face had fallen into grave lines. He studieda distant spruce tree for a moment. 

"Well, " he roused himself at last, "I wish this particular attack ofmeasles had passed off before you bucked up against us. Because, youknow, that land's ours, and we don't expect to give it up on account ofthis sort of fool agitation. We'll win this case. I'm sorry you're mixedup in it. "

"Saleratus Bill?" hinted Bob. 

Baker's humorous expression returned. 

"What do you take me for?" he grinned. "No, that's Oldham's bodyguard. Thinks he needs a bodyguard these days. That's what comes from having abad conscience, I tell him. Some of those dagoes he's sold bum farms toare more likely to show up with a desire to abate him, than thatanything would happen to him in these hills. Now let's get thisstraight; the cases go on?"

"Yes. "

"And you testify?"

"Yes. "

"And call Welton in for corroboration?"

"I hardly think that's necessary. "

"It will be, as you very well know. I just wanted to be sure how westood toward each other. So long. "

He turned uncompromisingly away, and stumped off down the trail on hisfat and sturdy legs. 

Bob looked after him amazed, at this sudden termination of theinterview. He had anticipated argument, sophistry, appeal to oldfriendship, perhaps a more dark and doubtful approach. Though consciousthroughout of Baker's contempt for what the promoter would call hischildish impracticability, his disloyalty and his crankiness, Bobrealized that all of this had been carefully subdued. Baker's manner atparting expressed more of regret than of anger or annoyance. 

XVIII

To this short and inconclusive interview, however, Baker did not fail toadd somewhat through Oldham. The agent used none of the circumspectionBaker had considered necessary, but rode openly into camp and asked forBob. The latter, remembering Oldham's reputed antagonism to Baker, couldnot but admire the convenience of the arrangement. The lank and sinisterfigure of Saleratus Bill was observed to accompany that of the landagent, but the gun man, at a sign from his principal; did not dismount. He greeted no one, but sat easily across his saddle, holding the reinsof both horses in his left hand, his jaws working slowly, his evil, little eyes wandering with sardonic interest over the people andbelongings at headquarters. Ware nodded to him. The man's eyes halfclosed and for an instant the motion of his jaw quickened. Otherwise hemade no sign. 

Oldham drew Bob one side. 

"I want to talk to you where we won't be interrupted, " he requested. 

"Talk on, " said Bob, seating himself on a log. "The open is as good aplace as another; you can see your eavesdroppers there. "

Oldham considered this a moment, then nodded his head, and took hisplace by the young man's side. 

"It's about those Modoc lands, " said he. 

"I suppose so, " said Bob. 

"Mr. Baker tells me you fully intend to prosecute a suit for theirrecovery. "

"I believe the Government intends to do so. I am, of course, only theagent of the Government in this or any other matter. "

"In other words, you have received orders to proceed?"

"I would hardly be acting without them, would I?"

"Of course; I see. Mr. Baker is sometimes hasty. Assuming that you caredto do so, is there no way you could avoid this necessity?"

"None that I can discover. I must obey orders as long as I'm agovernment officer. "

"Exactly, " said Oldham. "Now we reach the main issue. What if you werenot a government officer?"

"But I am. "

"Assume that you were not. "

"Naturally my successor would carry out the same orders. "

"But, " suggested Oldham, "it might very well be that another man wouldnot be--well, quite so qualified to carry out the case--"

"You mean I'm the only one who heard Baker say he was going to cheat theGovernment, " put in Bob bluntly. 

"You and Mr. Welton and Mr. Baker were the only ones present at acertain interview, " he amended. "Now, in the event that you were notpersonally in charge of the case would you feel it necessary tovolunteer testimony unsuspected by anybody but you three?"

"If I were to resign, I should volunteer nothing, " stated Bob. 

Oldham's frosty eyes gleamed with satisfaction behind their glasses. 

"That's good!" he cried. 

"But I have no intention of resigning, " Bob concluded. 

"That is a matter open to discussion, " Oldham took him up. "There are agreat many reasons that you have not yet considered. "

"I'm ready to hear them, " said Bob. 

"Look at the case as it stands. In the first place, you cannot but admitthat Mr. Baker and the men associated with him have done great thingsfor this country. When they came into it, it was an undevelopedwilderness, supplying nothing of value to civilization, and supportingonly a scattered and pastoral people. The valley towns went about theirbusiness on horse cars; they either paid practically a prohibitive pricefor electricity and gas, or used oil and candles; they drank well waterand river water. The surrounding country was either a desert given overto sage brush and jack rabbits, or raised crops only according to theamount of rain that fell. You can have no conception, Mr. Orde, of thecondition of the country in some of these regions before irrigation. Inplace of this the valley people now enjoy rapid transportation, not onlythrough the streets of their towns, but also by trolley lines far out inall directions. They have cheap and abundant electric light and power. They possess pure drinking water. Above all they raise their certaincrops irrespective of what rains the heavens may send. "

Bob admitted that electricity and irrigation are good things. 

"These advantages have drawn people. I am not going to bore you with alot of statistics, but the population of all White Oaks County, forinstance, is now above fifty thousand people, where before was a scantten. But how much agricultural wealth do you suppose these people_export_ each year? Not how much they _produce_, but their netexportations?"

"Give it up. "

"Fifty million dollars worth! That's a marvellous per capita. "

"It is indeed, " said Bob. 

"Now, " said Oldham impressively, "that wealth would be absolutelynon-existent, that development could not have taken place, _did_ nottake place, until men of Mr. Baker's genius and courage came along totake hold. I have personally the greatest admiration for Mr. Baker as atype of citizen without whom our resources and possibilities would be inthe same backward condition as obtains in Canada. "

"I'm with you there, " said Bob. 

"Mr. Baker has added a community to the state, cities to thecommonwealth, millions upon millions of dollars to the nation's wealth. He took long chances, and he won out. Do not you think in return thenational resources should in a measure reward him for the advantages hehas conferred and the immense wealth he has developed? Mind you, Mr. Baker has merely taken advantage of the strict letter of the law. It ismerely open to another interpretation. He needs this particular body oftimber for the furtherance of one of his greatest quasi-publicenterprises; and who has a better right in the distribution of thepublic domain than the man who uses it to develop the country? Thepublic land has always been intended for the development of resources, and has always been used as such. "

Oldham talked fluently and well. He argued at length along the lines setforth above. 

"You have to use lubricating oil to overcome friction on a machine, " heconcluded. "You have to subsidize a railroad by land grants to enter anew country. By the same immutable law you must offer extraordinaryinducements to extraordinary men. Otherwise they will not take therisks. "

"I've nothing to do with the letter of the law, " Bob replied; "only withits spirit and intention. The main idea of the mineral act is to givelegitimate miners the timber they need for legitimate mining. Baker doesnot pretend, except officially, that he ever intends to do anything withhis claims. He certainly has done a great work for the country. I'llagree to everything you say there. But he came into California worthnothing, and he is now reputed to be worth ten millions and to controlvast properties. That would seem to be reward enough for almost anybody. He does not need this Basin property for any of his power projects, except that its possession would let him off from paying a veryreasonable tax on the waterpower he has been accustomed to getting free. Cutting that timber will not develop the country any further. I don'tsee the value of your argument in the present case. "

"Mr. Baker has invested in this project a great many millions ofdollars, " said Oldham. "He must be adequately safeguarded. To furtherdevelop and even to maintain the efficiency of what he has, he mustoperate to a large extent on borrowed capital. Borrowing depends oncredit; and credit depends on confidence. If conditions are proved to beunstable, capital will prove more than cautious in risking itself. Thatis elementary. Surely you can see that point. "

"I can see that, all right, " admitted Bob. 

"Well, " went on Oldham, taking heart, "think of the responsibility youare assuming in pushing forward a mere technicality, and a debatabletechnicality at that. You are not only jeopardizing a great andestablished business--I will say little of that--but you are risking theprosperity of a whole countryside. If Mr. Baker's enterprises shouldquit this section, the civilization of the state would receive a serioussetback. Thousands of men would be thrown out of employment, not only onthe company's works, but all along the lines of its holdings; electriclight and power would increase in price--a heavy burden to the consumer;the country trolley lines must quit business, for only withwater-generated power can they compete with railroads at all; fertilelands would revert to desert--"

"I am not denying the value of Mr. Baker's enterprises, " broke in Bob;"but what has a billion and a half of timber to do with all this?"

"Mr. Baker has long been searching for an available supply for use inthe enterprises, " said Oldham, eagerly availing himself of this opening. "You probably have a small idea of the immense lumber purchasesnecessary for the construction of the power plants, trolley lines, androads projected by Mr. Baker. Heretofore the company has been forced tobuy its timber in the open market. "

"This would be cheaper, " suggested Bob. 

"Much. "

"That would increase net profits, of course. I suppose that wouldresult in increased dividends. Or, perhaps, the public would reap thebenefit in decreased cost of service. "

"Undoubtedly both. Certainly electricity and transportation wouldcheapen. "

"The same open markets can still supply the necessary timber?"

"At practically prohibitive cost, " Oldham reminded. 

"Which the company has heretofore afforded--and still paid itsdividends, " said Bob calmly. "Well, Mr. Oldham, even were I inclined totake all you say at its face value; even were I willing to admit thatunless Mr. Baker were given this timber his business would fail, thecountry would be deprived of the benefits of his enterprise, and thepublic seriously incommoded, I would still be unable to follow the logicof your reasoning. Mind you, I do not admit anything of the kind. I donot anticipate any more dire results than that the dividends will remainat their present per cent. But even supposing your argument to be wellfounded, this timber belongs to the people of the United States. It ispart of John Jones's heritage, whether John Jones lives in White Oaks orNew York. Why should I permit Jones of New York to be robbed in favourof Jones of White Oaks--especially since Jones of New York put me hereto look after his interests for him? That's the real issue; and it'svery simple. "

"You look at the matter from a wrong point of view----" began Oldham, and stopped. The land agent was shrewd, and knew when he had come to an_impasse_. 

"I always respect a man who does his duty, " he began again, "and I cansee how you're tied up in this matter. But a resignation could bearranged for very easily. Mr. Baker knows thoroughly both your abilityand experience, and has long regretted that he has not been able toavail himself of them. Of course, as you realize, the great future ofall this country is not along the lines even of such great industries aslumber manufacture, but in agriculture and in waterpower engineering. Here, more than anywhere else in the world, Water is King!"

A recollection tickled Bob. He laughed outright. Oldham glanced at himsharply. 

"Oh, the Lucky Lands, " said he at last; "I'd forgotten you had ever beenthere. Well, the saying is as true now as it was then. The great futurefor any young man is along those lines. I am sure--in fact, I am told tosay with authority--that Mr. Baker would be only too pleased to have youcome in with him on this new enterprise he is opening up. "

"As how?"

"As stockholder to the extent of ten thousand shares preferred, and asalaried position in the field, of course. But, that is a small mattercompared with the future opportunities--"

"It's cheering to know that I'm worth so much, " interrupted Bob. "Sharesnow worth par?"

"A fraction over. "

"One hundred thousand and some odd dollars, " observed Bob. "It's a nicetidy bribe; and if I were any sort of a bribe taker at all, I'd surelyfeel proud and grateful. Only I'm not. So you might just as well havemade it a million, and then I'd have felt still more set up over it. "

"I hope you don't think I'm a bribe giver, either, " said Oldham. "Iadmit my offer was not well-timed; but it has been long undercontemplation, and I mentioned it as it occurred to me. "

Having thus glided over this false start, the land agent promptly openedanother consideration. 

"Perhaps we are at fatal variance on our economics, " said he; "but howabout the justice of the thing? When you get right down to cases, howabout the rest of them? I'll venture to say there are not two privatetimber holdings of any size in this country that have been acquiredstrictly within the letter of the law. Do you favour generalconfiscation?"

"I believe in the law, " declared Bob, "and I do not believe yourstatement. "

Oldham rose. 

"I tell you this, young man, " he said coldly: "you can prosecute theModoc Company or not, as you please--or, perhaps, I should say, you canintroduce your private testimony or not, as you please. We arereasonable; and we know you cannot control government prosecutions. Butthe Modoc Company intends that you play no favourites. "

"I do not understand you, " said Bob with equal coldness. 

"If the Modoc Company is prosecuted, we will make it our business to seethat every great land owner holding title in this Forest is brought intothe courts for the same offence. If the letter of the law is to beenforced against us, we'll see that it is enforced against all others. "

Bob bowed. "Suits me, " said he. 

"Does it?" sneered Oldham. He produced a bundle of papers bound by athick elastic. "Well, I've saved you some trouble in your next case. Here are certified copies of the documents for it, copied at Sacramento, and subscribed to before a notary. Of course, you can verify them; butyou'll find them accurate. "

He handed them to Bob, who took them, completely puzzled. Oldham's nextspeech enlightened him. 

"You'll find there, " said the older man, tapping the papers in Bob'shand, "the documents in full relating to the Wolverine Company's landholdings, and how they were acquired. After looking them over, we shallexpect you to bring suit. If you do not do so, we will take steps toforce you to do so--or, failing this, to resign!"

With these words, Oldham turned square on his heel and marched to whereSaleratus Bill was stationed with the horses. Bob stared after him, thebundle of papers in his hand. When Oldham had mounted, Bob looked downon these papers. 

"The second line of defence!" said he. 

XIX

Bob's first interest was naturally to examine these documents. He foundthem, as Oldham had said, copies whose accuracy was attested by thecopyist before a notary. They divided themselves into two classes. Thefirst traced the titles by which many small holdings had come into thehands of the corporation known as the Wolverine Company. The secondseemed to be some sort of finding by an investigating commission. Thislatter was in the way of explanation of the title records, so that byreferring from one to the other, Bob was able to trace out the processby which the land had been acquired. This had been by "colonizing, " asit was called. According to Federal law, one man could take up but onehundred and sixty acres of government land. It had, therefore, been thepractice to furnish citizens with the necessary capital so to do; afterwhich these citizens transferred their land to the parent company. Thiswas, of course, a direct evasion of the law; as direct an evasion asBaker's use of the mineral lands act. 

For a time Bob was unable to collect his reasoning powers adequately toconfront this new fact. His thoughts were in a whirl. The only thingthat stood out clearly was the difference in the two cases. He knewperfectly that after Baker's effort to lift bodily from the publicdomain a large block of its wealth every decent citizen should cry, "Stop thief!" Instinctively he felt, though as yet he could not analyzethe reasons for so feeling, that to deprive the Wolverine Company of itsholdings would work a crying injustice. Yet, to all intents andpurposes, apparently, the cases were on all fours. Both Welton andBaker had taken advantage of a technicality. 

When Bob began to think more clearly, he at first laid this differenceto a personal liking, and was inclined to blame himself for letting hisaffections cloud his sense of justice. Baker was companionable, jolly, but at the same time was shrewd, cold, calculating and unscrupulous inbusiness. He could be as hard as nails. Welton, on the other hand, whilepossessing all of Baker's admirable and robust qualities, had with theman endearing and honest bigness of purpose, limited only--thoughdecidedly--by his point of view and the bounds of his practicaleducation. Baker would steal land without compunction; Welton would takeland illegally without thought of the illegality, only because everybodyelse did it the same way. 

But should the mere fact of personality make any difference in theenforcing of laws? That one man was amiable and the other not so amiablehad nothing to do with eternal justice. If Bob were to fulfil his dutyonly against those he disliked, and in favour of his friends, he hadindeed slipped back to the old days of henchman politics from which thenation was slowly struggling. He reared his head at this thought. Surelyhe was man enough to sink private affairs in the face of a stern publicduty!

This determined, Bob thought the question settled. After a few minutes, it returned as full of interrogation points as ever. Leaving Baker andWelton entirely out of the question, the two cases still drew apart. Onewas just, the other unjust. Why? On the answer depended the peace ofBob's conscience. Of course he would resign rather than be forced toprosecute Welton. That was understood, and Bob resolutely postponedcontemplation of the necessity. He loved this life, this cause. Itopened out into wider and more beautiful vistas the further hepenetrated into it. He conceived it the only life for which he wasparticularly fitted by temperament and inclination. To give it up wouldbe to cut himself off from all that he cared for most in active life;and would be to cast him into the drudgery of new and uncongenial lines. That sacrifice must be made. It's contemplation and complete realizationcould wait. But a deeper necessity held Bob, the necessity of resolvingthe question of equities which the accident of his personal knowledge ofWelton and Baker had evoked. He had to prove his instincts right orwrong. 

He was not quite ready to submit the matter officially, but he wishedvery much to talk it over with some one. Glancing up he caught sight ofthe glitter of silver and the satin sheen of a horse. Star was comingdown through the trees, resplendent in his silver and carved leathertrappings, glossy as a bird, stepping proudly and daintily under thecurbing of his heavy Spanish bit. In the saddle lounged the tall, homelyfigure of old California John, clad in faded blue overalls, the brim ofhis disreputable, ancient hat flopped down over his lean brown face, andhis kindly blue eyes. Bob signalled him. 

"John!" he called, "come here! I want to talk with you!"

The stately, beautiful horse turned without any apparent guiding motionfrom his master, stepped the intervening space and stopped. CaliforniaJohn swung from the saddle. Star, his head high, his nostril wide, hiseye fixed vaguely on some distant vision, stood like an image. 

"I want a good talk with you, " repeated Bob. 

They sat on the same log whereon Oldham and Bob had conferred. 

"John, " said Bob, "Oldham has been here, and I don't know what to do. "

California John listened without a single word of comment while Bobdetailed all the ins and outs of the situation. When he had finished, the old man slowly drew forth his pipe, filled it, and lit it. 

"Son, " said he, "I'm an old man, and I've lived in this state since theearly gold days. That means I've seen a lot of things. In all that timethe two most valuable idees I've dug up are these: in the first place, it don't never do to go off half-cock; and in the second place, if youwant to know about a thing, go to headquarters for it. "

He removed his pipe and blew a cloud. 

"Half of that's for me and the other half's for you, " he resumed. "Iain't going to give you my notions until I've thought them over alittle; that's for me. As for you, if I was you, I'd just amble over andtalk the whole matter over with Mr. Welton and see what he thinks abouthis end of it. "

XX

This advice seemed so good that Bob acted upon it at his earliestopportunity. He found Welton riding his old brindle mule in from thebull donkey where he had been inspecting the work. The lumberman's red, jolly face lit up with a smile of real affection as he recognized Bob, an expression quickly changed, however, as he caught sight of the youngman's countenance. 

"What's up, Bobby?" he inquired with concern; "anything happened?"

"Nothing yet; but I want to talk with you. "

Welton immediately dismounted, with the laborious clumsiness of the manbrought up to other means of locomotion, tied Jane to a tree, and threwhimself down at the foot of a tall pine. 

"Let's have it, " said he. 

"There have come into my hands some documents, " said Bob, "thatembarrass me a great deal. Here they are. "

He handed them to Welton. The lumberman ran them through in silence. 

"Well, " he commented cheerfully, "they seem to be all right. What's thematter?"

"The matter is with the title to the land, " said Bob. 

Welton looked the list of records over more carefully. 

"I'm no lawyer, " he confessed at last; "but it don't need a lawyer tosee that this is all regular enough. "

"Have you read the findings of the commission?"

"That stuff? Sure! That don't amount to anything. It's merely anexpression of opinion; and mighty poor opinion at that. "

"Don't you see what I'm up against?" insisted Bob. "It will be in myline of duty to open suit against the Wolverine Company for recovery ofthose lands. "

"Suit!" echoed Welton. "You talk foolish, Bob. This company has ownedthese lands for nearly thirty years, and paid taxes on them. The recordsare all straight, and the titles clear. "

"It begins to look as if the lands were taken up contrary to law, "insisted Bob; "and, if so, I'll be called upon to prosecute. " "Contraryto your grandmother, " said Welton contemptuously. "Some of your youngsquirts of lawyers have been reading their little books. If these landswere taken up contrary to law, why so were every other timber lands inthe state. "

"That may be true, also, " said Bob. "I don't know. "

"Well, will you tell me what's wrong with them?" asked Welton. 

"It appears as though the lands were 'colonized, '" said Bob; "or, atleast, such of them as were not bought from the bank. "

"I guess you boys have a new brand of slang, " confessed Welton. 

"Why, I mean the tract was taken direct from many small holders inhundred-and-sixty-acre lots, " explained Bob. 

Welton stared at him. 

"Well, will you tell me how in blazes you were going to get together apiece of timber big enough to handle in any other way?" he demanded atlast. "All one firm could take up by itself was a quarter section, andyou're not crazy enough to think any concern could afford to build aplant for the sake of cutting that amount! That's preposterous! A mancertainly has a right under the law to sell what is his to whom-ever hepleases. "

"But the 'colonists, '" said Bob, "took up this land merely for thepurpose of turning it over to the company. The intention of the law isthat the timber is for the benefit of the original claimant. "

"Well, it's for his benefit, if he gets paid for it, ain't it?" demandedWelton ingenuously. "You can't expect him to cut it himself. "

"That is the intent of the law, " insisted Bob, "and that's what I'll becalled upon to do. What shall I do about it?"

"Quit the game!" said Welton, promptly and eagerly. "You can seeyourself how foolish it is. That crew of young squirts just out ofschool would upset the whole property values of the state. Besides, asI've just shown you, it's foolish. Come on back in a sensible business. We'd get on fine!"

Bob shook his head. 

"Then go ahead; bring your case, " said Welton. "I don't mind. "

"I do, " said Bob. "It looks like a strong case to me. "

"Don't bring it. You don't need to report in your evidence as you callit. Just forget it. "

"Even if I were inclined to do so, " said Bob, "I wouldn't be allowed. Baker would force the matter to publicity. "

"Baker, " repeated Welton; "what has he got to do with it?"

"It's in regard to the lands in the Basin. He took them up under themineral act, and plainly against all law and decency. It's the plainestcase of fraud I know about, and is a direct steal right from under ournoses. "

"I think myself he's skinning things a trifle fine, " admitted Welton;"but I can't see but what he's complied with the law all right. He don'thave any right to that timber, I'll agree with you there; but it looksto me like the law had a hole in it. "

"If he took that land up for other purposes than an honest intention tomine on it, the title might be set aside, " said Bob. 

"You'd have a picnic proving anything of the sort one way or anotherabout what a man intends to do, " Welton pointed out. 

"Do you remember one evening when Baker was up at camp and was kickingon paying water tolls? It was about the time Thorne first came in asSupervisor, and just before I entered the Service. "

"Seems to me I recall something of the sort. "

"Well, you think it over. Baker told us then that he had a way ofbeating the tolls, and mentioned this very scheme of taking advantage ofthe mineral laws. At the time he had a notion of letting us in on thetimber. "

"Sure! I remember!" cried Welton. 

"Well, if you and I were to testify as to that conversation, we'destablish his intent plainly enough. "

"Sure as you're a foot high!" said Welton slowly. 

"Baker knows this; and he's threatened, if I testify against him, tobring the Wolverine Company into the fight. _Now_ what should I do aboutit?"

Welton turned on him a troubled eye. 

"Bob, " said he, "there's more to this than you think. I didn't haveanything to do with this land until just before we came out here. One ofthe company got control of it thirty year ago. All that flapdoodle, " hestruck the papers, "didn't mean nothing to me when I thought it camefrom your amatoore detectives. But if Baker has this case looked upthere's something to it. Go slow, son. "

He studied a moment. 

"Have you told your officers of your own evidence against Baker?"

"Not yet. "

"Or about these?" he held up the papers. 

"No. "

"Well, that's all right. Don't. "

"It's my duty----"

"Resign!" cried Welton energetically; "then it won't be your duty. Nobody knows about what you know. If you're not called on, you'venothing to say. You don't have to tell all you know. "

A vision swept before Bob's eyes of a noble forest supposedly safe forall time devoted by his silence to a private greed. 

"But concealing evidence is as much of a perjury as falsifying it--" hebegan. A second vision flashed by of a ragged, unshorn fugitive, now injail, whom his testimony could condemn. He fell silent. 

"Let sleeping dogs lie, " said Welton, earnestly. "You don't know theharm you may do. Your father's reelection comes this fall, you know, andeven if it's untrue, a suit of this character--" He in his turn brokeoff. 

"I don't see how this could hurt father's chances--either way, " saidBob, puzzled. 

"Well, you know how I think about it, " said Welton curtly, rising. "Youasked me. "

He stumped over to Jane, untied the rope with his thick fingers, clambered aboard. From the mule's back he looked down on Bob, hiskindly, homely face again alight with affection. 

"If you never have anything worse on your conscience than keeping yourface shut to protect a friend from injustice, Bobby, " he said, "I reckonyou won't lose much sleep. "

With these words he rode away. Bob, returning to camp, unsaddled, and, very weary, sought his cabin. His cabin mate was stolidly awaiting him, seated on the single door step. 

"My friend that was going to leave me some money in my bunk was comingto-day, " said Jack Pollock. "It ain't in your bunk by mistake?"

"Jack, " said Bob, weariedly throwing all the usual pretence aside, "I'mashamed to say I clean forgot it; I had such a job on hand. I'll rideover and get it now. "

"Don't understand you, " said Jack, without moving a muscle of his face. 

Bob smiled at the serious young mountaineer, playing loyally his parteven to his fellow-conspirator. 

"Jack, " said he, "I guess your friend must have been delayed. Maybehe'll get here later. "

"Quite like, " nodded Jack gravely. 

XXI

Bob made the earliest chance to obtain California John's promisedadvice. The old man was unlettered, but his understanding was informedby a broad and gentle spirit and long experience of varied things. Onthis the head ranger himself touched. 

"Bob, " he began, "I'm an old man, and I've lived through a lot. When Icome into this state the elk and deer and antelope was running out onthe plains like sheep. I mined and prospected up and down thesemountains when nobody knew their names. There's hardly a gold camp youcan call over that I ain't been in on; nor a set of men that hadanything to do with making the state that I ain't tracked up with. Mostof the valley towns wasn't in existence those days, and the rest waslittle cattle towns that didn't amount to anything. The railroad took aweek to come from Chicago. There wasn't any railroad up the coast. Theyhadn't begun to irrigate much. Where the Redlands and Riverside orangegroves are there was nothing but dry washes and sage-brush desert. Itcost big money to send freight. All that was shipped out of the countryin a season wouldn't make up one shipment these days. I suppose to folksback East this country looked about as far off as Africa. Even to folksliving in California the country as far back as these mountains lookedlike going to China. They got all their lumber from the Coast ranges andthe lower hills. This back here was just wilderness, so far off thatnobody rightly thought of it as United States at all. 

"Of course, by and by the country settled up a little more but even thennobody ever thought of timber. You see, there was no market to amountto anything out here; and a few little jerk-water mills could supply thewhole layout easy. East, the lumber in Michigan and Wisconsin andMinnesota never was going to give out. In those days you could hardly_give_ away land up in this country. The fellow that went in for timberwas looked on as a lunatic. It took a big man with lots of sand to seeit at all. "

Bob nodded, his eye kindling with the beginnings of understanding. 

"There was a few of them. They saw far enough ahead, and they come inhere and took up some timber. Other folks laughed at them; but I guessthey're doing most of the laughing now. It took nerve, and it tooksense, and it took time, and it took patience. " California Johnemphasized each point with a pat of his brown, gnarled hand. 

"Now those fellows started things for this country. If they hadn't hadthe sheer nerve to take up that timber, nobody would have dared doanything else--not for years anyhow. But just the fact that theWolverine Company bought big, and other big men come in--why it giveconfidence to the people. The country boomed right ahead. If nobody hadseen the future of the country, she'd have been twenty year behind. OutWest that means a hell of a lot of value, let me tell you!"

"The timber would have belonged to the Government, " Bob reminded him. 

"I'm a Forest officer, " said California John, "and what's more, I was aForest officer for a good many years when there was nothin' to it butkicks. There can't nobody beat me in wishing a lot of good forest landwas under the Service instead of being due to be cut up by lumbermen. But I've lived too long not to see the point. You can't get benefitswithout paying for 'em. The United States of America was big gainersbecause these old fellows had the nerve just to come in and buy. Itain't so much the lumber they saw and put out where it's needed--thoughthat's a good deal; and it ain't so much the men they bring into thecountry and give work to--though that's a lot, too. _It's the confidencethey inspire_, it's the lead they give. That's what counts. All the restof these little operators, and workmen, and storekeepers, andmanufacturers wouldn't have found their way out here in twenty years ifthe big fellows hadn't led the way. If you should go over and buy tenthousand acres of land by Table Mountain to-morrow, next year there'd bea dozen to follow you in and do whatever you'd be doing. And while it'sthe big fellow that gives the lead, _it's the little fellow that makesthe wealth of the country!_"

Bob stared at the old man in fascinated surprise. This was a newCalifornia John, this closely reasoning man, with, clear, earnest eyes, laying down the simple doctrine taught by a long life among men. 

"The Government gives alternate sections of land to railroads to bringthem in the country, " went on California John. "In my notion all thistimber land in private hands is where it belongs. It's the price theGovernment paid for wealth. "

"And the Basin----" cried Bob. 

"What the hell more confidence does this country need now?" demandedCalifornia John fiercely; "what with its mills and its trolleys, itsvineyards and all its big projects. What right has this man Baker to getpay for what he ain't done?"

The distinction Bob had sensed, but had not been able to analyze, leapedat him. The equities hung in equal balance. On one side he saw thepioneer, pressing forward into an unknown wilderness, breaking a way forthose that could follow, holding aloft a torch to illumine dark places, taking long and desperate chances, or seeing with almost clairvoyantpower beyond the immediate vision of men; waiting in faith for thefulfillment of their prophecies. On the other he saw the plunderer, grasping for a wealth that did not belong to him, through values he hadnot made. This fundamental difference could never again, in Bob's mind, be gainsaid. 

Nevertheless though a difference in deeper ethics, it did not extend tothe surface of things by which men live. It explained; but did itexcuse, especially in the eye of abstract ethics? Had not these menbroken the law, and is not the upholding of the law important in itsmoral effect on those that follow?

"Just the same, " he voiced this thought to California John, "the lawsread then as they do to-day. "

"On the books, yes, " replied the old man, slowly; "but not in men'sideas. You got to remember that those fellows held pretty straight bywhat the law _says_. They got other men to take up the timber, and thenhad it transferred to themselves. That's according to law. A man can dowhat he wants with his own. You know. "

"But the intention of the law is to give every man a----"

"That's what we go by now, " interrupted California John. 

"What other way is there to go by?"

"None--now. But in those days that was the settled way to get timberland. They didn't make any secret of it. They just looked at it as theprocess to go through with, like filing a deed, or getting twowitnesses. It was a nuisance, and looked foolish, but if that was theway to do it, why they'd do it that way. Everybody knew that. Why, if aman wanted to get enough timber to go to operating on, his lawyer wouldexplain to him how to do it; any of his friends that was posted wouldshow him the ropes; and if he'd take the trouble to go to the LandOffice itself, the clerk would say: 'No, Mr. Man, I can't transfer toyou, personally, more'n a hundred and sixty acres, but you can get someof your friends to take it up for you. '[Footnote: A fact. ] Now will youtell me how Mr. Man could get it any straighter than that?"

Bob was seeing a great light. He nodded. 

"They've changed the rules of the game!" said California Johnimpressively, "and now they want to go back thirty year and hold thesefellows to account for what they did under the old rules. It don't lookto me like it's fair. "

He thought a moment. 

"I suppose, " he remarked reflectively, going off on one of his strangetangents, and lapsing once more into his customary picturesque speech, "that these old boys that burned those Salem witches was pretty wellthought of in Salem--deacons in the church, and all such; p'ticularelect, and held up to the kids for high moral examples? had the plumbuniversal approval in those torchlight efforts of theirn?"

"So I believe, " said Bob. 

"Well, " drawled California John, stretching his lank frame, "suppose oneof those old bucks had lived to now--of course, he couldn't, but supposehe did--and was enjoying himself and being a good citizen. And supposesome day the sheriff touched him on the shoulder and says: 'Old boy, we're rounding up all the murderers. I've just got Saleratus Bill forscragging Franklin. You come along, too. Don't you know that burnin'witches is murder?'" California John spat with vigour. "Oh, hell!" saidhe. 

"Now, Baker, " he went on, after a moment, "is Saleratus Bill because heknows he's agin what the people knows is the law; and the other fellowsis old Salem because they lived like they were told to. Even old Salemwould know that he couldn't burn no witches nowadays. These old timersain't the ones trying to steal land now, you notice. They're too damnhonest. You don't need to tell me that you believe for one minute whenhe took up this Wolverine land, that your father did anything that he, _or anybody else_, courts included, thought was off-colour. "

"My father!" cried Bob. 

"Why, yes, " said California John, looking at him curiously; "you don'tmean to say you didn't know he is the Wolverine Company!"

XXII

"Well, " said California John, after a pause, "after you've made yourjump there ain't much use in trying to turn back. If you didn't know it, why it was evident you wasn't intended to know it. But I was in thecountry when your father bought the land, so I happened to know aboutit. "

Bob stared at the old man so long that the latter felt called upon toreassure him. 

"I wouldn't take it so hard, if I was you, son, " said he. "I reallydon't think all these bluffs of Baker's amount to much. The findings ofthat commission ain't never been acted on, which would seem to show thatit didn't come to nothing at the time; and I don't have the slightestnotion in the world but what the whole thing will blow up in smoke. "

"As far as that is concerned, I haven't either, " said Bob; "though younever can tell, and defending such a suit is always an expensive matter. But here's the trouble; my father is Congressman from Michigan, he'sbeen in several pretty heavy fights this last year, and has somepowerful enemies; he is up for reelection this fall. "

"Suffering cats!" whistled California John. 

"A lot could be made of a suit of that nature, " said Bob, "whether ithad any basis, or not. "

"I've run for County Supervisor in my time, " said California Johnsimply. 

"Well, what is your advice?" asked Bob. 

"Son, I ain't got none, " replied the old man. 

That very evening a messenger rode over from the mill bringing a summonsfrom Welton. Bob saddled up at once. He found the lumberman, not in thecomfortable sitting room at his private sleeping camp, but watching thelamp alone in the office. As Bob entered, his former associate turned atroubled face toward the young man. 

"Bob, " said he at once, "they've got the old man cinched, unless you'llhelp out. "

"How's that?"

"You remember when we first came in here how Plant closed the road andthe flume right-of-way on us because we didn't have the permit?"

"Of course. "

"Now, Bob, you remember how we was up against it, don't you? If wehadn't gone through that year we'd have busted the business absolutely. It was just a case of hold-up and we had to pay it. You remember?"

"Yes. "

"Well!" burst out Welton, bringing his fist down, "now this hound, Baker, sends up his slick lawyer to tell me that was bribery, and thathe can have me up on a criminal charge!"

"He's bluffing, " said Bob quietly. "I remember all about that case. IfI'd known as much then of inside workings as I do now, I'd have taken ahand. But Baker himself ran the whole show. If he brings that matterinto court, he'll be subject to the same charge; for, if you remember, he paid the money. "

"Will he!" shouted Welton. "You don't know the lowlived skunk! Erbe toldme that if this suit was brought and you testified in the matter, thatBaker would turn state's evidence against me! That would let him offscot-free. "

"What!" said Bob incredulously. "Brand himself publicly as a criminaland tell-tale just to get you into trouble! Not likely. Think what thatwould mean to a man in his position! It would be every bit as bad asthough he were to take his jail sentence. He's bluffing again. "

"Do you really think so?" asked Welton, a gleam of relief lighteningthe gloom of his red, good-natured face. "I'll agree to handle the worstriver crew you can hand out to me; but this law business gets me runningin circles. "

"It does all of us, " said Bob with a sigh. 

"I concluded from Erbe's coming up here that you had decided to tellabout what you knew. That ain't so, is it?"

"I don't know; I can't see my duty clearly yet. "

"For heaven's sake, Bobby, what's it to you!" demanded Weltonexasperated. 

But Bob did not hear him. 

"I think the direct way is the best, " he remarked, by way of thinkingaloud. "I'm going to keep on going to headquarters. I'm going to writefather and put it straight to him how he did get those lands and tellhim the whole situation; and I'm going down to interview Baker, anddiscover, if I can, just how much of a bluff he is putting up. "

"In the meantime----" said Welton apparently not noting the fact thatBob had become aware of the senior Orde's connection with the land. 

"In the meantime I'm going to postpone action if I can. "

"They're summoning witnesses for the Basin trial. "

"I'll do the best I can, " concluded Bob. 

Accordingly he wrote the next day to his father. In this letter hestated frankly the situation as far as it affected the Wolverine lands, but said nothing about the threatened criminal charges against Welton. That was another matter. He set out the great value of the Basin landsand the methods by which they had been acquired. He pointed out hisduty, both as a forest officer and as a citizen, but balanced this bythe private considerations that had developed from the situation. 

This dispatched, he applied for leave. 

"This is the busy season, and we can spare no one, " said Thorne. "Youhave important matters on hand. "

"This is especially important, " urged Bob. 

"It is absolutely impossible. Come two months later, and I'll be gladto lay you off as long as I can. "

"This particular affair is most urgent business. "

"Private, of course?"

"Not entirely. "

"Couldn't be considered official?"

"It might become so. "

"What is it?"

"That I am not at liberty to tell you. "

Thorne considered. 

"No; I'm sorry, but I don't see how I can spare you. "

"In that case, " said Bob quietly, "you will force me to tender myresignation. "

Thorne looked up at him quickly, and studied his face. 

"From anybody else, Orde, " said he, "I'd take that as a threat or ahold-up, and fire the man on the spot. From you I do not. The mattermust be really serious. You may go. Get back as soon as you can. "

"Thank you, " said Bob. "It is serious. Three days will do me. "

He set about his preparations at once, packing a suit case with linenlong out of commission, smoothing out the tailored clothes he had nothad occasion to use for many a day. He then transported this--andhimself--down the mountain on his saddle horse. At Auntie Belle's hechanged his clothes. The next morning he caught the stage, and by theday following walked up the main street of Fremont. 

He had no trouble in finding Baker's office. The Sycamore Creekoperations were one group of many. As one of Baker's companies furnishedFremont with light and power, it followed that at night the name of thatcompany blazed forth in thousands of lights. The sign was not the lesslegible, though not so fiery, by day. Bob walked into extensiveground-floor offices behind plate-glass windows. Here were wickets andrailings through which and over which the public business wastransacted. A narrow passageway sidled down between the wall and a rowof ground-glass doors, on which were lettered the names of variousofficers of the company. At a swinging bar separating this passage fromthe main office sat a uniformed boy directing and stamping envelopes. 

Bob wrote his name on a blank form offered by this youth. The young mangazed at it a moment superciliously, then sauntered with an air of greatleisure down the long corridor. He reappeared after a moment's absencebehind the last door, to return with considerably more alacrity. 

"Come right in, sir, " he told Bob, in tones which mingled much deferencewith considerable surprise. 

Bob had no reason to understand how unusual was the circumstance of soprompt a reception of a visitor for whom no previous appointment hadbeen made. He entered the door held open for him by the boy, and sofound himself in Baker's presence. 

XXIII

The office was expensively but plainly furnished in hardwoods. A thickrug covered the floor, easy chairs drew up by a fireplace, several goodpictures hung off the wall. Near the windows stood a small desk for astenographer, and a wide mahogany table. Behind this latter, his back tothe light, sat Baker. 

The man's sturdy figure was absolutely immobile, and the customaryfacetiously quizzical lines of his face had given place to an expressionof cold attention. When he spoke, Bob found that the picturesque dictiontoo had vanished. 

At Bob's entrance, Baker inclined his head coldly in greeting, but saidnothing. Bob deliberately crossed the room and rested his two fists, knuckle down, on the polished desktop. Baker waited stolidly for him toproceed. Bob jerked his head toward the stenographer. 

"I want to talk to you in private, " said he. 

The stenographer glanced toward her employer. The latter nodded, whereupon she gathered a few stray leaves of paper and departed. Boblooked after her until the door had closed behind her. Then, quitedeliberately, he made a tour of the office, trying doors, peering behindcurtains and portičres. He ended at the desk, to find Baker's eye fixedon him with sardonic humour. "Melodramatic, useless--and ridiculous, " hesaid briefly. 

"If I have any evidence to give, it will be in court, not in a privateoffice, " replied Bob composedly. 

"What do you want?" demanded Baker. 

"I have come this far solely and simply to get a piece of information atfirst hand. I was told you had threatened to become a blackmailer, andI wanted to find out if it is true?"

"In a world of contrary definitions, it is necessary to come down tofacts. What do you mean by blackmailer?"

"It has been told me that you intend to aid criminal proceedings againstMr. Welton in regard to the right-of-way trouble and the 'sugaring' ofPlant. "

"Well?"

"And that in order to evade your own criminal responsibility in thematter you intended to turn state's evidence. "

"Well?" repeated Baker. 

"It seemed inconceivable to me that a man of your social and businessstanding would not only confess himself a petty criminal, but one whoshelters himself by betrayal of his confederate. "

"I do not relish any such process, " stated Baker formally, "and wouldavoid it if possible. Nevertheless, if the situation comes squarely upto me, I shall meet it. "

"I suppose you have thought what decent men----"

Baker held up one hand. This was the first physical movement he hadmade. 

"Pardon me, " he interrupted. "Let us understand, once and for all, thatI intend to defend myself when attacked. Personally I do not think thateither Mr. Welton or myself are legally answerable for what we havedone. I regret to observe that you, among others, think differently. Ifthe whole matter were to be dropped at this point, I should rest quitecontent. But if the matter is not dropped"--at last he let his upliftedhand fall, "if the matter is not dropped, " he repeated, "my sense ofjustice is strong enough to feel that every one should stand on the samefooting. If I am to be dragged into court, so must others. "

Bob stood thoughtful for a moment. 

"I guess that's all, " said he, and walked out. 

As the door closed behind him, Baker reached forward to touch one ofseveral buttons. To the uniformed messenger who appeared he snapped outthe one word, "Oldham!" A moment later the land agent stood before thewide mahogany desk. 

"Orde has just been here, " stated Baker crisply. "He wanted to know if Iintended to jail Welton on that old bribery charge. I told him I did. "

"How did he take it?"

"As near as I can tell he is getting obstinate. You claimed veryconfidently you could head off his testimony. Up to date you haven'taccomplished much. Make good. "

"I'll head him off, " stated Oldham grimly, "or put him where he belongs. I've saved a little persuasion until all the rest had failed. "

"How?"

"That I'll tell you in time, but not now. But I don't mind telling youthat I've no reason to love this Orde--or any other Orde--and I intendto get even with him on my own account. It's a personal and privatematter, but I have a club that will keep him. "

"Why the secrecy?"

"It's an affair of my own, " insisted Oldham, "but I have it on him. Ifhe attempts to testify as to the Basin lands, I'll have him in thepenitentiary in ten days. "

"And if he agrees?"

"Then, " said Oldham quietly, "I'll have him in the pen a littlelater--after the Basin matter is settled once and for all. "

Baker considered this a little. 

"My judgment might be worth something as to handling this, " hesuggested. 

"The matter is mine, " said Oldham firmly, "and I must choose my own timeand place. "

"Very well, " Baker acquiesced; "but I'd advise you to tackle Orde atonce. Time is short. Try out your club to see if it will work. "

"It will work!" stated Oldham confidently. 

"Of course, " remarked Baker, relaxing abruptly his attitude, physicaland mental, and lighting a cigar, "of course, it is all very well toyank the temples down around the merry Philistines, but it doesn't doyour Uncle Samson much good. We can raise hell with Welton and Orde anda half-dozen others, and we will, if they push us too hard--but thatdon't keep us the Basin if this crazy reformer testifies and pulls inWelton to corroborate him. I'd rather keep the Basin. If we could stopOrde----"

"I'll stop him, " said Oldham. 

"I hope, " said Baker impressively, "that you have more than one stringto your bow. I am not inquiring into your methods, you understand"--hispause was so significantly long at this point, that Oldham nodded--"_butyour sole job is to keep Orde out of court_. "

Baker looked his agent squarely in the eye for fifteen seconds. Thenabruptly he dropped his gaze. 

"That's all, " said he, and reached for some papers. 

XXIV

Oldham obeyed his principal's orders by joining Bob on the train back tothe city. He dropped down by the young man's side, produced a cigarwhich he rolled between his lips, but did not light, and at once openedup the subject of his negotiations. 

"I wish to point out to you, with your permission, " he began, "justwhere you stand in this matter. In the confusion and haste of a busytime you may not have cast up your accounts. First, " he checked off thepoint on his long, slender forefinger, "in injuring Mr. Baker in thisill-advised fashion you are injuring your old-time employer and friend, Mr. Welton, and this in two ways: you are jeopardizing his wholebusiness, and you are rendering practically certain his conviction on acriminal charge. Mr. Welton is an old man, a simple man, and a kindlyman; this thing is likely to kill him. " Oldham glanced keenly at theyoung man's sombre face, and went on. "Second"--he folded back hismiddle finger--"you are injuring your own father, also in two ways: youare bringing his lawful property into danger, and you are giving hispolitical enemies the most effective sort of a weapon to swing in hiscoming campaign. And do not flatter yourself they will not make the bestof it. It happens that your father has stood strongly with theConservation members in the late fight in Congress. This would be apretty scandal. Third, " said Oldham, touching his ring finger, "you areinjuring yourself. You are throwing away an opportunity to get in on theground floor with the biggest man in the West; you are making foryourself a powerful enemy; and you are indubitably preparing the way foryour removal from office--if removal from such an office canconceivably mean anything to any one. " He removed the cigar from hismouth, gazed at the wetted end, waited a moment for the young man tocomment, then replaced it, and resumed. "And fourth, " he remarkedclosing his fist so that all fingers were concealed. There he stoppeduntil Bob was fairly compelled to start him on again. 

"And fourth----" he suggested, therefore. 

"Fourth, " rapped out Oldham, briskly, "you injure George Pollock. "

"George Pollock!" echoed Bob, trying vainly to throw a tone of ingenuoussurprise into his voice. 

"Certainly; George Pollock, " repeated Oldham. "I arrived in SycamoreFlats at the moment when Pollock murdered Plant. I know positively thatyou were an eye-witness to the deed. If you testify in one case, I shallcertainly call upon you to testify in the other. Furthermore, " he turnedhis gray eyes on Bob, and for the second time the young man waspermitted to see an implacable hostility, "although not on the sceneitself, I can myself testify, and will, that you held the murderer'shorse during the deed, and assisted Pollock to escape. Furthermore, Ican testify, and can bring a competent witness, that while supposed tobe estimating Government timber in the Basin, you were in communicationwith Pollock. "

"Saleratus Bill!" cried Bob, enlightened as to the trailer's recentactivities in the Basin. 

"It will be easy to establish not only Pollock's guilt, but your own asaccessory. That will put you hard and fast behind the bars--where youbelong. "

In this last speech Oldham made his one serious mistake of theinterview. So long as he had appealed to Bob's feelings for, and senseof duty toward, other men, he had succeeded well in still furtherconfusing the young man's decision. But at the direct personal threat, Bob's combative spirit flared. Suddenly his troubled mind was clarified, as though Oldham's menace had acted as a chemical reagent toprecipitate all his doubts. Whatever the incidental hardships, rightmust prevail. And, as always, in the uprooting of evil, some unluckyinnocent must suffer. It is the hardship of life, inevitable, not to beblinked at if a man is to be a man, and do a man's part. He leanedforward with so swift a movement that Oldham involuntarily dodged back. 

"You tell your boss, " said Bob, "that nothing on God's earth can keep meout of court. "

He threw away his half-smoked cigar and went back to the chair car. Thesight of Oldham was intolerable to him. 

The words were said, and the decision made. In his heart he knew thematter irrevocable. For a few moments he experienced a feeling of reliefand freedom, as when a swimmer first gets his head above the surf thathas tumbled him. These fine-spun matters of ethical balance had confusedand wearied his spirit. He had become bewildered among such varieddemands on his personal decision. It was a comfort to fall back on theold straight rule of right conduct no matter what the consequences. Theessentials of the situation were not at all altered: Baker was guilty ofthe rankest fraud; Welton was innocent of every evil intent and shouldnever be punished for what he had been unwillingly and doubtfullypersuaded to permit; Orde senior had acquired his lands quite accordingto the customs and ideas of the time; George Pollock should have beenjustified a thousand times over in sight of God and man. Those thingswere to Bob's mind indisputable. To deprive the one man of a very smallportion of his fraudulently acquired property, it was apparentlynecessary to punish three men who should not be punished. These menwere, furthermore, all dear to Bob personally. It did not seem rightthat his decision should plunge them into undeserved penalties. But nowthe situation was materially altered. Bob also stood in danger from hisaction. He, too, must suffer with the others. All were in the sameboat. The menace to his own liberty justified his course. The innocentmust suffer with the guilty; but now the fact that he was one of thosewho must so suffer, raised his decision from a choice to a necessity. Whatever the consequences, the simplest, least perplexing, mostsatisfying course was to follow the obvious right. The odium ofingratitude, of lack of affection, of disloyalty, of self-reproach waslifted from him by the very fact that he, too, was one of those who musttake consequences. In making the personal threat against the young man'sliberty, Oldham had, without knowing it, furnished to his soul the onevalid reason for going ahead, conscience-clear. 

Though naturally Oldham could not follow out this psychology, he wasshrewd enough to understand that he had failed. This surprised him, forhe had entertained not the slightest doubt that the threat of thepenitentiary would bring Bob to terms. 

On arriving in the city, Oldham took quarters at the Buena Vista andsent for Saleratus Bill, whom he had summoned by wire as soon as he hadheard from that individual of Bob's intended visit to Fremont. 

The spy arrived wearing a new broad, black hat, a celluloid collar, awrinkled suit of store clothes, and his same shrewd, evil leer. Oldhamdid not appear, but requested that the visitor be shown into his room. There, having closed the transom, he issued his instructions. 

"I want you to pay attention, and not interrupt, " said he. "Within amonth a case is coming up in which Orde, the Forest man, is to appear aswitness. He must not appear. I leave that all to you, but, of course, Iwant no more than necessary violence. He must be detained until afterthe trial, and for as long after that as I say. Understand?"

"Sure, " said Saleratus Bill. "But when he comes back, he'll fix you justthe same. "

"I'll see to that part of it. The case will never be reopened. Now, mindyou, no shooting----"

"There might be an accident, " suggested Saleratus Bill, opening his redeyes and staring straight at his principal. 

"Accidents, " said Oldham, speaking slowly and judicially, "are alwayslikely to happen. Sometimes they can't be helped. " He paused to letthese words sink in. 

Saleratus Bill wrinkled his eyes in an appreciative laugh. "Accidents isof two kinds: lucky and unlucky, " he remarked briefly, by way ofparenthesis. 

"But, of course, it is distinctly understood, " went on Oldham, as thoughhe had not heard, "that this is your own affair. You have nothing toexpect from me if you get into trouble. And if you mention my name, you'll merely get jugged for attempted blackmail. "

Saleratus Bill's eyes flared. 

"Cut it, " said he, with a rasp in his voice. 

"Nevertheless, that is the case, " repeated Oldham, unmoved. 

The flame slowly died from Saleratus Bill's eyes. 

"I'll want a little raise for that kind of a job, " said he. 

"Naturally, " agreed Oldham. 

They entered into discussion of ways and means. 

In the meantime Bob had encountered an old friend. 

XXV

Bob always stayed at the Monterosa Hotel when in town; a circumstancethat had sent Oldham to the Buena Vista. Although it wanted but a fewhours until train time, he drifted around to his customary stoppingplace, resolved to enjoy a quiet smoke by the great plate-glass windowsbefore which the ever-varying theatre crowds stream by from Main Streetcars. He had been thus settled for some time, when he heard his namepronounced by the man occupying the next chair. 

"Bob Orde!" he cried; "but this is luck!"

Bob looked around to see an elderly, gray-haired, slender man, of keen, intelligent face, pure white hair and moustache, in whom he recognizedMr. Frank Taylor, a lifelong friend of his father's and one of the bestlawyers his native state had produced. He sprang to his feet to graspthe older man's hand. The unexpected meeting was especially grateful, for Bob had been long enough without direct reminders of his old home tobe hungry for them. Ever since he could remember, the erect, militaryform of Frank Taylor had been one of the landmarks of memory, like thesword that had belonged to Georgie Cathcart's father, or like thekindly, homely, gray figure of Mr. Kincaid in his rickety, two-wheeledcart--the man who had given Bob his first firearm. 

After first greetings and inquiries, the two men sank back to finishtheir smoke together. 

"It's good to see you again, " observed Bob, "but I'm sorry your businessbrings you out here at this time of year. This is our dry season, youknow. Everything is brown. I like it myself, as do most Californians, but an Easterner has to get used to it. After the rains, though, thecountry is wonderful. "

"This isn't my first trip, " said Taylor. "I was out here for some monthsaway back in--I think it was '79. I remember we went in to Santa Barbaraon a steamer that fired a gun by way of greeting! Strangely enough, thesame business brings me here now. "

"You are out here on father's account?" hazarded Bob, to whom the year1879 now began to have its significance. 

"Exactly. Didn't you get your father's letter telling of my coming?"

"I've been from headquarters three days, " Bob explained. 

"I see. Well, he sent you this message: 'Tell Bob to go ahead. I cantake care of myself. '"

"Bully for dad!" cried Bob, greatly heartened. 

"He told me he did not want to advise you, but that in the old days whena fight was on, the spectators were supposed to do their own dodging. "

"I'd about come to that conclusion, " said Bob, "but it surely does megood to feel that father's behind me in it. "

"My trip in '79--or whenever it was--was exactly on this same muss-up. "Mr. Taylor went on: "Your father owned this timber land then, and wantedto borrow money on it. At the time a rascally partner was trying to ruinhim; and, in order to prevent his getting this money, which would savehim, this partner instigated investigations and succeeded temporarily inclouding the title. Naturally the banks declined to lend money ondoubtful titles; which was all this partner wanted. [A] Perhaps you knowall this?"

Bob shook his head. "I was a little too young to know anything ofbusiness. "

"Your father sent me out to straighten things. The whole matter wasinvolved in endless red tape, obscured in every ingenious way possible. Although there proved to be nothing to the affair, to prove that facttook time, and time was what your father's partner was after. As amatter of fact, he failed; but that was not the result ofmiscalculation. Now I strongly suspect that your friend Baker, or hislawyers, have dug up a lot of this old evidence on the records and aregoing to use it to annoy us. There is nothing more in it how than therewas at the beginning, but it's colourable enough to start a noisy suiton, and that's all these fellows are after. "

"But if it was decided once, how can they bring it up again?" Bobobjected. 

"It was never brought to court. When the delay had been gained--orrather, when I unravelled the whole matter--it was dropped. "

"I see, " said Bob. "Then the titles are all right?"

"Every bit of that tract is as good as gold, " said Taylor impressively. "Your father bought only from men who had taken up land with their ownmoney. He paid as high as fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars for claimswhere by straight 'colonizing' he could have had them for three or fourhundred. "

"I'm glad to hear that, " said Bob. "But are you sure you can handlethis?"

"As for a suit, they can never win this in the world, " said Taylor. "Butthat isn't the question. What they want is a chance for big headlines. "

"Well, can you head them off?"

"I'm going to try, after I look over the situation. If I can't head itoff completely, I'll at least be in a position to reply publicly atonce. It took me three months to dig this thing out, but it won't takeme half an hour to get it in the papers. "

"I should think they'd know that. "

"I don't think their lawyer really knows about it. As I say, it took methree months to dig it all out. My notion is that while they have noidea they can win the case, they believe that we did actually colonizethe lands. In other words, they think they have it on us straightenough. The results of my investigations will surprise them. I'll keepthe thing out of court if I can; but in any case we're ready. It will bea trial in the newspapers. "

"Well, " said Bob, "you want to get acquainted then. Western newspapersare not like those in the East. They certainly jump in with both feet onany cause that enlists them one way or another. It is a case of noquarter to the enemy, in headlines, subheads, down to the date--readingmatter, of course. They have a powerful influence, too, for they arevery widely read. "

"Can they be bought?" asked Taylor shrewdly. 

Bob glanced at him. 

"I was thinking of the Power Company, " explained Taylor. 

"Blessed if I know, " confessed Bob; "but I think not. I disagree withthem on so many things that I'd like to think they are bought. But theyare more often against those apt to buy, than for them. They lambasteimpartially and with a certain Irish delight in doing the jobthoroughly. I must say they are not fair about it. They hit a man justas hard when he is down. What you want to do is to be better news thanBaker. "

"I'll be all of that, " promised Taylor, "if it comes to a newspapertrial. "

Bob glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet with an exclamation ofdismay. 

"I've five minutes to get to the station, " he said. "Goodbye. "

He rushed out of the hotel, caught a car, ran a block--and arrived intime to see the tail lights slipping away. He had to wait until themorning train, but that mattered little to him now. His wait and thejourney back to the mountains were considerably lightened by thispartial relief of the situation. At the first sign of trouble his fatherhad taken the field to fight out his own fights. That muchresponsibility was lifted from Bob's shoulders. He might have known!

Of the four dangerous elements of his problem one was thusunexpectedly, almost miraculously, relieved. Remained, however, poorWelton's implication in the bribery matter, and Pollock's danger. Bobcould not count in himself. If he could only relieve the others of theconsequences of his action, he could face his own trouble with a stoutheart. 

At White Oaks he was forced to wait for the next stage. This put himtwenty-four hours behind, and he was inclined to curse his luck. Had heonly known it, no better fortune could have fallen him. The news camedown the line that the stage he would have taken had been held up by alone highwayman just at the top of Flour Gold grade. As the vehiclecarried only an assortment of perishable fruit and three Italianlabourers, for the dam, the profits from the transaction were notextraordinary. The sheriff and a posse at once set out in pursuit. Theirefforts at overtaking the highwayman were unavailing, for the trail soonran out over the rocky and brushy ledges, and the fugitive had beenclever enough to sprinkle some of his tracks liberally with red pepperto baffle the dogs. The sheriff made a hard push of it, however, and forone day held closely enough on the trail. Bob's journey to SycamoreFlats took place on this one day--during which Saleratus Bill was toobusy dodging his pursuers to resume a purpose which Bob's delay hadfrustrated. 

On arriving at Auntie Belle's, Bob resolved to push on up the mountainthat very night, instead of waiting as usual until the followingmorning. Accordingly, after supper, he saddled his horse, collected thecamp mail, and set himself in motion up the steep road. 

Before he had passed Fern Falls, the twilight was falling. Hermitthrushes sang down through the cooling forest. From the side hill, exposed all the afternoon to the California summer sun, rose tepidodours of bear-clover and snowbush, which exhaled out into space, givingway to the wandering, faint perfumes of night. Bob took off his hat, andbreathed deep, greatly refreshed after the long, hot stage ride of theday. Darkness fell. In the forest the strengthening moonlight laid itswand upon familiar scenes to transform them. New aisles opened down thewoodlands, aisles at the end of which stood silvered, ghostly trees thusdistinguished by the moonbeams from their unnumbered brethren. The wholelandscape became ghostly, full of depths and shadows, mysteries andallurements, heights and spaces unknown to the more prosaic day. Landmarks were lost in the velvet dark; new features sprang intoprominence. Were it not for the wagon trail, Bob felt that in thisstrange, enchanted, unfamiliar land he might easily have become lost. His horse plodded mechanically on. One by one he passed the homelyroadside landmarks, exempt from the necromancies of the moon--the pileof old cedar posts, split heaven knows when, by heaven knows whom, andthriftlessly abandoned; the water trough, with the brook singing by; theS turn by the great boulders; the narrow defile of the Devil'sGrade--and then, still under the spell of the night, Bob surmounted theridge to look out over the pine-clad plateau slumbering dead-still underthe soft radiance of the moon. 

He rode the remaining distance to headquarters at a brisker pace. As heapproached the little meadow, and the group of buildings dark andsilent, he raised joyously the wild hallo of the late-comer with mail. Immediately lights were struck. A moment later, by the glimmer of alantern, he was distributing the coveted papers, letters and magazinesto the half-dressed group that surrounded him. Amy summoned him to bringher share. He delivered it to the hand and arm extended from the lowwindow. 

"You must be nearly dead, " said Amy, "after that long stage ride--tocome right up the mountain. "

"It's the finest sort of a night, " said Bob. "I wouldn't have missed itfor anything. It's H-O-T, hot, down at the Flats. This ride just savedmy life. "

This might have been truer than Bob had thought, for at almost thatvery moment Saleratus Bill, having successfully shaken off his pursuers, was making casual and guarded inquiries at Austin's saloon. When heheard that Orde had arrived at the Flats on the evening's stage, hemanifested some satisfaction. The next morning, however, thatsatisfaction vanished, for only then he learned that the young man mustbe already safe at headquarters. 

[Footnote A: See "The Riverman. "]

XXVI

In delivering his instructions to Oldham, Baker had, of course, nothought of extreme measures. Indeed, had the direct question been put tohim, he would most strongly and emphatically have forbidden them. Nevertheless, he was glad to leave his intentions vague, feeling that inthus wilfully shutting his eyes he might avoid personal responsibilityfor what might happen. He had every confidence that Oldham--a man ofmore than average cultivation--while he might contemplate lawlessness, was of too high an order to consider physical violence. Baker wasinclined to believe that on mature reflection Bob would yield to theaccumulation of influence against him. If not, Oldham intimated with nouncertain confidence, that he possessed information of a sort to coercethe Forest officer into silence. If that in turn proved unavailing--acontingency, it must be remembered that Baker hardly thought worthentertainment--why, then, in some one of a thousand perfectly legal waysOldham could entangle the chief witness into an enforced absence fromthe trial. This sort of manoeuvre was, later, actually carried out inthe person of Mr. Fremont Older, a witness in the graft prosecutions ofSan Francisco. In short, Baker's intentions, while desperately illegal, contemplated no personal harm to their victim. He gave as general ordersto his subordinate: "Keep Orde's testimony out of court"; and shruggedoff minute responsibilities. 

This command, filtered through a second and inimical personality, gainedin strength. Oldham was not of a temperament to contemplate murder. Hisnerves were too refined; his training too conventional; his imaginationtoo developed. He, too, resolutely kept his intentions a trifle vague. If Orde persisted, then he must be kidnapped for a time. 

But Saleratus Bill, professional gun-man, well paid, took hisinstructions quite brutally. In literal and bald statement he closed thecircle and returned to Baker's very words: "Keep Orde's testimony out ofcourt. " Only in this case Saleratus Bill read into the simple command amore sinister meaning. 

The morning after his return from the lower country, Bob saddled up toride over to the mill. He wished to tell Welton of his meeting Taylor;and to consult him on the best course to pursue in regard to the briberycharges. With daylight many of his old perplexities had returned. Herode along so deep in thought that the only impression reaching him fromthe external world was one of the warmth of the sun. 

Suddenly a narrow shadow flashed by his eyes. Before his consciousnesscould leap from its inner contemplation, his arms were pulled flat tohis sides, a shock ran through him as though he had received a heavyblow, and he was jerked backward from his horse to hit the ground withgreat violence. 

The wind was knocked from his body, so that for five seconds, perhaps, he was utterly confused. Before he could gather himself, or evencomprehend what had happened, a heavy weight flung itself upon him. Thebeginnings of his feeble struggles were unceremoniously subdued. When, in another ten seconds, his vision had cleared, he found himself boundhand and foot. Saleratus Bill stood over him, slowly recoiling the_riata, _ or throwing rope, with which he had so dexterously caught Bobfrom behind. After contemplating his victim for a moment, Saleratus Billmounted his own animal, and disappeared. 

Bob, his head humming from the violence of its impact with the ground, listened until the hoof beats had ceased to jar the earth. Then with amethodical desperation he began to wrench and work at his bonds. All hisefforts were useless; Saleratus Bill understood "hog-tying" too well. When, finally, he had convinced himself that he could not get away, Bobgave over his efforts. The forest was very still and warm. After a timethe sun fell upon him, and he began to feel its heat uncomfortably. Theaffair was inexplicable. He began to wonder whether Saleratus Billintended leaving him there a prey to what fortune chance might bring. Although the odds were a hundred to one against his being heard, heshouted several times. About as he had begun once more to struggleagainst his bonds, his captor returned, leading Bob's horse, and cursingaudibly over the difficulty he had been put to in catching it. 

Ignoring Bob's indignant demands, the gun-man loosed his ankles, taking, however, the precaution of throwing the riata over the young man'sshoulders. 

"Climb your horse, " he commanded briefly. 

"How do you expect me to do that, with my hands tied behind me?"demanded Bob. 

"I don't know. Just do it, and be quick, " replied Saleratus Bill. 

Bob's horse was nervous and restive. Three times he dropped his masterheavily to earth. Then Saleratus Bill, his evil eye wary, extended ahelping hand. This was what Bob was hoping for; but the gun-man was toowily and experienced to allow himself within the captive's fetteredreach. 

When Bob had finally gained his saddle, Saleratus Bill, leading thehorse, set off at a rapid pace cross country. To all of Bob's questionsand commands he turned a deaf ear, until, finally, seeing it was uselessto ask, Bob fell silent. Only once did he pause, and then to breathe andwater the horses. The country through which they passed was unfamiliarto Bob. He knew only that they were going north, and were keeping towestward of the Second Ranges. 

Late that evening Saleratus Bill halted for the night at a littlemeadow. He fed Bob a thick sandwich, and offered him a cup of water;after which he again shackled the young man's ankles, bound his elbows, and attached the helpless form to a tree. Bob spent the night in thiscase, covered only by his saddle blanket. The cords cut into his swelledflesh, the retarded circulation pricked him cruelly. He slept little. Atearly dawn his captor offered him the same fare. By sun-up they wereunder way again. 

All that day they angled to the northwest. The pine forests gave way tooaks, buckthorn, chaparral, as they entered lower country. Several timesSaleratus Bill made long detours to avoid clearings and ranches. Bob, inspite of his strength and the excellence of his condition, reeled fromsheer weariness and pain. They made no stop at noon. 

At two o'clock, or so, they left the last ranch and began once moreleisurely to climb. The slope was gentle. A badly washed and erodedwagon grade led them on. It had not been used for years. The horses, nowvery tired, plodded on dispiritedly. 

Then, with the suddenness of a shift of scenery, they topped what seemedto be a trifling rounded hill. On the other side the slope dropped sheeraway. Opposite and to north and south were the ranks of great mountains, some dark with the blue of atmosphere before pines, others glitteringwith snow. Directly beneath, almost under him, Bob saw a valley. 

It was many thousand feet below, mathematically round, and completelysurrounded by lofty mountains. Indeed, already evening had there spreadits shadows, although to the rest of the world the sun was still hourshigh. Through it flowed a river. From the height it looked like a pieceof translucent green glass in the still depths; like cotton-wool wherethe rapids broke; for the great distance robbed it of all motion. Thisstream issued from a gorge and flowed into another, both so narrow thatthe lofty mountains seemed fairly to close them shut. 

Through the clear air of the Sierras this valley looked like a toy, aminiature. Every detail was distinct. Bob made out very plainly thepleasant trees, and a bridge over the river, and the roofs of manyhouses, and the streets of a little town. 

To the left the wagon road dropped away down the steep side of themountain. Bob's eye could follow it, at first a band, then a ribbon, finally a tiny white thread, as it wound and zigzagged, seeking itscontours, until finally it ran out on the level and rested at the bridgeend. Opposite, on the other mountain, he thought to make out here andthere faint suggestions of another way. 

Though his eye thus embraced at a glance the whole length of the route, Bob found it a two-hours' journey down. Always the walls of themountains rose higher and higher above him, gaining in majesty and aweas he abandoned to them the upper air. Always the round valley grewlarger, losing its toy-like character. Its features became, not moredistinct, but more detailed. Bob saw the streets of the town werepleasantly shaded by cotton woods and willows; he distinguished dwellinghouses, a store, an office building, a mill building for crushing ofore. The roar of the river came up to him more clearly. As though somepower had released the magic of the stream, the water now moved. Rushingfoam and white water tumbled over the black and shining rocks; deeppools eddied, dark and green, shot with swirls. 

As it became increasingly evident that the road could lead nowhere butthrough this village, Bob's spirits rose. The place was well built. Bobcaught the shimmer of ample glass in the windows, the colour of paint onthe boards, and even the ordered rectangles of brick chimneys! Evidentlythese things must have been freighted in over the devious steep grade hewas at that moment descending. Bob well knew that, even nearer thesource of supplies, such mining camps as this appeared to be were mostoften but a collection of rude, unpainted shanties, huddled together fora temporary need. The orderly, well-kept, decent appearance of thishamlet, more like a shaded New England village than a Western camp, argued old establishment, prosperity, and self-respect. The inhabitantscould be no desperate fly-by-nights, such as Saleratus Bill would mostlikely have sought as companions. Bob made up his mind that the gun-manwould shortly try to threaten him into a temporary secrecy as to thecondition of affairs. This Bob instantly resolved to refuse. 

[Illustration: Bob found it two hours' journey down]

Saleratus Bill, however, rode on in an unbroken silence. Long after thebrawl of the river had become deafening, the road continued to dip anddescend. It is a peculiar phenomenon incidental to the descent of thesheer caņons of the Sierra Nevada that the last few hundred feet downseem longer than the thousands already passed. This is probably because, having gained close to the level of the tree-tops, the mind, strung tautto the long descent, allows itself prematurely to relax its attention. Bob turned in his saddle to look back at the grade. He could not fail toreflect on how lucky it was that the inhabitants of this village couldhaul their materials and supplies _down_ the road. It would have beenprohibitively difficult to drag anything up. 

After a wearisome time the road at last swung out on the flat, and soacross the meadow to the bridge. Feed was belly deep to the horses. Thebridge proved to be a suspension affair of wire cables, that swungalarmingly until the horses had to straddle in order to stand at all. Below it boiled the river, swirling, dashing, turning lazily andmysteriously over its glass-green depths, the shimmers and folds ofeddies rising and swaying like air currents made visible. 

They climbed out on solid ground. The road swung to the left and back, following a contour to the slight elevation on which the houses stood. Saleratus Bill, however, turned up a brief short-cut, which landed themimmediately on the main street. 

Bob saw two stores, an office building and a small hotel, shaded bywooden awnings. Beyond them, and opposite them, were substantial bunkhouses and dwelling houses, painted red, each with its elevated, roofedverandah. Large trees, on either side, threw a shade fairly across thethoroughfare. An iron pump and water trough in front of the hotel savedthe wayfarer from the necessity of riding his animals down to the river. The vista at the end of the street showed a mill building on a distantmountain side, with the rabbit-burrow dumps of many shafts and prospectholes all about it. 

They rode up the street past two or three of the houses, the hotel andthe office. Bob, peering in through the windows, saw tables and chairs, old chromos and newer lithographs on the walls. Under the tree at theside of the hotel hung a water _olla_ with a porcelain cup atop. Nearthe back porch stood a screen meat safe. 

But not a soul was in sight. The street was deserted, the houses empty, the office unoccupied. As they proceeded Bob expected from one moment tothe next to see a door open, a figure saunter around a corner. Save forthe jays and squirrels, the place was absolutely empty. 

For some minutes the full realization of this fact was slow in coming. The village exhibited none of the symptoms of abandonment. The windowglass was whole; the furniture of such houses as Bob had glanced intowhile passing stood in its accustomed places. A few strokes of the broommight have made any one of them immediately fit for habitation. Theplace looked less deserted than asleep; like one of the enchantedpalaces so dear to tales of magic. It would not have seemed greatlywonderful to Bob to have seen the town spring suddenly to life inobedience to some spell. If the mill stamps in the distant crusher hadcreaked and begun to pound; if dogs had rushed barking around cornersand from under porches; if from the hotel mine host had emerged, yawning and rubbing his eyes; if from the shops and offices and houseshad issued the slow, grumbling sounds of life awakening, it would allhave seemed natural and to be expected. Under the influence of thisstrange effect a deathly stillness seemed to fall, in spite of thebawling and roaring of the river, and the trickle of many streamletshurrying down from the surrounding hills. 

So extraordinary was this effect of suspended animation that Bob againessayed his surly companion. 

"What place do you call this?" he inquired. 

Saleratus Bill had dismounted, and was stretching his long, lean armsover his head. Evidently he considered this the end of the long andpainful journey, and as evidently he was, in his relief, inclined to bebetter natured. 

"Busted minin' camp called Bright's Cove, " said he; "they took about tenmillion dollars out of here before she bust. "

"How long ago was that?" asked Bob. 

"Ten year or so. "

The young man gazed about him in amazement. The place looked as thoughit might have been abandoned the month before. In his subsequent sojournhe began more accurately to gauge the reasons for this. Here were nosmall boys to hurl the casual pebble through the delightfully shimmeringglass; here was no dust to be swirled into crevices and angles, no windto carry it; to this remote cove penetrated no vandals to rob, mutilateor wantonly disfigure; and the elevation of the valley's floor was lowenough even to avoid the crushing weights of snow that every winterbrought to the peaks around it. Only the squirrels, the birds and thetiny wood rats represented in their little way the forces ofdestruction. Furthermore, the difficulties of transportation absolutelyprecluded moving any of the small property whose absence so stronglyimpresses the desertion of a building. When Bright's Cove moved, it hadmerely to shut the front door. In some cases it did not shut the frontdoor. 

Saleratus Bill assisted Bob from the saddle. This had become necessary, for the long ride in bonds had so cramped and stiffened the young manthat he was unable to help himself. Indeed, he found he could not stand. Saleratus Bill, after looking at him shrewdly, untied his hands. 

"I guess you're safe enough for now, " said he. 

Bob's wrists were swollen, and his arms so stiff he could hardly usethem. Saleratus Bill paused in throwing the saddles off the weariedanimals. 

"Look here, " said he gruffly; "if you pass yore word you won't try toget away or make no fight, I'll turn you loose. "

"I'll promise you that for to-night, anyway, " returned Bob quickly. 

Saleratus Bill immediately cast the ropes into a corner of the verandah. 

XXVII

The shadows of evening were falling when Saleratus Bill returned frompasturing the wearied horses. Bob had been too exhausted to look abouthim, even to think. From a cache the gun-man produced several bags offood and a side of bacon. Evidently Bright's Cove was one of hisfamiliar haunts. After a meal which Bob would have enjoyed more had henot been so dead weary, his captor motioned him to one of the bunks. Only too glad for an opportunity to rest, Bob tumbled in, clothes andall. 

About midnight he half roused, feeling the mountain chill. He gropedinstinctively; his hand encountered a quilt, which he drew around hisshoulders. 

When he awoke it was broad daylight. A persistent discomfort which hadfor an hour fought with his drowsiness for the ascendancy, now discloseditself as a ligature tying his elbows at the back. Evidently SaleratusBill had taken this precaution while the young man slept. Bob couldstill use his hands and wrists, after a fashion; he could walk about buthe would be unable to initiate any effective offence. The situation wasadmirably analogous to that of a hobbled horse. Moreover, the bonds wereapparently of some broad, soft substance like sacking or harnesswebbing, so that, after Bob had moved from his constrained position, they did not excessively discommode him. 

He had no means of guessing what the hour might be, and no soundsreached him from the other parts of the house. His muscles were sore andbruised. For some time he was quite content to lie on his side, thinkingmatters over. 

From his knowledge of the connection between Baker and Oldham, Oldhamand his captor, Bob had no doubt as to the purpose of his abduction; nordid he fail to guess that now, with the chief witness out of the way, the trial would be hurried where before it had been delayed. Personallyhe had little to fear beyond a detention--unless he should attempt toescape, or unless a searching party might blunder on his traces. Bob hadalready made up his mind to use his best efforts to get away. As to theprobabilities of a rescue blundering on this retreat, he had no means ofguessing; but he shrewdly concluded that Saleratus Bill was taking nochances. 

That individual now entered; and, seeing his captive awake, grufflyordered him to rise. Bob found an abundant breakfast ready, to which hewas able to do full justice. In the course of the meal he made severalattempts on his jailer's taciturnity, but without success. SaleratusBill met all his inquiries, open and guarded, with a sullen silence orevasive, curt replies. 

"It don't noways matter why you're here, or how you're here. You _are_here, and that's all there's to it. "

"How long do I stay?"

"Until I get ready to let you go. "

"How can you get word from Mr. Oldham when to let me off?" asked Bob. 

But Saleratus Bill refused to rise to the bait. 

"I'll let you go when I get ready, " he repeated. 

Bob was silent for some time. 

"You know this lets me off from my promise, " said he, nodding backwardtoward his elbows. "I'll get away if I can. "

Saleratus Bill, for the first time, permitted himself a smile. 

"There's two ways out of this place, " said he--"where we come in, andover north on the trail. You can see every inch--both ways--from here. Besides, don't make no mistakes. I'll shoot you if you make a break. "

Bob nodded. 

"I believe you, " said he. 

As though to convince Bob of the utter helplessness of any attempt, Saleratus Bill, leaving the dishes unwashed, led the way in a tour ofthe valley. Save where the wagon road descended and where the steep sidehill of the north wall arose, the boundaries were utterly precipitous. From a narrow gorge, flanked by water-smoothed rock aprons, the riverboiled between glassy perpendicular cliffs. 

"There ain't no swimming-holes in that there river, " remarked SaleratusBill grimly. 

Bob, leaning forward, could just catch a glimpse of the torrent ragingand buffeting in the narrow box caņon, above which the mountains rosetremendous. No stream growths had any chance there. The place was waterand rock--nothing more. In the valley itself willows and alders, wellout of reach of high water, offered a partial screen to soften thesavage vista. 

The round valley itself, however, was beautiful. Ripening grasses grewshoulder high. Shady trees swarmed with birds. Bees and other insectshummed through the sun-warmed air. 

In vain Bob looked about him for the horses, or for signs of them. Theywere nowhere to be seen. Saleratus Bill, reading his perplexity, grinnedsardonically. 

"Yore friends might come in here, " said he, evidently not unwilling toexpose to Bob the full hopelessness of the latter's case. "And if so, they can trail us in; _and then trail us out again!_" He pointed to thelacets of the trail up the north wall. He grinned again. "You and I'djust crawl down a mile of mine shaft. "

Having thus, to his satisfaction, impressed Bob with the utter futilityof an attempt to escape, Saleratus Bill led the way back to the desertedvillage. There he turned deliberately on his captive. 

"Now, young feller, you listen to me, " said he. "Don't you try no monkeybusiness. There won't be no questions asked, none whatever. As long asyou set and look at the scenery, you won't come to no harm; but theminute you make even a bluff at gettin' funny--even if yore sorry thenext minute--I'll shoot. And don't you never forget and try to getnearer to me than three paces. Don't forget that! I don't rightly wantto hurt you; but I'd just as leave shoot you as anybody else. "

To this view of the situation Bob gave the expected assent. 

The next three days were ones of routine. Saleratus Bill spent his timerolling brown-paper cigarettes at a spot that commanded both trails. Bobwas instructed to keep in sight. He early discovered the cheering factthat trout were to be had in the glass-green pools; and so spent hoursawkwardly manipulating an improvised willow pole equipped with the shortline and the Brown Hackle without which no mountaineer ever travels theSierras. His bound elbows and the crudity of his tackle lost him manyfish. Still, he caught enough for food; and his mind was busy. 

Canvassing the possibilities, Bob could not but admit that SaleratusBill knew his job. The river was certain death, and led nowhere exceptinto mysterious and awful granite gorges; the outlets by roads were wellin sight. For one afternoon Bob seriously contemplated hazarding apersonal encounter. He conceived that in some manner he could get rid ofhis bonds at night; that Saleratus Bill must necessarily sleep; and thatthere might be a chance to surprise the gun-man then. But when nightcame, Saleratus Bill disappeared into the outer darkness; nor did hereturn until morning. He might have spent the hours camped under thetrees of the more remote meadow, whence in the brilliant moonlight hecould keep tabs on the trails, or he might be lying near at hand; Bobhad no means of telling. Certainly, again the young man reluctantlyacknowledged to himself, Saleratus Bill knew his job!

Nevertheless, as the days slipped by; and Bob's physical strengthreturned in its full measure, his active and bold spirit again took theinitiative. A slow anger seized possession of him. The native combativestubbornness of the race asserted itself, the necessity of doingsomething, the inability tamely to submit to imposed circumstances. Bob's careful analysis of the situation as a whole failed to discoverany feasible plan. Therefore he abandoned trying to plan ahead, and fellback on those always-ready and comfortable aphorisims of theadventurous--"sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, " and "onething at a time. " Obviously, the first thing to do was to free his arms;after that he would see what he would see. 

Every evening Saleratus Bill took the candle and departed, leaving Bobto find his own way to his bunk. This was the time to cut his bonds; ifat all. Unfortunately Bob could find nothing against which to cut them. Saleratus Bill had carefully removed every abrasive possibility in thetwo rooms. Bob very wisely relinquished the idea of passing thethreshold in search of a suitable rock or piece of tin. He had no notionof risking a bullet until something was likely to be gained by it. 

Finally his cogitations brought him an idea. Saleratus Bill wasattentive enough to such of the simple creature comforts as were withinhis means. Bob's pipe had been well supplied with tobacco. On the fourthevening Bob filled it just as his jailor was about to take away thecandle for the night. 

"Just a minute, " said Bob. "Let me have a light. "

Bill set the candle on the table again, and retired the three paceswhich he never forgot rigidly to maintain between himself and hiscaptive. Bob thereupon lit his pipe and nodded his thanks. As soon asSaleratus Bill had well departed, however, he retired to his bunk room, shutting the door carefully after him. There, with great care, hedeliberately set to work to coax into flame a small fire on the oldhearth, using as fuel the rounds of a broken chair, and as ignition theglowing coal in the bowl of his pipe. Before the hearth he had managedto hang the heavy quilt from his bunk, so that the flicker of the flamesshould not be visible from the outside. 

The little fire caught, blazed for a few moments, and fell to a steadyglow. Bob fished out one of the chair rungs, jammed the cool end firmlyin one of the open cracks between the timbers of the room, turned hisback, and deliberately pressed the band around his elbows against thelive coal. 

A smell of burning cloth immediately filled the air. After a moment thecoal went out. Bob replaced the charred rung in the fire, extractedanother, and repeated the operation. 

It was exceedingly difficult to gauge the matter accurately, as Bob soonfound out to his cost. He managed to burn more holes in his garment--andhimself--than in the bonds. However, he kept at it, and after a halfhour's steady and patient effort he was able to snap asunder the laststrands. He stretched his arms over his head in an ecstasy of physicalfreedom. 

That was all very well, but what next? Bob was suddenly called to adecision which had up to that moment seemed inconceivably remote. Heretofore, an apparent impossibility had separated him from it. Nowthat impossibility was achieved. 

A moment's thought convinced him of the senseless hazard of attemptingto slip out through any of the doors or windows. The moon was bright, and Saleratus Bill would have taken his precautions. Bob attacked thefloor. Several boards proved to be loose. He pried them up cautiously, and so was enabled to drop through into the open space beneath thehouse. Thence it was easy to crawl away. Saleratus Bill's precautionswere most likely taken, Bob argued to himself, with a view toward a manbound at the elbows, not to a man with two hands. In this he wasevidently correct, for after a painful effort, he found himself amongthe high grasses of the meadow. 

There were now, as he recognized, two courses open to him: he couldeither try to discover Saleratus Bill's sleeping place and by surpriseoverpower that worthy as he slept; or he could make the best of theinterim before his absence was discovered to get as far away aspossible. Both courses had obvious disadvantages. The most immediate tothe first alternative was the difficulty, failing some clue, of findingSaleratus Bill's sleeping place without too positive a risk ofdiscovery; the most immediate to the second was the difficulty ofgetting to the other side of the river. As Saleratus Bill might be atany one of a thousand places, in or out of doors; whereas the rivercould be crossed only by the bridge. Bob, without hesitation, chose thelatter. 

Therefore he made his way cautiously to that structure. It proved to belying in broad moonlight. As it constituted the only link with theoutside world to the south, Bob could not doubt that his captor hadarranged to keep it in sight. 

The bridge was, as has been said, suspended across a strait between tworocks by means of heavy wire cables. Slipping beneath these rocks andinto the shadow, Bob was rejoiced to find that between the stringers andthe shore, smaller cables had been bent to act as guy lines. If he couldwalk "hand over hand, " the distance comprised by the width of the streamhe could pass the river below the level of the bridge floor. He measuredthe distance with his eye. It did not look farther than the length ofthe gymnasium at college. He seized the cable and swung himself out overthe waters. 

Immediately the swift and boiling current, though twenty feet below, seemed to suck at his feet. The swirling and flashing of the waterdizzied his brain with the impression of falling upstream. He had to fixhis eyes on the black flooring above his head. The steel cable, too, wasold and rusted and harsh. Bob's hands had not for many years grasped arope strongly, and in that respect he found them soft. His muscles, cramped more than he had realized by the bonds of his captivity, soonbegan to drag and stretch. When halfway across, suspended above aravening torrent; confronted, tired, by an effort he had needed all hisfresh energies to put forth, Bob would have given a good deal to havebeen able to clamber aboard the bridge, risk or no risk. It was, however, a clear case of needs must. He finished the span on sheer nerveand will power; and fell thankfully on the rocks below the fartherabutment. For a half minute he lay there, stretching slowly his musclesand straightening his hands, which had become cramped like claws. Thenhe crept, always in the shadow, to the level of the meadow. 

Bob was learning to be a mountaineer. Therefore, on the way down, he hadsubconsciously noted that from the head of the meadow a steep dry washclimbed straight up to intersect the road. The recollection came to thesurface of his mind now. If he could make his way up this wash, he wouldgain three advantages: he would materially shorten his journey bycutting off a mile or so of the road-grade's twists and doublings; hewould avoid the necessity of showing himself so near the Cove in thebright moonlight; and he would leave no tracks where the road touchedthe valley. Accordingly he turned sharp to the left and began to pickhis way upstream, keeping in close to the river and treading as much aspossible on the water-worn rocks. The willows and elders protected himsomewhat. In this manner he proceeded until he had come to the smoothrock aprons near the gorge from which the river flowed. Here, inaccordance with his intention of keeping close in the shadow of themountain, he was to turn to the right until he should have arrived atthe steep "chimney" of the wash. He was about to leave the shelter ofthe last willows when he looked back. As his eyes turned, a flash ofmoonlight struck them full, like the heliographing of a mirror. He fixedhis gaze on the bushes from which the flicker had come. In a moment itwas repeated. Then, stooping low, a human figure hurried across a tinyopening, and once again the moonlight reflected from the worn andshining revolver in its hand. 

XXVIII

In some manner Saleratus Bill had discovered the young man's escape, andhad already eliminated the other possibilities of his direction offlight. Bob shuddered at this evidence of the rapidity with which theexpert trailer had arrived at the correct conclusion. He could not nowskirt the mountain, as he had intended, for that would at once exposehim in full view; he could not return by the way he had come, for thatwould bring him face to face with his enemy. It would avail him littleto surrender, for the gun-man would undoubtedly make good his threats;fidelity to such pledges is one of the few things sacred to the race. With some vague and desperate idea of defence, Bob picked up a heavybranch of driftwood. Then, as the man drew nearer, Bob scrambled hastilyover the smooth apron to the tiny beach that the eddies had washed outbelow the precipice. 

Here for the moment he was hidden, but he did not flatter himself hewould long remain so. He cast his eyes about him for a way of escape. Tothe one side was the river, in front of him was the rock apron with hisenemy, to the other side and back of him was a sheer precipice. In hisperplexity he looked down. A gleam of metal caught his eye. He stoopedand picked up the half of a worn horseshoe. Even in his haste of mind, he cast a passing wonderment on how it had come there. 

If Bob had not been trained by his river work in the ways of currents, he might sooner have thought of the stream. But well he knew thatSaleratus Bill had spoken right when he had said that there were "noswimming holes" here. The strongest swimmer could not have taken twostrokes in that cauldron of seething white water. But now, as Boblooked, he saw that a little back eddy along the perpendicularity of thecliff slowed the current close to the sheer rock. It might be justpossible, with luck, to win far enough along this cliff to lie concealedbehind some outjutting boulder until Saleratus Bill had examined thebeach and gone his way. Bob was too much in haste to consider theunexplained tracks he must leave on the sand. 

He thrust the branch he carried into the still black water. To hissurprise it hit bottom at a foot's depth. Promptly he waded in. Soundingahead, he walked on. The underwater ledge continued. The water nevercame above his knees. Out of curiosity he tapped with his branch untilhe had reached the edge of the submerged shelf. It proved to be somefour feet wide. Beyond it the water dropped off sheer, and the currentnearly wrenched the staff from Bob's hand. 

In this manner he proceeded cautiously for perhaps a hundred feet. Thenhe waded out on another beach. 

He found himself in a pocket of the cliffs, where the precipice so fardrew back as to leave a clear space of four or five acres in the riverbottom. Such pockets, or "coves, " are by no means unusual in theinaccessible depths of the great box caņons of the Sierras. Often thetraveller can look down on them from above, lying like green gems intheir settings of granite, but rarely can he descend to examine them. Thankfully Bob darted to one side. Here for a moment he might be safe, for surely no one not driven by such desperation as his own would dreamof setting foot in the river. 

A loud snort almost at his elbow, and a rush of scurrying shapes, startled him almost into crying aloud. Then out into the moonlight fromthe shadow of the cliffs rushed two horses. And Bob, seeing what theywere, sprang from his fancied security into instant action, for in aflash he saw the significance of the broken horseshoe on the beach, thesunken ledge, and the secret of the horses' pasture. By sheer chance hehad blundered on one of Saleratus Bill's outlaw retreats. 

Hastily he skirted the walls of the tiny valley. They were unbroken. Theriver swept by tortured and tumbled. He ran to the head of the cove. Nosunken ledge there rewarded him. Instead, the river at that point sweptinward, so that the full force of the current washed the very shores. 

Bob searched the prospect with eager eye. Twelve or fifteen feetupstream, and six or seven feet out from the cliff, stood a huge roundboulder. That alone broke the shadowy expanse of the river, which hererushed down with great velocity. Manifestly it was impossible to swim tothis boulder. Bob, however, conceived a daring idea. At imminent riskand by dint of frantic scrambling he worked his way along the cliffuntil he had gained a point opposite the boulder and considerably aboveit. Then, without hesitation, he sprang as strongly as he was ablesidewise from the face of the cliff. 

He landed on the boulder with great force, so that for a moment hefeared he must have broken some bones. Certainly his breath was all butknocked from his body. Spread out flat on the top of the rock, he movedhis limbs cautiously. They seemed to work all right. He backedcautiously until he lay outspread on the upstream slope of the boulder. At just this moment he caught the sinister figure of Saleratus Billmoving along the sunken ledge. 

For the first time Bob remembered the tracks he must have left and theman's skill at trailing. A rapid review of his most recent actionsreassured him at one point; in order to gain to the first of the minorcliff projections by means of which he had spread-eagled along the faceof the rock, he had been forced to step into the very shallow water atthe stream's edge. Thus his last footprints led directly into the river. 

The value of this impression, conjoined with the existence of a ledgebelow over which he had already waded safely, was not lost on Bob'spreception. As has been stated, his earlier experience in river drivinghad given him an intimate knowledge of the action of currents. Castinghis eye hastily down the moonlit river, he seized his hat from his headand threw it low and skimming toward an eddy opposite him as he lay. Theriver snatched it up, tossed it to one side or another, and finallycarried it, as Bob had calculated, within a few feet of the ledge alongwhich Saleratus Bill was still making his way. 

The gun-man, of course, caught sight of it, and even made an attempt tocapture it as it floated past, but without avail. It served, however, toprepossess his mind with the idea that Bob had been swept away by theriver, so that when, after a careful examination of the tiny cove, hecame to the trail leading into the water, he was prepared to believethat the young man had been carried off his feet in an attempt to wadeout past the cliff. He even picked up a branch, with which he poked atthe bottom. A short and narrow rock projection favoured his hypothesis, for it might very well happen that merely an experimental venture on soslanting and slippery a footing would prove fatal. Saleratus Billexamined again for footprints emerging; threw his branch into the river, and watched the direction of its course; and then, for the first time, slipped the worn and shiny old revolver into its holster. He spentseveral moments more reexamining the cove, glanced again at the river, and finally disappeared, wading slowly back around the sunken ledge. 

Bob's next task was to regain solid land. For some minutes he satastride the boulder, estimating the force and directions of the current. Then he leaped. As he had calculated, the stream threw him promptlyagainst the bank below. There his legs were immediately sucked beneaththe overhanging rock that had convinced Saleratus Bill of his captive'sfate. It seemed likely now to justify that conviction. Bob clungdesperately, until his muscles cracked, but was unable so far to drawhis legs from underneath the rock as to gain a chance to struggle outof water. Indeed, he might very well have hung in that equilibrium offorces until tired out, had not a slender, water-washed alder rootoffered itself to his grasp. This frail shrub, but lightly rooted, nevertheless afforded him just the extra support he required. Though heexpected every instant that the additional ounces of weight he frommoment to moment applied to it would tear it away, it held. Inch by inchhe drew himself from the clutch of the rushing water, until at length hesucceeded in getting the broad of his chest against the bank. A fewvigorous kicks then extricated him. 

For a moment or so he lay stretched out panting, and considering whatnext was to be done. There was a chance, of course--and, in view ofSaleratus Bill's shrewdness, a very strong chance--that the gun-manwould add to his precautions a wait and a watch at the entrance to thecove. If Bob were to wade out around the ledge, he might run fairly intohis former jailer's gun. On the other hand, Saleratus Bill must befairly well convinced of the young man's destruction, and he must bedesirous of changing his wet clothes. Bob's own predicament, in thischill of night, made him attach much weight to this latterconsideration. Besides, any delay in the cove meant more tracks to benoticed when the gun-man should come after the horses. Bob, his teethchattering, resolved to take the chance of instant action. 

Accordingly he waded back along the sunken ledge, glided as quickly ashe could over the rock apron, and wormed his way through the grasses tothe dry wash leading up the side of the mountains. Here fortune hadfavoured him, and by a very simple, natural sequence. The moon had by anhour sailed farther to the west; the wash now lay in shadow. 

Bob climbed as rapidly as his wind would let him, and in that manneravoided a chill. He reached the road at a broad sheet of rock whereonhis footsteps left no trace. After a moment's consideration, he decidedto continue directly up the mountainside through the thick brush. Thistravel must be uncertain and laborious; but if he proceeded along theroad, Saleratus Bill must see the traces he would indubitably leave. Inthe obscurity of the shady side of the mountain he found his task evenmore difficult than he had thought possible. Again and again he foundhimself puzzled by impenetrable thickets, impassable precipices, roughoutcrops barring his way. By dint of patience and hard work, however, hegained the top of the mountain. At sunrise he looked back into Bright'sCove. It lay there peacefully deserted, to all appearance; but Bob, looking very closely, thought to make out smoke. The long thread of theroad was quite vacant. 

XXIX

Bob had no very clear idea of where he was, except that it was in theunfriendly Durham country. It seemed well to postpone all publicappearances until he should be beyond a chance that Saleratus Bill mighthear of him. Bob was quite satisfied that the gun-man should believe himto have been swept away by the current. 

Accordingly, after he had well rested from his vigorous climb, he setout to parallel the dim old road by which the two had entered the Cove. At times this proved so difficult a matter that Bob was almost on thepoint of abandoning the hillside tangle of boulders and brush in favourof the open highway. He reflected in time that Saleratus Bill must comeout by this route; and he shrewdly surmised the expert trailer might beable from some former minute observation to recognize his footprints. Therefore he struggled on until the road dipped down toward the lowercountry. He remembered that, on the way in, his captor had led him firstdown the mountain, and then up again. Bob resolved to abandon the roadand keep to the higher contours, trusting to cut the trail where itagain mounted to his level. To be sure, it was probable that thereexisted some very good reason why the road so dipped to the valley--somedike, ridge or deep caņon impassable to horses. Bob knew enough ofmountains to guess that. Still, he argued, that might not stop a manafoot. 

The rest of a long, hard day he spent in proving this latterproposition. The country was very broken. A dozen times Bob scrambledand slid down a gorge, and out again, doing thus an hour's work for ahalf mile gain. The sun turned hot, and he had no food. Fortunatelywater was abundant. Toward the close of the afternoon he struck in to along slope of pine belt, and conceived his difficulties over. 

After the heat and glare of the rocks, the cool shadows of the forestwere doubly grateful. Bob lifted his face to the wandering breezes, andstepped out with fresh vigour. The way led at first up the narrow spineof a "hogback, " but soon widened into one of the ample and spaciousparks peculiar to the elevations near the summits of the First Rampart. Occasional cattle tracks meandered here and there, but save for theseBob saw no signs of man's activities--no cuttings, no shake-bolts, noblazes on the trees to mark a way. Nevertheless, as he rose on the slow, even swell of the mountain the conviction of familiarity began to forceits way in him. The forest was just like every other forest; there wasno outlook in any direction; but all the same, with that instinct forlocality inherent in a natural woodsman, he began to get his bearings, to "feel the lay of the country, " as the saying is. This is probably aneffect of the subconscious mind in memory; a recognition of what the eyehas seen without reporting to the conscious mind. However that may be, Bob was not surprised when toward sunset he came suddenly on a littleclearing, a tiny orchard, and a house built rudely of logs and shakes. 

Relieved that he was not to spend the night without food and fire, hevaulted the "snake" fence, and strode to the back door. A woman wasfrying venison steaks. 

"Hullo, Mrs. Ward, " Bob shouted at her. "That smells good to me; Ihaven't had a bite since last night!"

The woman dropped her pan and came to the door. A lank and lean PikeCounty Missourian rose from the shadows and advanced. 

"Light and rest yo' hat, Mr. Orde!" he called before he came well intoview. "But yo' already lighted, and you ain't go no hat!" he cried inpuzzled tones. "Whar yo'all from?"

"Came from north, " Bob replied cheerfully, "and I lost my horse down acaņon, and my hat in a river. "

"And yere yo' be plumb afoot!"

"And plumb empty, " supplemented Bob. "Maybe Mrs. Ward will make me somecoffee, " he suggested with a side glance at the woman who had once triedto poison him. 

She turned a dull red under the tan of her sallow complexion. 

"Shore, Mr. Orde--" she began. 

"We didn't rightly understand each other, " Bob reassured her. "That wasall. "

"Did she-all refuse you coffee onct?" asked Ward. "What yo' palaverin'about?"

"She isn't refusing to make me some now, " said Bob. 

He spent the night comfortably with his new friends who a few months agohad been ready to murder him. The next morning early, supplied with anample lunch, he set out. Ward offered him a riding horse, but hedeclined. 

"I'd have to send it back, " said he, "and, anyway, I'd neither want toborrow your saddle nor ride bareback. I'd rather walk. "

The old man accompanied him to the edge of the clearing. 

"By the way, " Bob mentioned, as he said farewell, "if some one asks you, just tell them you haven't seen me. "

The old man stopped short. 

"What-for a man?" he asked. 

"Any sort. "

A frosty gleam crept into the old Missourian's eye. 

"I'll keep hands off, " said he. He strode on twenty feet. "I got anextra gun--" said he. 

"Thanks, " Bob interrupted. "But I'll get organized better when I gethome. "

"Hope you git him, " said the old man by way of farewell. "He won't gitnothing out of me, " he shot back over his shoulder. 

Bob now knew exactly where he was going. Reinvigorated by the food, thenight's rest, and the cool air of these higher altitudes, he made goodtime. By four o'clock of the afternoon he at last hit the broad, dustythoroughfare over which were hauled the supplies to Baker's upper works. Along this he swung, hands in pockets, a whistle on his lips, the fine, light dust rising behind his footsteps. The slight down grade releasedhis tired muscles from effort. He was enjoying himself. 

Then he came suddenly around a corner plump against a horseman climbingleisurely up the grade. Both stopped. 

If Bob had entertained any lingering doubt as to Oldham's complicity inhis abduction, the expression on the land agent's face would haveremoved it. For the first time in public Oldham's countenance expresseda livelier emotion than that of cynical interest. His mouth fell openand his eyeglasses dropped off. He stared at Bob as though that youngman had suddenly sprung into visibility from clear atmosphere. Bobsurveyed him grimly. 

"Delighted to see me, aren't you?" he remarked. A slow anger surged upwithin him. "Your little scheme didn't work, did it? Wanted me out ofthe way, did you? Thought you'd keep me out of court! Well, I'm here, just as I said I'd be here. You can pay your villainous tool or kick himout, as you please. He's failed, and he won't get another chance. Youmiserable whelp!"

But Oldham had recovered his poise. 

"Get out of my way. I don't know what you are talking about. I'll landyou in the penitentiary a week after you appear in court. You'rewarned. "

"Oh, I've been warned for some time. But first I'll land you. "

"Really! How?"

"Right here and now, " said Bob stepping forward. 

Oldham reined back his horse, and drew from his side pocket a short, nickel-plated revolver. 

"Let me pass!" he commanded harshly. He presented the weapon, and hisgray eyes contracted to pin points. 

"Throw that thing away, " said Bob, laying his hand on the other man'sbridle. "_I'm going to give you the very worst licking you ever heardtell of!_"

The young man's muscles were tense with the expectation of a shot. Tohis vast astonishment, at his last words Oldham turned deadly pale, swayed in the saddle, and the revolver clattered past his stirrup tofall in the dust. With a snarl of contempt at what he erroneously tookfor a mere physical cowardice, Bob reached for his enemy and dragged himfrom the saddle. 

The chastisement was brief, but effective. Bob's anger cooled with thefirst blow, for Oldham was no match for his younger and more vigorousassailant. In fact, he hardly offered any resistance. Bob knocked himdown, shook him by the collar as a terrier shakes a ground squirrel, andcast him fiercely in the dust. Oldham sat up, his face bleedingslightly, his eyes bewildered with the suddenness of the onslaught. Theyoung man leaned over him, speaking vehemently to rivet his attention. 

"Now you listen to me, " said he. "You leave me alone. If I ever hear anygossip, even, about what you will or will not do to me, I'll know whereit started from. The first word I hear from any one anywhere, I'll startfor you. "

He looked down for a moment at the disorganized man seated in the thick, white dust that was still floating lazily around him. Then he turnedabruptly away and resumed his journey. 

XXX

For ten seconds Oldham sat as Bob had left him. His hat and eyeglasseswere gone, his usually immaculate irongray hair rumpled, his clothescovered with dust. A thin stream of blood crept from beneath hisclose-clipped moustache. But the most striking result of the encounter, to one who had known the man, was in the convulsed expression of hiscountenance. A close friend would hardly have recognized him. His lipssnarled, his eyes flared, the muscles of his face worked. Ordinarilyrepressed and inscrutable, this crisis had thrown him so far off hisbalance that, as often happens, he had fallen to the other extreme. Sniffling and half-sobbing, like a punished schoolboy, he draggedhimself to where his revolver lay forgotten in the dust. Taking asdeliberate aim as his condition permitted, he pulled at the trigger. Thehammer refused to rise, or the cylinder to revolve. Abandoning theself-cocking feature of the arm, he tried to cock it by hand. Themechanism grated sullenly against the grit from the road. Oldham workedfrantically to get the hammer to catch. By the time he had succeeded, his antagonist was out of reach. With a half-scream of baffled rage, hehurled the now useless weapon in the direction of the young man'sdisappearance. Then, as Oldham stood militant in the dusty road, achange came over him. Little by little the man resumed his old self. Afull minute went by. Save for the quicker breathing, a spectator mighthave thought him sunk in reverie. At the end of that time the old, self-contained, reserved, cynical Oldham stepped from his tracks, andset methodically to repair damages. 

First he searched for and found his glasses, fortunately unbroken. Atthe nearest streamlet he washed his face, combed his hair, brushed offhis clothes. The saddle horse browsed not far away. Finally he walkeddown the road, picked up the revolver, cleaned it thoroughly of dust, tested it and slipped it into his pocket. Then he resumed his journey, outwardly as self-possessed as ever. 

Near the upper dam he had another encounter. The dust of some oneapproaching warned him some time before the traveller came in sight. Oldham reined back his horse until he could see who it was; then hespurred forward to meet Saleratus Bill. 

The gun-man was lounging along at peace with all the world, his bridlerein loose, his leg slung over the pommel of his saddle. At the sight ofhis employer, he grinned cheerfully. 

Oldham rode directly to him. 

"Why aren't you attending to your job?" he demanded icily. 

"Out of a job, " said Saleratus Bill cheerfully. 

"Why haven't you kept your man in charge?"

"I did until he just naturally had one of those unavoidable accidents. "

"Explain yourself. "

"Well. I ain't never been afraid of words. He's dead; that's what. "

"Indeed, " said Oldham, "Then I suppose I met his ghost just now; andthat a spirit gave me this cut lip. "

Saleratus Bill swung his leg from the saddle horn and straightened toattention. 

"Did he have a hat on?" he demanded keenly. 

"Yes--no--I believe not. No, I'm sure he didn't. "

"It's him, all right. " He shook his head reflectively, "I can't figureit. "

Oldham was staring at him with deadly coldness. 

"Perhaps you'll be good enough to explain, " he sneered--"five hundreddollars worth at any rate. "

Saleratus Bill detailed what he knew of the whole affair. Oldhamlistened to the end. His cynical expression did not change; and theunlighted cigar that he held between his swollen lips never changed itsangle. 

"And so he just nat'rally disappeared, " Saleratus Bill ended hisrecital. "I can't figure it out. "

Then Oldham spat forth the cigar. His calm utterly deserted him. Hethrust his livid countenance out at his man. 

"Figure it out!" he cried. "You pin-headed fool! You had an unarmed mantied hand and foot, in a three-thousand-foot hole, and you couldn't keephim! And one of the smallest interests involved is worth more thaneverything your worthless hide can hold! I picked you out for this jobbecause I thought you reliable. And now you come to me with 'I can'tfigure it out!' That's all the explanation or excuse you bring! Youmiserable, worthless cur!"

Saleratus Bill was looking at him steadily from his evil, red-rimmedeyes. 

"Hold on, " he drawled. "Go slow. I don't stand such talk. "

Oldham spurred up close to him. 

"Don't you try any of your gun-play or intimidation on me, " he fairlyshouted. "I won't stand for it. You'll hear what I've got to say, justas long as I choose to say it. "

He eyed the gun-man truculently. Certainly even Bob could not haveaccused him of physical cowardice at that moment. 

Saleratus Bill stared back at him with the steady, venomous glare of arattlesnake. Then his lips, under his straggling, sandy moustache, parted in a slow grin. 

"Say your say, " he conceded. "I reckon you're mad; I reckon that boyman-handled you something scand'lous. "

At the words Oldham's face became still more congested. 

"But you look a-here, " said Saleratus Bill, suddenly leaning acrossfrom his saddle and pointing a long, lean finger. "You just rememberthis: I took this yere job with too many strings tied to it. I mustn'thurt him; and I must see no harm comes to him; and I must be nowayscruel to mama's baby. You had me hobbled, and then you cuss me outbecause I can't get over the rocks. If you'd turned me loose with noinstructions except to disappear your man, I'd have earned my money. "

He dropped his hand to the butt of his six-shooter, and looked hisprincipal in the eye. 

"I'm just as sorry as you are that he made this get-away, " he continuedslowly. "Now I got to pull up stakes and get out. Nat'rally he'll makeit too hot for me here. Then I could use that extry twenty-five hundredthat was coming to me on this job. But it ain't too late. He's got awayonce; but he ain't in court yet. I can easy keep him out, if theoriginal bargain stands. Of course, I'm sorry he punched your face. "

"Damn his soul!" burst out Oldham. 

"Just let me deal with him my way, instead of yours, " repeated SaleratusBill. 

"Do so, " snarled Oldham; "the sooner the better. "

"That's all I want to hear, " said the gun-man, and touched spurs to hishorse. 

XXXI

Bob's absence had occasioned some speculation, but no uneasiness, atheadquarters. An officer of the Forest Service was too often called uponfor sudden excursions in unexpected emergencies to make it possible forhis chiefs to keep accurate track of all his movements. A day's trip tothe valley might easily be deflected to a week's excursion to the higherpeaks by any one of a dozen circumstances. The report of trespassingsheep, a tiny smoke above distant trees, a messenger sent out forarbitration in a cattle dispute, are samples of the calls to which Bobmust have hastened no matter on what errand he had been bound. 

He arrived at headquarters late in the afternoon. Already a thin wand ofsmoke wavered up through the trees from Amy's little, open kitchen. Theopen door of the shed office trickled forth a thin clicking oftypewriters. Otherwise the camp seemed deserted. 

At Bob's halloo, however, both Thorne and old California John came tothe door. In two minutes he had all three gathered about the table underthe three big firs. 

"In the first place, I want to say right now, " he began, "that I havethe evidence to win the land case against the Modoc Mining Company. "

"How?" demanded Thorne, leaning forward eagerly. 

"Baker has boasted, before two witnesses, that his mineral entries werefraudulent and made simply to get water rights and timber. "

"Those witnesses will testify?"

"They will. "

"Who are they?"

"Mr. Welton and myself. "

"Glory be!" cried Thorne, springing to his feet and clapping Bob on theback. "We've got him!"

"So that's what you've been up to for the past week!" cried Amy. "We'vebeen wondering where you had disappeared to!"

"Well, not precisely, " grinned Bob; "I've been in durance vile. "

In response to their questionings he detailed a semi-humorous account ofhis abduction, detention and escape. His three auditors listened withthe deepest attention. 

As the recital progressed to the point wherein Bob described hismidnight escape, Amy, unnoticed by the others, leaned back and closedher eyes. The colour left her face for a moment, but the next instanthad rushed back to her cheeks in a tide of deeper red. She thrustforward, her eyes snapping with indignation. 

"They are desperate; there's no doubt of it, " was Thorne's comment. "Andthey won't stop at this. I wish the trial was to-morrow. We must getyour testimony in shape before anything happens. "

Amy was staring across the table at them, her lips parted with horror. 

"You don't think they'll try anything worse!" she gasped. 

Bob started to reassure her, but Thorne in his matter-of-fact way brokein. 

"I don't doubt they'll try to get him proper, next time. We must get outpapers and the sheriff after this Saleratus Bill. "

"He'll be almighty hard to locate, " put in California John. 

"And I think we'd better not let Bob, here, go around alone any more. "

"I don't think he ought to go around at all!" Amy amended thisvigorously. 

Bob shot at her an obliquely humorous glance, before which her own fell. Somehow the humour died from his. 

"Bodyguard accepted with thanks, " said he, recovering himself. "I'vehad enough Wild West on my own account. " His words and the expression ofhis face were facetious, but his tones were instinct with a gravity thatattracted even Thorne's attention. The Supervisor glanced at the youngman curiously, wondering if he were going to lose his nerve at the last. But Bob's personal stake was furthest from his mind. Something in Amy'shalf-frightened gesture had opened a new door in his soul. The real andinsistent demands of the situation had been suddenly struck shadowywhile his forces adjusted themselves to new possibilities. 

"Ware's your man, " suggested California John. "He's a gun-man, and he'sgot a nerve like a saw mill man. "

"Where is Ware?" Thorne asked Amy. 

"He's over at Fair's shake camp. He will be back to-morrow. "

"That's settled, then. How about Welton? Is he warned? You say he'lltestify?"

"If he has to, " replied Bob, by a strong effort bringing himself back toa practical consideration of the matter in hand. "At least he'll neverperjure himself, if he's called. Welton's case is different. Look here;it's bound to come out, so you may as well know the whole situation. "

He paused, glancing from one to another of his hearers. Thorne's keenface expressed interest of the alert official; California John's mildblue eye beamed upon him with a dawning understanding of the situation;Amy, intuitively divining a more personal trouble, looked across at himwith sympathy. 

"John, here, will remember the circumstance, " said Bob. "It happenedabout the time I first came out here with Mr. Welton. It seems thatPlant had assured him that everything was all arranged so our works androads could cross the Forest, so we went ahead and built them. In thosedays it was all a matter of form, anyway. Then when we were ready to goahead with our first season's work, up steps Plant and asks to see ourpermission, threatening to shut us down! Of course, all he wanted wasmoney. "

"And Welton gave it to him?" cried Amy. 

"It wasn't a case of buy a privilege, " explained Bob, "but of lifeitself. We were operating on borrowed money, and just beginning ourfirst year's operations. The season is short in these mountains, as youknow, and we were under heavy obligations to fulfil a contract for sawedlumber. A delay of even a week meant absolute ruin to a largeenterprise. Mr. Welton held off to the edge of danger, I remember, exhausting every means possible here and at Washington to rush throughthe necessary permission. "

"Why didn't he tell the truth--expose Plant? Surely no department wouldendorse that, " put in Amy, a trifle subdued in manner. 

"That takes time, " Bob pointed out. "There was no time. "

"So Welton came through, " said Thorne drily. "What has that got to dowith it?"

"Baker paid the money for him, " said Bob. 

"Well, they're both in the same boat, " remarked Thorne tranquilly. "Idon't see that that gives him any hold on Welton. "

"He threatens to turn state's evidence in the matter, and seemsconfident of immunity on that account. "

"He can't mean it!" cried Amy. 

"Sheer bluff, " said Thorne. 

"I thought so, and went to see him. Now I am sure not. He means it; andhe'll do it when this case against the Modoc Company is pushed. "

"I thought you said Welton would testify?" observed Thorne. 

"He will. But naturally only if he is summoned. "

"Then what----"

"Oh, I see. Baker never thought he could keep Welton from telling thetruth, but knew perfectly well he would not volunteer the evidence. Heused his hold over Welton to try to keep me from bringing forward thistestimony. Sort of relied on our intimacy and friendship. "

"But you will testify?"

"I think I see my duty that way, " said Bob in a troubled voice. 

"Quite right, " said Thorne, dispassionately; "I'm sorry. " He arose fromthe table. "This is most important. I don't often issue positiveprohibitions in my capacity of superior officer; but in this instance Imust. I am going to request you not to leave camp on any errand unlessaccompanied by Ranger Ware. "

Bob nodded a little impatiently. California John paused before followinghis chief into the office. 

"It's good sense, boy, " said he, "and nobody gives a darn for yourworthless skin, you know. It's just the information you got inside it. "

"Right, " laughed Bob, his brow clearing. "I forgot. "

California John nodded at him, and disappeared into the office. 

Bob turned to Amy with a laughing comment that died on his lips. Thegirl was standing very straight on the other side of the table. Onelittle brown hand grasped and crushed the edge of her starched apron;her black brows were drawn in a straight line of indignation beneathwhich her splendid eyes flashed; her rounded bosom, half-defined by theloose, soft blue of her simple gown, rose and fell rapidly. 

"And you're going to do it?" she threw across at him. 

Bob, bewildered, stared at her. 

"You're going to deliver over your friend to prison?" She moved swiftlyaround the table to stand close to him. "Surely you can't mean to dothat! You've worked with him, and lived with him--and he's a dear, jollyold man!"

"Hold on!" cried Bob, recovering from the first shock, and beginning toenjoy the situation. "You don't understand. If I don't give mytestimony, think what the Service will lose in the Basin. "

"Lose!" she cried indignantly. "What of it? Do you think if I had afriend who was near and dear to me I'd sacrifice him for all the treesin the mountains? How can you!"

"_Et tu Brute_!" said Bob a little wearily. "Where is all theno-compromise talk I've heard at various times, and the high ideals, andthe loyalty to the Service at any cost, and all the rest of it? You'renot consistent. "

Amy eyed him a little disdainfully. 

"You've got to save that poor old man, " she stated. "It's all very easyfor you to talk of duty and the rest of it, but the fact remains thatyou're sending that poor old man to prison for something that isn't hisfault, and it'll break his heart. "

"He isn't there yet, " Bob pointed out. "The case isn't decided. "

"It's all very well for you to talk that way, " said Amy, "for all youhave to do is to satisfy your conscience and bear your testimony. But iftestifying would land you in danger of prison, you might feeldifferently about it. "

Bob thought of George Pollock, and smiled a trifle bitterly. Weltonmight get off with a fine, or even suspended sentence. There was but onepunishment for those accessory before the fact to a murder. Amy waseyeing him reflectively. The appearance of anger had died. It wasevident that she was thinking deeply. 

"Why doesn't Mr. Welton protect himself?" she inquired at length. "If heturned state's evidence before that man Baker did, wouldn't it work thatway around?"

"I don't believe it would, " said Bob. "Baker was not the real principalin the offence, only an accessory. Besides, even if it were possible, Mr. Welton would not do such a thing. You don't know Welton. "

Amy sank again to reflection, her eyes losing themselves in a gazebeyond the visible world. Suddenly she threw up her head with a joyouschuckle. 

"I believe I have it!" she cried. She nodded her head several times asthough to corroborate with herself certain points in her plan. "Listen!" she said at last. "As I understand it, Baker is really liableon this charge of bribing Plant as much as Mr. Welton is. "

"Yes; he paid the money. "

"So that if it were not for the fact that he intends to gain immunity bytelling what he knows, he would get into as much trouble as Mr. Welton. "

"Of course. "

"Well, don't you know enough about it all to testify? Weren't youthere?"

Bob reflected. 

"Yes, I believe I was present at all the interviews. "

"Then, " cried Amy triumphantly, "you can issue complaint against _both_Baker and Mr. Welton on a charge of bribery, and Baker can't possiblywriggle out by turning state's evidence, because your evidence will beenough. "

"Do you expect me to have Mr. Welton arrested on this charge?" criedBob. 

"No, silly! But you can go to Baker, can't you, and say to him: 'Seehere, if you try to bring up this old bribery charge against Welton, I'll get in ahead of you and have you _both_ up. I haven't any desire toraise a fuss, nor start any trouble; but if you are bound to get Mr. Welton in on this, I might as well get you both in. ' He'd back out, yousee!"

"I believe he would!" cried Bob. "It's a good bluff to make. "

"It mustn't be a bluff, " warned Amy. "You must mean it. I don't believehe wants to face a criminal charge just to get Mr. Welton in trouble, ifhe realizes that you are both going to testify anyway. But if he thinksyou're bluffing, he'll carry it through. "

"You're right, " said Bob slowly. "If necessary, we must carry it throughourselves. "

Amy nodded. 

"I'll take down a letter for you to Baker, " she said, "and type it outthis evening. We'll say nothing to anybody. "

"I must tell Welton of our plan, " said Bob; "I wouldn't for the worldhave to spring this on him unprepared. What would he think of me?"

"We'll see him to-morrow--no, next day; we have to wait for Ware, youknow. "

"Am I forgiven for doing my plain duty?" asked Bob a triflemischievously. 

"Only if our scheme works, " declared Amy. Her manner changed to one ofgreat seriousness. "I know your way is brave and true, believe me I do. And I know what it costs you to follow it. I respect and admire thequality in men that leads them so straightly along the path. But I couldnot do it. Ideas and things are inspiring and great and to be worked forwith enthusiasm and devotion, I know. No one loves the Service more thanI, nor would make more personal sacrifices for her. But people are warmand living, and their hearts beat with human life, and they can be sorryand glad, happy and brokenhearted. I can't tell you quite what I mean, for I cannot even tell myself. I only feel it. I could turn my thumbsdown on whole cohorts of senators and lawyers and demagogues that areattacking us in Washington and read calmly in next day's paper how theyhad been beheaded recanting all their sins against us. But I couldn'tget any nearer home. Why, the other day Ashley told me to send a finaland peremptory notice of dispossession to the Main family, over nearBald Knob, and I couldn't do it. I tried all day. I knew old Main had nobusiness there, and is worthless and lazy and shiftless. But I keptremembering how his poor old back was bent over. Finally I made Ashleydictate it, and tried to keep thinking all the time that I was nothingbut a machine for the transmission of his ideas. When it comes to suchthings I'm useless, and I know I fall short of all higher ideals ofhonour and duty and everything else. "

"Thank God you do, " said Bob gravely. 

XXXII

Ware returned to headquarters toward evening of the next day. He hadridden hard and long, but he listened to Thorne's definition of his newduties with kindling eye, and considerable appearance of quietsatisfaction. Bob met him outside the office. 

"You aren't living up to your part, Ware, " said he, with mock anxiety. "According to Hoyle you ought to draw your gun, whirl the cylinder, andmurmur gently, Aha!"

"Why should I do that?" asked Ware, considerably mystified. 

"To see if your weapon is in order, of course. "

"How would a fool trick like that show whether my gun's in shape?"

"Hanged if I know, " confessed Bob, "but they always do that in books andon the stage. "

"Well, my gun will shoot, " said Ware, shortly. 

It was then too late to visit Welton that evening, but at a good hourthe following morning Bob announced his intention of going over to themill. 

"If you're going to be my faithful guardian, you'll have to walk, " hetold Ware. "My horse is up north somewhere, and there isn't anothersaddle in camp. "

"I'm willing, " said Ware; "my animals are plumb needy of a rest. "

At the last moment Amy joined them. 

"I have a day off instead of Sunday, " she told them, "and you're thefirst humans that have discovered what two feet are made for. I nevercan get anybody to walk two steps with me, " she complained. 

"Never tried before you acquired those _beautiful_ gray elkskin bootswith the _ravishing_ hobnails in 'em, " chaffed Bob. 

Amy said nothing, but her cheeks burned with two red spots. She chattedeagerly, too eagerly, trying to throw into the expedition the air of aholiday excursion. Bob responded to her rather feverish gaiety, but Warelooked at her with an eye in which comprehension was slowly dawning. Hehad nothing to add to the rapid-fire conversation. Finally Amy inquiredwith mock anxiety, over his unwonted silence. 

"I'm on my job, " replied Ware briefly. 

This silenced her for a moment or so, while she examined the woods aboutthem with furtive, searching glances as though their shadows mightconceal an enemy. 

To Bob, at least, the morning conduced to gaiety, for the air was crispand sparkling with the wine of early fall. Down through the sombrepines, here and there, flamed the delicate pink of a dogwood, the orangeof the azaleas, or the golden yellow of aspens ripening already underthe hurrying of early frosts. The squirrels, Stellar's jays, woodpeckers, nuthatches and chickadees were very busy scurrying here andthere, screaming gossip, or moving diligently and methodically as theirnatures were. All the rest of the forest was silent. Not a breath ofwind stirred the tallest fir-tip or swayed the most lofty pine branch. Through the woodland spaces the sunlight sparkled with the inconceivablebrilliance of the higher levels, as though the air were filled withglittering particles in suspension, like the mica snowstorms of the peepshows inside a child's candy egg. 

They dipped into the caņon of the creek and out again through the yellowpines of the other side. They skirted the edge of the ancient clearingfor the almost prehistoric mill that had supplied early settlers withtheir lumber, and thence looked out through trees to the brown andshimmering plain lying far below. 

"My, I'm glad I'm not there!" exclaimed Amy fervently; "I always saythat, " she added. 

"A hundred and eleven day before yesterday, Jack Pollock says, " remarkedBob. 

So at last they gained the long ridge leading toward the mill and saw ahundred feet away the mill road, and the forks where their own wagontrail joined it. 

At this point they again entered the forest, screened by young growthand a thicket of alders. 

"Look there, " Amy pointed out. "See that dogwood, up by the yellow pine. It's the most splendiferous we've seen yet. Wait a minute. I'm going toget a branch of it for Mr. Welton's office. I don't believe anybody everpicks anything for him. "

"Let me--" began Bob; but she was already gone, calling back over hershoulder. 

"No; this is my treat!"

The men stopped in the wagon trail to wait for her. Bob watched withdistinct pleasure her lithe, active figure making its way through thetangle of underbrush, finally emerging into the clear and climbing withswift, sure movements to the little elevation on which grew thebeautiful, pink-leaved dogwoods. She turned when she had gained thelevel of the yellow pine, to wave her hand at her companions. Even atthe distance, Bob could make out the flush of her cheeks and divine thedelighted sparkle of her eyes. 

But as she turned, her gesture was arrested in midair, and almostinstantly she uttered a piercing scream. Bob had time to take a halfstep forward. Then a heavy blow on the back of his neck threw himforward. He stumbled and fell on his face. As he left his feet, thecrash of two revolver shots in quick succession rang in his ears. 

XXXIII

Oldham's cold rage carried him to the railroad and into his berth. Then, with the regular beat and throb of the carwheels over the sleepers, other considerations forced themselves upon him. Consequences demandedrecognition. 

The land agent had not for many years permitted himself to act onimpulse. Therefore this one lapse from habit alarmed him vaguely by themere fact that it was a lapse from habit. He distrusted himself in anunaccustomed environment of the emotions. 

But superinduced on this formless uneasiness were graver considerations. He could not but admit to himself that he had by his expressed orderplaced himself to some extent in Saleratus Bill's power. He did not fora moment doubt the gun-man's loyal intentions. As long as things wentwell he would do his best by his employer--if merely to gain the rewardpromised him only on fulfillment of his task. But it is not easy tocommit a murder undetected. And if detected, Oldham had no illusions asto Saleratus Bill. The gun-man, would promptly shelter himself behindhis principal. 

As the night went on, and Oldham found himself unable to sleep in theterrible heat, the situation visualized itself. Step by step he followedout the sequence of events as they might be, filling in the minutestdetails of discovery, exposure and ruin. Gradually, in the tippedbalance of after midnight, events as they might be became events as theysurely would be. Oldham began to see that he had made a fearful mistake. No compunction entered his mind that he had condemned a man to death;but a cold fear gripped him lest his share should be discovered, and heshould be called upon to face the consequences. Oldham enjoyed and couldplay only the game that was safe so far as physical and personalretribution went. 

So deeply did the guilty panic invade his soul that after a time hearose and dressed. The sleepy porter was just turning out from thesmoking compartment. 

"What's this next station?" Oldham demanded. 

"Mo-harvey, " blinked the porter. 

"I get off there, " stated Oldham briefly. 

The porter stared at him. 

"I done thought you went 'way through, " he confessed. "I'se scairt Idone forgot you. "

"All right, " said Oldham curtly, and handing him a tip. "Never mind thatconfounded brush; get my suit case. "

Ten seconds later he stood on the platform of the little station in thedesert while the tail lights of the train diminished slowly into thedistance. 

The desert lay all about him like a calmed sea on which were dimhalf-lights of sage brush or alkali flats. On a distant horizon sleptblack mountain ranges, stretched low under a brilliant sky that archedtriumphant. In it the stars flamed steadily like candles, after thestrange desert fashion. Although by day the heat would have scorched theboards on which he stood, now Oldham shivered in the searching of thecool insistent night wind that breathed across the great spaces. 

He turned to the lighted windows of the little station where a tousledoperator sat at a telegraph key. A couch in the corner had been recentlydeserted. The fact that the operator was still awake and on duty arguedwell for another train soon. Oldham proffered his question. 

"Los Angeles express due now. Half-hour late, " replied the operatorwearily, without looking up. 

Oldham caught the train, which landed him in White Oaks about noon. There he hired a team, and drove the sixty miles to Sycamore Flats byeleven o'clock that night. The fear was growing in his heart, and he hadto lay on himself a strong retaining hand to keep from lashing hishorses beyond their endurance and strength. Sycamore Flats was, ofcourse, long since abed. In spite of his wild impatience Oldham retainedenough sense to know that it would not do to awaken any one for the solepurpose of inquiring as to the whereabouts of Saleratus Bill. That wouldtoo obviously connect him with the gun-man. Therefore he stabled hishorses, roused one of the girls at Auntie Belle's, and retired to thelittle box room assigned him. 

There nature asserted herself. The man had not slept for two nights; hehad travelled many miles on horseback, by train, and by buckboard; hehad experienced the most exhausting of emotions and experiences. He fellasleep, and he did not awaken until after sun-up. 

Promptly he began his inquiries. Saleratus Bill had passed through thenight before; he had ridden up the mill road. 

Oldham ate his breakfast, saddled one of the team horses, and followed. Ordinarily, he was little of a woodsman, but his anxiety sharpened hiswits and his eyes, so that a quarter mile from the summit he noticedwhere a shod horse had turned off from the road. After a moment'shesitation he turned his own animal to follow the trail. The horsetracks were evidently fresh, and Oldham surmised that it was hardlyprobable two horsemen had as yet that morning travelled the mill road. While he debated, young Elliott swung down the dusty way headed towardthe village. He greeted Oldham. 

"Is Orde back at headquarters yet?" the latter asked, on impulse. 

"Yes, he got back day before yesterday, " the young ranger replied; "butyou won't find him there this morning. He walked over to the mill tosee Welton. You'd probably get him there. "

Oldham waited only until Elliott had rounded the next corner, thenspurred his horse up the mountain. The significance of the detour wasnow no longer in doubt, for he remembered well how and where the wagontrail from headquarters joined the mill road. Saleratus Bill would leavehis horse out of sight on the hog-back ridge, sneak forward afoot, andambush his man at the forks of the road. 

And now, in the clairvoyance of this guilty terror, Oldham saw asassured facts several further possibilities. Saleratus Bill was known tohave ridden up the mill road; he, Oldham, was known to have beeninquiring after both Saleratus Bill and Orde--in short, out of wildimprobabilities, which to his ordinary calm judgment would have meantnothing at all, he now wove a tissue of danger. He wished he had thoughtto ask Elliott how long ago Orde had started out from headquarters. 

The last pitch up the mountain was by necessity a fearful grade, for ithad to surmount as best it could the ledge at the crest of the plateau. Horsemen here were accustomed to pause every fifty feet or so to allowtheir mounts a gulp of air. Oldham plied lash and spur. He came out fromhis frenzy of panic to find his horse, completely blown, lying downunder him. The animal, already weary from its sixty-mile drive ofyesterday, was quite done. After a futile effort to make it rise, Oldhamrealized this fact. He pursued his journey afoot. 

Somewhat sobered and brought to his senses by this accident, Oldhamtrudged on as rapidly as his wind would allow. As he neared thecrossroads he slackened his pace, for he saw that no living creaturemoved on the headquarters fork of the road. As a matter of fact, at thatprecise instant both Bob and Ware were within forty yards of him, standing still waiting for Amy to collect her dogwood leaves. A singlesmall alder concealed them from the other road. If they had nothappened to have stopped, two seconds would have brought them into sightin either direction. Therefore, Oldham thought the road empty, andhimself came to a halt to catch his breath and mop his brow. 

As he replaced his hat, his eye caught a glimpse of a man crouching andgliding cautiously forward through the low concealment of the snowbush. His movements were quick, his head was craned forward, every muscle wastaut, his eyes fixed on some object invisible to Oldham with anintensity that evidently excluded from the field of his visioneverything but that toward which his lithe and snake-like advance wasbringing him. In his hand he carried the worn and shining Colts 45 thatwas always his inseparable companion. 

Oldham made a single step forward. At the same moment somewhere abovehim on the hill a woman screamed. The cry was instantly followed by tworevolver shots. 

XXXIV

Ware was an expert gun-man who had survived the early days of Arizona, New Mexico, and the later ruffianism of the border on Old Mexico. Hishabit was at all times alert. Now, in especial, behind his casualconversation, he had been straining his finer senses for the firstintimations of danger. For perhaps six seconds before Amy cried out hehad been aware of an unusual faint sound heard beneath rather than abovethe cheerful and accustomed noises of the forest. It baffled him. If hehad imposed silence on his companion, and had set himself to listening, he might have been able to identify and localize it, but it reallypresented nothing alarming enough. It might have been a squirrelplayfully spasmodic, or the leisurely step forward of some hidden anddistant cow browsing among the bushes. Ware lent an attentive ear to thequiet sounds of the woodland, but continued to stand at ease andunalarmed. 

The scream, however, released instantly the springs of his action. Withthe heel of his left palm he dealt Bob so violent a shoving blow thatthe young man was thrown forward off his feet. As part of the samemotion his right hand snatched his weapon from its holster, threw themuzzle over his left shoulder, and discharged the revolver twice in thedirection from which Ware all at once realized the sound had proceeded. So quickly did the man's brain act, so instantly did his muscles followhis brain, that the scream, the blow, and the two shots seemed to go offtogether as though fired by one fuse. 

Bob bounded to his feet. Ware had whirled in his tracks, had crouched, and was glaring fixedly across the openings at the forks. The revolversmoked in his hand. 

"Oh, are you hurt? Are you hurt?" Amy was crying over and over, as, regardless of the stiff manzaņita and the spiny deer brush, she tore herway down the hill. 

"All right! All right!" Bob found his breath to assure her. 

She stopped short, clenched her hands at her sides, and drew a deep, sobbing breath. Then, quite collectedly, she began to disentangleherself from the difficulties into which her haste had precipitated her. 

"It's all right, " she called to Ware. "He's gone. He's run. "

Still tense, Ware rose to his full height. He let down the hammer of hissix-shooter, and dropped the weapon back in its holster. 

"What was it, Amy?" he asked, as the girl rejoined them. 

"Saleratus Bill, " she panted. "He had his gun in his hand. "

Bob was looking about him a trifle bewildered. 

"I thought for a minute I was hit, " said he. 

"I knocked you down to _get_ you down, " explained Ware. "If there'sshooting going on, it's best to get low. "

"Thought I was shot, " confessed Bob. "I heard two shots. "

"I fired twice, " said Ware. "Thought sure I must have hit, or he'd havefired back. Otherwise I'd a' kept shooting. You say he run?"

"Immediately. Didn't you see him?"

"I just cut loose at the noise he made. Why do you suppose he didn'tshoot?"

"Maybe he wasn't gunning for us after all, " suggested Bob. 

"Maybe you've got another think coming, " said Ware. 

During this short exchange they were all three moving down the wagontrail. Ware's keen old eyes were glancing to right, left and ahead, andhis ears fairly twitched. In spite of his conversation and speculations, he was fully alive to the possibilities of further danger. 

"He maybe's laying for us yet, " said Bob, as the thought finallyoccurred to him. "Better have your gun handy. "

"My gun's always handy, " said Ware. 

"You're bearing too far south, " interposed the girl. "He was more upthis way. "

"Don't think it, " said Ware. 

"Yes, " she insisted. "I marked that young fir near where I first sawhim; and he ran low around that clump of manzaņita. "

Still skeptical, Ware joined her. 

"That's right, " he admitted, after a moment. "Here's his trail. I'd haveswore he was farther south. That's where I fired. I only missed him byabout a hundred yards, " he grinned. "He sure made a mighty tall sneak. I'm still figuring why he didn't open fire. "

"Waiting for a better chance, maybe, " suggested Amy. 

"Must be. But what better chance does he want, unless he aims to get Bobhere, with a club?"

They followed the tracks left by Saleratus Bill until it was evidentbeyond doubt that the gun-man had in reality departed. Then they startedto retrace their steps. 

"Why not cut across?" asked Bob. 

"I want to see whereabouts I _was_ shooting, " said Ware. 

"We'll cut across and wait for you on the road. "

"All right, " Ware agreed. 

They made their short-cut, and waited. After a minute or so Ware shoutedto them. 

"Hullo!" Bob answered. 

"Come here!"

They returned down the dusty mill road. Just beyond the forks Ware wasstanding, looking down at some object. As they approached he raised hisface to them. Even under its tan, it was pale. 

"Guess this is another case of innocent bystander, " said he gravely. 

Flat on his back, arms outstretched in the dust, lay Oldham, with abullet hole accurately in the middle of his forehead. 

XXXV

"Good heavens!" cried Amy. "What an awful thing!"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Ware; "this is certainly tough. But I can't see butit was a plumb accident. Who'd have thought he'd be coming along theroad just at that minute. "

"Of course, you're not to blame, " Amy reassured him quickly. "We mustget help. Of course, he's quite dead. "

Ware nodded, gazing down at his victim reflectively. 

"I was shootin' a little high, " he remarked at last. 

Up to this moment Bob had said nothing. 

"If it will relieve your mind, any, " he told Ware, "it isn't such a caseof innocent bystander as you may think. This man is the one who hiredSaleratus Bill to abduct me in the first place; and probably to kill mein the second. I have a suspicion he got what he deserved. "

"Oh!" cried Amy, looking at him reproachfully. 

"It's a fact, " Bob insisted. "I know his connection with all this betterthan you do, and his being on this road was no accident. It was to seehis orders carried out. "

Ware was looking at him shrewdly. 

"That fits, " he declared. "I couldn't figure why my old friend Billdidn't cut loose. But he's got a head on him. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, when he see Oldham dropped, what use was there of going toshooting? It would just make trouble for him and he couldn't hope for nopay. He just faded. "

"He's a quick thinker, then, " said Bob. 

"You bet you!"

The two men laid Oldham's body under the shade. As they disposed itdecently, Bob experienced again that haunting sense of having known himelsewhere that had on several occasions assailed his memory. The man'sface was familiar to him with a familiarity that Bob somehow feltantedated his California acquaintance. 

"We must get to the mill and send a wagon for him, " Ware was saying. 

But Amy suddenly turned faint, and was unable to proceed. 

"It's perfectly silly of me!" she cried indignantly. "The idea of myfeeling faint! It makes me so angry!"

"It's perfectly natural, " Bob told her. "I think you've shown a heap ofnerve. Most girls would have flopped over. "

The men helped her to a streamlet some hundreds of yards away. Here itwas agreed that Ware should proceed in search of a conveyance; and thatBob and Amy should there await his return. 

XXXVI

Ware disappeared rapidly up the dusty road, Bob and Amy standing side byside in silence, watching him go. When the lean, long figure of the oldmountaineer had quite disappeared, and the light, eddying dust, peculiarto the Sierra country, had died, Amy closed her eyes, raised her hand toher heart, and sank slowly to the bank of the little creek. Her vividcolour, which had for a moment returned under the influence of herstrong will and her indignation over her weakness, had again ebbed fromher cheeks. 

Bob, with an exclamation of alarm, dropped to her side and passed hisarm back of her shoulders. As she felt the presence of his support, shelet slip the last desperate holdings of physical command, and leanedback gratefully, breathing hard, her eyes still closed. 

After a moment she opened them long enough to smile palely at theanxious face of the young man. 

"It's all right, " she said. "I'm all right. Don't be alarmed. Just letme rest a minute. I'll be all right. "

She closed her eyes again. Bob, watching, saw the colour graduallyflowing up under her skin, and was reassured. 

The girl lay against his arm limply. At first he was concerned merelywith the supporting of the slight burden; careful to hold her ascomfortably as possible. Then the warmth of her body penetrated to hisarm. A new emotion invaded him, feeble in the beginning, but gainingstrength from instant to instant. It mounted his breast as a tide wouldmount, until it had shortened his breath, set his heart to thumpingdully, choked his throat. He looked down at her with troubled eyes, following the curve of her upturned face, the long line of her throatexposed by the backward thrown position of her head, the swell of herbreast under the thin gown. The helplessness of the pose caught at Bob'sheart. For the first time Amy--the vivid, self-reliant, capable, laughing Amy--appealed to him as a being demanding protection, as awoman with a woman's instinctive craving for cherishing, as a delicious, soft, feminine creature, calling forth the tendernesses of a man'sheart. In the normal world of everyday association this side of her hadnever been revealed, never suspected; yet now, here, it rose up to throwinto insignificance all the other qualities of the girl he had known. Bob spared a swift thought of gratitude to the chance that had revealedto him this unguessed, intimate phase of womanhood. 

And then the insight with which the significant moment had endowed himleaped to the simple comprehension of another thought--that thisrevelation of intimacy, of the woman-appeal lying unguessed beneath thecomradeship of everyday life, was after all only a matter of chance. Ithad been revealed to him by the accident of a moment's faintness, bywhich the conscious will of the girl had been driven back from thedefences. In a short time it would be over. She would resume herordinary demeanour, her ordinary interest, her ordinary bright, cheerful, attractive, matter-of-fact, efficient self. Everything wouldbe as before. But--and here Bob's breath came quickest--in the greatgoodness of the world lay another possibility; that sometime, at thecall of some one person, for that one and no other, this inner beautifulsoul of the feminine appeal would come forth freely, consciously, willingly. 

Amy opened her eyes, sat up, shook herself slightly, and laughed. 

"I'm all right now, " she told Bob, "and certainly very much ashamed. "

"Amy!" he stammered. 

She shot a swift look at him, and immediately arose to her feet. 

"We will have to testify at a coroner's inquest, I presume, " said she, in the most matter-of-fact tones. 

"I suppose so, " agreed Bob morosely. It is impossible to turn back allthe strongly set currents of life without at least a temporary turmoil. 

Amy glanced at him sideways, and smiled a faint, wise smile to herself. For in these matters, while men are more analytical after the fact, women are by nature more informed. She said nothing, but stooped to thecreek for a drink. When she had again straightened to her feet, Bob hadcome to himself. The purport of Amy's last speech had fully penetratedhis understanding, and one word of it--the word _testify_--had struckhim with an idea. 

"By Jove!" he cried, "that lets out Pollock!"

"What?" said Amy. 

"This man Oldham was the only witness who could have convicted GeorgePollock of killing Plant. "

"What do you mean?" asked Amy, leaning forward interestedly. "Was hethere? How do you know about it?"

A half-hour before Bob would have hesitated long before confiding hissecret to a fourth party; but now, for him, the world of relations hadshifted. 

"I'll tell you about it, " said he, without hesitation; "but this isserious. You must never breathe even a word of it to any one!"

"Certainly not!" cried Amy. 

"Oldham wasn't an actual witness of the killing; but I was, and he knewit. He could have made me testify by informing the prosecutingattorney. "

Bob sketched rapidly his share in the tragedy: how he had held Pollock'shorse, and been in a way an accessory to the deed. Amy listenedattentively to the recital of the facts, but before Bob had begun todraw his conclusions, she broke in swiftly. 

"So Oldham offered to let you off, if you would keep out of this ModocLand case, " said she. 

Bob nodded. 

"That was it. "

"But it would have put you in the penitentiary, " she pointed out. 

"Well, the case wasn't quite decided yet. "

She made her quaint gesture of the happily up-thrown hands. 

"Just what you said about Mr. Welton!" she cried. "Oh, I'm _glad_ youtold me this! I was trying so hard to think you were doing a high andnoble duty in ignoring the consequences to that poor old man. But Icould not. Now I see!"

"What do you mean?" asked Bob curiously, as she paused. 

"You could do it because your act placed you in worse danger, " she toldhim. 

"Too many for me, " Bob disclaimed. "I simply wasn't going to be bluffedout by that gang!"

"That was it, " said Amy wisely. "I know you better than you do yourself. You don't suppose, " she cried, as a new thought alarmed her, "thatOldham has told the prosecuting attorney that your evidence would bevaluable. "

Bob shook his head. 

"The trial is next week, " he pointed out. "In case the prosecution hadintended calling me, I should have been summoned long since. There'sdust; they are coming. You'd better stay here. "

She agreed readily to this. After a moment a light wagon drove up. Onthe seat perched Welton and Ware. Bob climbed in behind. 

They drove rapidly down to the forks, stopped and hitched the team. 

"Ware's been telling me the whole situation, Bobby, " said Welton. "Thatgang's getting pretty desperate! I've heard of this man Oldham aroundthis country for a long while, but I always understood he was interestedagainst the Power Company. "

"Bluff, " said Bob briefly. "He's been in their employ from the first, but I never thought he'd go in for quite this kind of strong-arm work. He doesn't look it, do you think?"

"I never laid eyes on him, " replied Welton. "He's never been near themill, and I never happened to run across him anywhere else. "

By this time they had secured the team. Ware led the way to the treeunder which lay the body of the land agent. Welton surveyed theprostrate figure for some time in silence. Then turned to Bob, a curiousexpression on his face. 

"It wasn't an accident that I never met him, " said he. "He saw to it. Don't you remember this man, Bobby?"

"I saw him in Los Angeles some years ago. "

"Before that--in Michigan--many years ago. "

"His face has always seemed familiar to me, " said Bob slowly. "I can'tplace it--yes--hold on!"

A picture defined itself from the mists of his boyhood memories. It wasof an open field, with a fringe of beech woods in the distance. A singlehickory stood near its centre, and under this a group lounged, smokingpipes. A man, perched on a cracker box, held a blank book and pencil. Another stood by a board, a gun in his hand. The smell of black powderhung in the atmosphere. Little glass balls popped into the air, and weresnuffed out. He saw Oldham distinctly, looking younger and browner, butwith the same cynical mouth, the same cold eyes, the same slantedeyeglasses. Even before his recollections reproduced the scorer'sdrawling voice calling the next contestant, his memory supplied thename. 

"It's Newmark!" he cried aloud. 

"Joe Newmark, your father's old partner! He hasn't changed much. Hedisappeared from Michigan when you were about eight years old; didn'the! Nobody ever knew how or why, but everybody had suspicions.... Well;let's get him in. "

They disposed the body in the wagon, and drove back up the road. At thelittle brook they stopped to let off Ware. It was agreed that all dangerto Bob was now past, and that the gun-man would do better to accompanyAmy back to headquarters. Of course, it would be necessary to work thewhole matter out at the coroner's inquest, but in view of thecircumstances, Ware's safety was assured. 

At the mill the necessary telephoning was done, the officials summoned, and everything put in order. 

"What I really started over to see you about, " then said Bob to Welton, "is this matter of the Modoc Company. " He went on to explain fully Amy'splan for checkmating Baker. "You see, if I get in my word first, Bakeris as much implicated as you are, and it won't do him any good to turnstate's evidence. "

"I don't see as that helps me, " remarked Welton gloomily. 

"Baker might be willing to put himself in any position, " said Bob; "butI doubt if he'll care to take the risk of criminal punishment. I thinkthis will head him off completely; but if it doesn't, every move hemakes to save his own skin saves yours too. "

"It may do some good, " agreed Welton. "Try it. "

"I've already written Baker. But I didn't want you to think I wasstarting up the bloodhounds against you without some blame good reason. "

"I'd know that anyway, Bobby, " said Welton kindly. He stared moodily atthe stovepipe. "This is getting too thick for an old-timer, " he brokeout at last. "I'm just a plain, old-fashioned lumberman, and all I knowis to cut lumber. I pass this mess up. I wired your father he'd bettercome along out. "

"Is he coming?" asked Bob eagerly. 

"I just got a message over the 'phone from the telegraph office. He'llbe in White Oaks as fast as he can get there. Didn't I tell you?"

"Wire him aboard train to go through to Fremont, and that we'll meet himthere, " said Bob instantly. "It's getting about time to beard the lionin his den. "

XXXVII

The coroner's inquest detained Bob over until the week following. In itAmy's testimony as to the gun-man's appearance and evident intention wasquite sufficient to excuse Ware's shooting; and the fact that Oldham, ashe was still known, instead of Saleratus Bill, received the bullet wasevidently sheer unavoidable accident. Bob's testimony added little savecorroboration. As soon as he could get away, he took the road toFremont. 

Orde was awaiting his son at the station. Bob saw the straight, heavyfigure, the tanned face with the snow-white moustache, before the trainhad come to a stop. Full of eagerness, he waved his hat over the head ofthe outraged porter barricaded on the lower steps by his customaryaccumulation of suit cases. 

"Hullo, dad! Hullo, there!" he shouted again and again, quite obliviousto the amusement of the other passengers over this tall and bronzedyoung man's enthusiasm. 

Orde caught sight of his son at last; his face lit up, and he, too, swung his hat. A moment later they had clasped hands. 

After the first greetings, Bob gave his suit case in charge to the hotelbus-man. 

"We'll take a little walk up the street and talk things over, " hesuggested. 

They sauntered slowly up the hill and down the side streets beneath thepepper and acacia trees of Fremont's beautiful thoroughfares. Soabsorbed did they become that they did not realize in the slightestwhere they were going, so that at last they had topped the ridge and, from the stretch of the Sunrise Drive, they looked over into the caņon. 

"So you've been getting into trouble, have you?" chaffed Orde, as theyleft the station. 

"I don't know about that, " Bob rejoined. "I do know that there are quitea number of people in trouble. "

Orde laughed. 

"Tell me about this Welton difficulty, " said he. "Frank Taylor has ourown matters well in hand. The opposition won't gain much by digging upthat old charge against the integrity of our land titles. We'll countthat much wiped off the slate. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " said Bob heartily. "Well, the trouble with Mr. Welton is that the previous administration held him up--" He detailedthe aspects of the threatened bribery case; while Orde listened withoutcomment. "So, " he concluded, "it looked at first as if they rather hadhim, if I testified. It had me guessing. I hated the thought of gettinga man like Mr. Welton in trouble of that sort over a case in which hewas no way interested. "

"What did you decide?" asked Orde curiously. 

"I decided to testify. "

"That's right. "

"I suppose so. I felt a little better about it, because they had me inthe same boat. That let me out in my own feelings, naturally. "

"How?" asked Orde swiftly. 

"There had been trouble up there between Plant--you remember I wrote youof the cattle difficulties?"

"With Simeon Wright? I know all that. "

"Well, one of the cattlemen was ruined by Plant's methods; his wife andchild died from want of care on that account. He was the one who killedPlant; you remember that. "

"Yes. "

"I happened to be near and I helped him escape. "

"And some one connected with the Modoc Company was a witness, "conjectured Orde. "Who was it?"

"A man who went under the name of Oldham. A certain familiarity puzzledme for a long time. Only the other day I got it. He was Mr. Newmark. "

"Newmark!" cried Orde, stopping short and staring fixedly at his son. 

"Yes; the man who was your partner when I was a very small boy. Youremember?"

"Remember!" repeated Orde; then in tones of great energy: "He and I bothhave reason to remember well enough! Where is he now? I can put a stopto him in about two jumps!"

"You won't need to, " said Bob quietly; "he's dead--shot last week. "

For some moments nothing more was said, while the two men trudgedbeneath the hanging peppers near the entrance to Sunrise Drive. 

"I always wondered why he had it in for me, and why he acted soqueerly, " Bob broke the silence at last. "He seemed to have a specialand personal enmity for me. I always felt it, but I couldn't make itout. "

"He had plenty of reasons for that. But it's funny Welton didn'trecognize the whelp. "

"Mr. Welton never saw him, " Bob explained--"that is, until Newmark wasdead. Then he recognized him instantly. What was it all about?"

Orde indicated the bench on the caņon's edge. 

"Let's sit, " said he. "Newmark and I made our start together. For eightyears we worked together and built up a very decent business. Then, allat once, I discovered that he was plotting systematically to do me outof every cent we had made. It was the most cold-blooded proposition Iever ran across. "

"Couldn't you prove it on him?" asked Bob. 

"I could prove it all right; but the whole affair made me sick. He'dalways been the closest friend, in a way, I had ever had; and the shockof discovering what he really was drove everything else out of my head. I was young then. It seemed to me that all I wanted was to wipe thewhole affair off the slate, to get it behind me, to forget it--so I lethim go. "

"I don't believe I'd have done that. Seems to me I'd have had to blowoff steam, " Bob commented. 

Orde smiled reminiscently. 

"I blew off steam, " [A] said he. "It was rather fantastic; but Iactually believe it was one of the most satisfactory episodes in mylife. I went around to his place--he lived rather well in bachelorquarters, which was a new thing in those days--and locked the door andtold him just why I was going to let him off. It tickled him hugely--forabout a minute. Then I finished up by giving him about the very worstlicking he ever heard tell of. "

[Footnote A: See "The Riverman. "]

"Was that what you told him?" cried Bob. 

"What?"

"Did you say those words to him?--'I'm going to give you the very worstlicking you ever heard tell of'?"

"Why, I believe I did. "

Bob threw back his head and laughed. 

"So did I!" he cried; and then, after a moment, more soberly. "I think, incidentally, it saved my life. "

"Now what are you driving at?" asked Orde. 

"Listen, this is funny: Newmark had me kidnapped by one of his men, andlugged off to a little valley in the mountains. The idea was to keep methere until after the trial, so my testimony would not appear. You see, none of our side knew I had that testimony. I hadn't told anybody, because I had been undecided as to what I was going to do. "

Orde whistled. 

"I got away, and had quite a time getting home. I'll tell you all thedetails some other time. On the road I met Newmark. I was pretty mad, soI lit into him stiff-legged. After a few words he got scared and pulleda gun on me. I was just mad enough to keep coming, and I swear I believehe was just on the point of shooting, when I said those very samewords: 'I'm going to give you the very worst licking you ever heardtell of. ' He turned white as a sheet and dropped his gun. I thought hewas a coward; but I guess it was conscience and luck. Now, wouldn't thatcome and get you?"

"Did you?" asked Orde. 

"Did I what?"

"Give him that licking?"

"I sure did start out to; but I couldn't bring myself to more than shakehim up a little. "

Orde rose, stretching his legs. 

"What are your plans now?"

"To see Baker. I'm going to tell him that on the first indications ofhis making trouble I'm going to enter complaint for bribery against_both_ him and Mr. Welton. You see, I was there too. Think it'll work?"

"The best way is to go and see. "

"Come on, " said Bob. 

XXXVIII

The two men found Baker seated behind his flat-top desk. He grinnedcheerfully at them; and, to Bob's surprise, greeted him with greatjoviality. 

"All hail, great Chief!" he cried. "I've had my scalp nicelysmoke-tanned for you, so you won't have to bother taking it. " He bowedto Orde. "I'm glad to see you, sir, " said he. "Know you by your picture. Please be seated. "

Bob brushed the levity aside. 

"I've come, " said he, "to get an explanation from you as to why, in thefirst place, you had me kidnapped; and why, in the second place, youtried to get me murdered. "

Baker's mocking face became instantly grave; and, leaning forward, hehit the desk a thump with his right fist. 

"Orde, " said he, "I want you to believe me in this: I never was moresorry for anything in my life! I wouldn't have had that happen foranything in the world! If I'd had the remotest idea that Oldhamcontemplated something of that sort, I should have laid very positiveorders on him. He said he had something on you that would keep yourmouth shut, but I never dreamed he meant gun play. "

"I don't suppose you dreamed he meant kidnapping either, " observed Bob. 

Baker threw himself back with a chuckle. 

"Being kidnapped is fine for the health, " said he. "Babies thrive on it. No, " he continued, again leaning forward gravely, "Oldham got away fromhis instructions completely. Shooting or that kind of violence wasabsurd in such a case. You mustn't lay that to me, but to his personalgrudge. "

"What do you know of a personal grudge?" Bob flashed back. 

"Ab-so-lute-ly nothing; but I suspected. It's part of my job to be anifty young suspector--and to use what I guess at. He just got away fromme. As for the rest of it, that's part of the game. This is no croquetmatch; you must expect to get your head bumped if you play it. I playthe game. "

"I play the game, too, " returned Bob, "and I came here to tell you so. I'll take care of myself, but I want to say that the moment you offerany move against Welton, I shall bring in my testimony against both ofyou on this bribery matter. "

"Sapient youth!" said Baker, amused; "did that aspect of it just get toyou? But you misinterpreted the spirit of my greeting when you came inthe room. In words of one syllable, you've got us licked. We lie downand roll over. We stick all four paws in the air. We bat our augustforehead against the floor. Is that clear?"

"Then you drop this prosecution against Welton?"

"Nary prosecution, as far as I am concerned. "

"But the Modoc Land case----"

"Take back your lands, " chaffed Baker dramatically. "Kind of bum lands, anyway. No use skirmishing after the battle is over. Your father wouldtell you that. "

"Then you don't fight the suit?"

"That, " said Baker, "is still a point for compromise. You've got us, I'mwilling to admit that. Also that you are a bright young man, and that Iunderestimated you. You've lifted my property, legally acquired, andyou've done it by outplaying my bluff. I still maintain the points ofthe law are with me--we won't get into that, " he checked himself. "Butcriminal prosecution is a different matter. I don't intend to stand forthat a minute. Your gang don't slow-step me to any bastiles now listedin the prison records. Nothing doing that way. I'll fight her to afare-ye-well on that. " His round face seemed to become square-set andgrim for an instant, but immediately reassumed its customary rathercareless good-nature. "No, we'll just call the whole business off. "

"That is not for me to decide, " said Bob. 

"No; but you've got a lot to say about it--and I'll see to the littledetails; don't fret. By the way, " mentioned Baker, "just as a matter ofordinary curiosity, _did_ Oldham have anything on you, or was he just astrong-arm artist?" He threw back his head and laughed aloud at Bob'sface. At the thought of Pollock the young man could not prevent amomentary expression of relief from crossing his countenance. "There's atail-holt on all of us, " Baker observed. 

He flipped open a desk drawer and produced a box of expensive-lookingcigars which he offered to his visitors. Orde lit one; but Bob, eyeingthe power-man coldly, refused. Baker laughed. 

"You'll get over it, " he observed--"youth, I mean. Don't mix yourbusiness and your personal affairs. That came right out of the copybook, page one, but it's true. I'm the one that ought to feel sore, seems to me. " He lit his own cigar, and puffed at it, swinging his bulkyform to the edge of the desk. "Look here, " said he, shaking the butt atthe younger man. "You're making a great mistake. The future of thiscountry is with water, and don't you forget it. Fuel is scarce; waterpower is the coming force. The country can produce like a garden underirrigation; and it's only been scratched yet, and that just about thebig cities. We are getting control; and the future of the state is withus. You're wasting yourself in all this toy work. You've got too muchability to squander it in that sort of thing. Oldham made you an offerfrom us, didn't he?"

"He tried to bribe me, if that's what you mean, " said Bob. 

"Well, have it your way; but you'll admit there's hardly much use ofbribing you now. I repeat the offer. Come in with us on those terms. "

"Why?" demanded Bob. 

"Well, " said Baker quaintly, "because you seem to have licked me fairand square; and I never want a man who can lick me to remain where he islikely to do so. "

At this point Orde, who had up to now remained quietly a spectator, spoke up. 

"Bob, " said he, "is already fairly intimately connected with certaininterests, which, while not so large as water power, are enough to keephim busy. "

Baker turned to him joyously. 

"List' to the voice of reason!" he cried. "I'm sorry he won't come withus; but the next best thing is to put him where he won't fight us. Ididn't know he was going back to your timber--"

Bob opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again at a gesture from hisfather. 

Baker glanced at the clock. 

"Well, " he remarked cheerfully, "come over to the Club with me to lunch, anyway. "

Bob stared at him incredulously. Here was the man who had employedagainst him every expedient from blackmail to physical violence; who hadbut that instant been worsted in a bald attempt at larceny, nevertheless, cheerfully inviting him out to lunch as though nothing hadhappened! Furthermore, his father, against whose ambitions one of thedeadliest blows had been aimed, was quietly reaching for his hat. Bakerlooked up and caught Bob's expression. 

"Come, come!" said he; "forget it! You and I speak the language of thesame tribe, and you can't get away from it. I'm playing my game, you'replaying yours. Of course, we want to win. But what's the use of cuttingout lots of bully good people on that account?"

"You don't stick to the rules, " insisted Bob stoutly. 

"I think I do, " said Baker. "Who's to decide? You believe one way, Ibelieve another. I know what you think of my methods in business; andI'd hate to say what I think of you as the blue ribbon damn fool inthat respect. But I like you, and I'm willing to admit you've got stuffin you; and I know damn well you and your father and I can have a fineyoung lunch talking duck-shooting and football. And with all my faultsyou love me still, and you know you do. " He smiled winningly, and hookedhis arm through Bob's on one side and his father's on the other. "Comeon, you old deacon; play the game!" he cried. 

Bob laughed, and gave in. 

XXXIX

Bob took his father with him back to headquarters. They rode in near theclose of day; and, as usual, from the stovepipe of the roofless kitchena brave pillar of white smoke rose high in the shadows of the firs. Amycame forth at Bob's shout, starched and fresh, her cheeks glowing withtheir steady colour, her intelligent eyes alight with interest under thestraight, serene brows. At sight of Orde, the vivacity of her mannerquieted somewhat, but Bob could see that she was excited aboutsomething. He presented his father, who dismounted and greeted her witha hearty shake of the hand. 

"We've heard of you, Miss Thorne, " said he simply, but it was evident hewas pleased with the frankness of her manner, the clear steadiness ofher eye, the fresh daintiness of her appearance, and the respect of hergreeting. On the other hand, she looked back with equal pleasure on thetanned, sturdy old man with the white hair and moustache, the cleareyes, and the innumerable lines of quaint good-humour about them. Afterthey had thus covertly surveyed each other for a moment, the aforesaidlines about Orde's eyes deepened, his eyes twinkled with mischief, andhe thrust forth his hand for the second time. "Shake again!" he offered. Amy gurgled forth a little chuckle of good feeling and understanding, and laid her fingers in his huge palm. 

After this they turned and walked slowly to the hitch rails where themen tied their horses. 

"Where's the Supervisor?" Bob asked of Amy. 

"In the office, " she replied; and then burst out excitedly: "I've thegreatest news!"

"So have I, " returned Bob, promptly. "Best kind. "

"Oh, what is it?" she cried, forgetting all about her own. "Is it Mr. Welton?"

"It'll take some time to tell mine, " said Bob, "and we must hunt up Mr. Thorne. Yours first. "

"Pollock is free!"

"Pollock free!" echoed Bob. "How is that? I thought his trial was notuntil next week!"

"The prosecuting attorney quashed the indictment--or whatever it is theydo. Anyhow, he let George go for lack of evidence to convict. "

"I guess he was relying on evidence promised by Oldham, which he nevergot, " Bob surmised. 

"And never will, " Orde cautioned them. "You two young people must becareful never to know anything of this. "

Bob opened his mouth to say something; was suddenly struck by a thought, and closed it again. 

"Why do you say that?" he asked at last. "Why do you think Miss Thornemust know of this?"

But Orde only smiled amusedly beneath his white moustache. 

They found Ashley Thorne, and acquainted him with the whole situation. He listened thoughtfully. 

"The matter is over our heads, of course; but we must do our best. Ofcourse, by all rights the man ought to be indicted; but there can be noquestion that there is a common sense that takes the substance ofvictory and lets the shadow go. "

Orde stayed to supper and over night. In the course of the eveningCalifornia John drifted in, and Ware, and Jack Pollock, and such otherof the rangers as happened to be in from the Forest. Orde was at hisbest; and ended, to Bob's vast pride, in getting himself well liked bythese conservative and quietly critical men of the mountains. 

The next morning Bob and his father saddled their horses and startedearly for the mill, Bob having been granted a short leave of absence. For some distance they rode in silence. 

"Father, " said Bob, "why did you stop me from contradicting Baker theother day when he jumped to the conclusion that I was going to quit theService?"

"I think you are. "

"But--"

"Only if you want to, Bob. I don't want to force you in any way; butboth Welton and I are getting old, and we need younger blood. We'drather have you. " Bob shook his head. "I know what you mean, and Irealize how you feel about the whole matter. Perhaps you are right. Ihave nothing to say against conservation and forestry methodstheoretically. They are absolutely correct. I agree that the forestsshould be cut for future growths, and left so that fire cannot getthrough them; but it is a grave question in my mind whether, as yet, itcan be done. "

"But it is being done!" cried Bob. "There is no difficulty in doing it. "

"That's for you to prove, if you want to, " said Orde. "If you care toresign from the Service, we will for two years give you full swing withour timber, to cut and log according to your ideas--or rather the ideasof those over you. In that time you can prove your point, or fail. Personally, " he repeated, "I have grave doubts as to whether it can bedone at present; it will be in the future of course. "

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Bob. "It is being done every day! There'snothing complicated about it. It's just a question of cutting and pilingthe tops, and--"

"I know the methods advocated, " broke in Orde. "But it is not being doneexcept on Government holdings where conditions as to taxation, situationand a hundred other things are not like those of private holdings; or onprivate holdings on an experimental scale, or in conjunction with oldermethods. The case has not been proved on a large private tract. Now isyour chance so to prove it. "

Bob's face was grave. 

"That means a pretty complete about-face for me, sir, " said he. "Ifought this all out with myself some years back. I feel that I havefitted myself into the one thing that is worth while for me. "

"I know, " said Orde. "Don't hurry. Think it over. Take advice. I have anotion you'll find this--if its handled right, and works out right--willcome to much the same thing. "

He rode along in silence for some moments. 

"I want to be fair, " he resumed at last, "and do not desire to get youin this on mistaken premises. This will not be a case of experiment, ofplaything, but of business. However desirable a commercial theory maybe, if it's commercial, _it must pay_! It's not enough if you don't losemoney; or even if you succeed in coming out a little ahead. You mustmake it pay on a commercial basis, or else it's as worthless in thebusiness world as so much moonshine. That is not sordid; it is simplycommon sense. We all agree that it would be better to cut our forestsfor the future; but _can it be done under present conditions?_"

"There is no question of that, " said Bob confidently. 

"There is quite a question of it among some of us old fogies, Bobby, "stated Orde good-humouredly. "I suppose we're stupid and behind thetimes; but we've been brought up in a hard school. We are beyond the agewhen we originate much, perhaps; but we're willing to be shown. "

He held up his hand, checking over his fingers as he talked. 

"Here's the whole proposition, " said he. "You can consider it. Weltonand I will turn over the whole works to you, lock, stock and barrel, fortwo years. You know the practical side of the business as well as youever will, and you've got a good head on you. At the end of that time, turn in your balance sheet. We'll see how you come out, and how much itcosts a thousand feet to do these things outside the schoolroom. "

"If I took it up, I couldn't make it pay quite as well as by presentmethods, " Bob warned. 

"Of course not. Any reasonable man would expect to spend something byway of insurance for the future. But the point is, the operations mustpay. Think it over!"

They emerged into the mill clearing. Welton rolled out to greet them, his honest red face aglow with pleasure over greeting again his oldfriend. They pounded each other on the back, and uttered much facetiousand affectionate abuse. Bob left them cursing each other heartily, broadgrins illuminating their weatherbeaten faces. 

XL

Bob's obvious course was to talk the whole matter over with his superiorofficer, and that is exactly what he intended to do. Instead, he huntedup Amy. He justified this course by the rather sophistical reflectionthat in her he would encounter the most positive force to the contraryof the proposition he had just received. Amy stood first, last and allthe time for the Service; her heart was wholly in its cause. In heropinion he would gain the advantage of a direct antithesis to the ideaspropounded by his father. This appeared to Bob an eminently justarrangement, but failed to account for a certain rather breathlessexcitement as he caught sight of Amy's sleek head bending over a pan ofpeas. 

"Amy, " said he, dropping down at her feet, "I want your advice. "

She let fall her hands and looked at him with the refreshing directnesspeculiarly her own. 

"Father wants me to take charge of the Wolverine Company's operations, "he began. 

"Well?" she urged him after a pause. 

"What do you think of it?"

"I thought you had worked that all out for yourself some time ago. "

"I had. But father and Mr. Welton are getting a little too old to handlesuch a proposition, and they are looking to me--" he paused. 

"That situation is no different than it has been, " she suggested. "Whatelse?"

Bob laughed. 

"You see through me very easily, don't you? Well, the situation ischanged. I'm being bribed. "

"Bribed!" Amy cried, throwing her head back. 

"Extra inducements offered. They make it hard for me to refuse, withoutseeming positively brutal. They offer me complete charge--to do as Iwant. I can run the works absolutely according to my own ideas. Don'tyou see how I am going to hurt them when I refuse under suchcircumstances?"

"Refuse!" cried Amy. "Refuse! What do you mean!"

"Do you think I ought to leave the Service?" stammered Bob blankly. 

"Why, it's the best chance the Service has ever had!" said Amy, thewords fairly tumbling over one another. "You must never dream ofrefusing. It's your chance--it's our chance. It's the one thing we'velacked, the opportunity of showing lumbermen everywhere that the thingcan be made to pay. It's the one thing we've lacked. Oh, _what_ achance!"

"But--but, " objected Bob--"it means giving up the Service--after theseyears--and all the wide interests--and the work----"

"You must take it, " she swept him away, "and you must do it with allyour power and all the ability that is in you. You must devote yourselfto one idea--make money, make it pay!"

"This from you, " said Bob sadly. 

"Oh, I am so _glad_!" cried Amy. "Your father is a dear! it's the onefear that has haunted me--lest some visionary incompetent should attemptit, and should fail dismally, and all the great world of business shouldvisit our methods with the scorn due only his incompetence. It was ourgreat danger! And now it is no longer a danger! You can do it, Bob; youhave the knowledge and the ability and the energy--and you must have theenthusiasm. Can't you see it? You _must!_"

She leaned over, her eyes shining with the excitement of her thought, to shake him by both shoulders. The pan of peas promptly deluged him. They both laughed. 

"I'd never looked at it that way, " Bob confessed. 

"It's the only way to look at it. "

"Why!" cried Bob, in the sudden illumination of a new idea. "The moremoney I make, the more good I'll do--that's a brand new idea for you!"

He rose to his feet, slowly, and stood for a moment lost in thought. Then he looked down at her, a fresh admiration shining in his eyes. 

"Yours is the inspiration and the insight--as always, " he said humbly. "It has always been so. I have seemed to myself to have blundered andstumbled, groping for a way; and you have flown, swift as a shiningarrow, straight to the mark. "

"No, no, no, no!" she disclaimed, coming close to him in the vigour ofher denial. "You are unfair. "

She looked up into his face, and somehow in the earnestness of herdisclaimer, the feminine soul of her rose to her eyes, so that again Bobsaw the tender, appealing helplessness, and once more there arose tofull tide in his breast the answering tenderness that would care for herand guard her from the rough jostling of the world. The warmth of heryoung body tingled in recollection along his arm, and then, strangelyenough, without any other direct cause whatever, the tide rose higher toflood his soul. He drew her to him, crushing her to his breast. For aninstant she yielded to him utterly; then drew away in a panic. 

"My dear, my dear!" she half whispered; "not here!"

XLI

Bob rode home through the forest, singing at the top of his voice. Whenhe met his father, near the lower meadow, he greeted the older manboisterously. 

"That, " said Orde to him shrewdly, "sounds to me mighty like relief. Have you decided for or against?"

"For, " said Bob. "It's a fine chance for me to do just what I've alwayswanted to do--to work hard at what interests me and satisfies me. "

"Go to it, then, " said Orde. "By the way, Bobby, how old are you now?"

"Twenty-nine. "

"Well, you're a year younger than I was when I started in with Newmark. You're ahead of me there. But in other respects, my son, your father hada heap more sense; he got married, and he didn't waste any time on it. How long have you been living around in range of that Thorne girl, anyway? Somebody ought to build a fire under you. "

Bob hesitated a moment; but he preferred that his good news should cometo his father when Amy could be there, too. 

"I'm glad you like her, father, " said he quietly. 

Orde looked at his son, and his voice fell from its chaffing tone. "Goodluck, boy, " said he, and leaned from his saddle to touch the young manon the shoulder. 

They emerged into the clearing about the mill. Bob looked on thefamiliar scene with the new eyes of a great spiritual uplift. The yellowsawdust and the sawn lumber; the dark forest beyond; the bulk of themill with its tall pines; the dazzling plume of steam against the veryblue sky, all these appealed to him again with many voices, as they hadyears before in far-off Michigan. Once more he was back where his bloodcalled him; but under conditions which his training and the spirit ofthe new times could approve. His heart exulted at the challenge to hisyoung manhood. 

As he rode by the store he caught sight within its depths of Merkermethodically waiting on a stolid squaw. 

"No more economic waste, Merker!" he could not forbear shouting; andthen rocked in his saddle with laughter over the man's look of slowsurprise. "It's his catchword, " he explained to Orde. "He's a slow, queer old duck, but a mighty good sort for the place. There's Post, infrom the woods. He's woods foreman. I expect I'll have lively times withPost at first, getting him broken into new ways. But he's a good sort, too. "

"Everybody's a good sort to-day, aren't they, son?" smiled Orde. 

Welton met them, and expressed his satisfaction over the way everythinghad turned out. 

"I'm going duck shooting for fair, " said he, "and I'm going fishing atCatalina. Out here, " he explained to Orde, "you sit in nice warm sun andlet the ducks insult you into shooting at 'em! Nofreeze-your-fingers-and-break-the-ice early mornings! I'm willing to letthe kid go it! He can't bust me in two years, anyway. "

Later, when the two were alone together, he clapped Bob on the back andwished him success. 

"I'm too old at the game to believe much in new methods to what I'vebeen brought up to, Bob, " said he; "but I believe in you. If anybody cando it, you can; and I'd be tickled to see you win out. Things change;and a man is foolish to act as though they didn't. He's just got to keepplaying along according to the rules of the game. And they keepchanging, too. It's good to have lived while they're making a country. I've done it. You're going to. "

THE END