There was not the slightest doubt in Charley’s mind that he was going to like the ranger’s wife.  And when, a moment later, she came quietly into the room and took his hand in hers and, with moist eyes, thanked him for saving her husband’s life, she won Charley’s heart completely.  She was slight and girlish and good to look at, and made Charley think of some of his nice girl friends at high school.  Yet Mrs. Morton had been married a good many years, for just behind her stood her daughter, Julia, a girl of twelve, waiting her turn to thank Charley.

But girlish though the ranger’s wife appeared, Charley did not need to be told that she was not of the weeping, hysterical sort.  On every hand were evidences of efficiency and foresight.  A fire was evidently burning briskly in the stove, and kettles of water, presumably heated in case of need, were steaming on the range, easily seen through the open kitchen door.  In the sick-room were evidences of the same sort of forethought.  Everything that the house possessed that could possibly be useful in treating the ranger had been assembled in handy little piles.  This must have been done before the ranger reached home, for most of the piles were untouched.

The ranger was resting comfortably in bed, though his arm was badly swollen and his face was distorted with pain.  At sight of Charley his countenance lighted up.  He reached out his left arm and wrung Charley’s hand until the lad winced.

“The doctor says I’ll pull through this all right, though I’ll have a painful time of it,” said the ranger, “and he told the truth, at least as far as the pain is concerned.  But the pain’s nothing.  The thing that counts is the fact that I am safe at home.  I owe it to you, Charley, and you may be sure I’ll never forget.”

That was as much as the ranger, reticent, hating any display of emotion, quiet like most men of the woods, could bring himself to say.  But Charley knew that it meant volumes.  He tried to reply, but found himself also suffering from a strange embarrassment.  So Charley said good-bye to the ranger, assured him that he would take good care of the forest, and set about fixing the wireless outfit.  The forester helped him.  Quickly they got up the aerial, brought the lead-in wire into the living-room, and set up the instruments on a board table close beside the telephone instrument.

“Now everything is complete except for the battery,” Charley said to the forester when they had finished wiring up the outfit.  “Half a dozen dry cells will supply all the current needed.”

“I’ll send them out by the doctor in the morning,” said the forester.

Charley showed Mrs. Morton how to wire the cells and couple them to the instruments.  Then he told her how to adjust her spark-gap and tune the instrument to any given wave-length.  He compared his watch with the clock on the wall.

“At eight o’clock every night,” he said, “I will call you up.  Suppose you take Mr. Morton’s initials as your call signal.  What are they?”