“It takes just so much time to do so much work,” stated Welton succinctly, “and it don’t matter whether you do it all at once, or try to fool yourself by spraddling it out.”

He pulled strongly at his pipe.

“Forest Reserves are all right enough,” he acknowledged, “and maybe some day 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, noticed California John picking his way through the new slashing.  This was a difficult matter, for the fresh-peeled logs and the debris of the tops afforded 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 one climbing 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 snow that way.  I ought to know this country pretty well, but when I get down into 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 California John, as he gathered up his reins.  “We’re holding ranger examinations—­something new.  You got to tell what you know these days before 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 of men.  Bed rolls lay scattered under the trees, saddles had been thrown over fallen trunks, bags of provisions hung from saplings, cooking utensils flanked the smouldering remains of a fire which was, however, surrounded by a scraped circle of earth after the careful fashion of the mountains.  Bob’s eye, by now practised in the refinements of such matters, ran over the various accoutrements thus spread abroad.  He estimated the number of their owners at about a score.  The bedroll of the cowman, the “turkey” of the lumber jack, the quilts of the mountaineer, were all in evidence; as well as bedding plainly makeshift in character, belonging to those who must have come from a distance.  A half-dozen horses dozed in an improvised fence-corner corral.  As many more were tied to trees.  Saddles, buckboards, two-wheeled carts, and even 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 been gone five minutes!  Come help me finish!”