he National Forests
wherever it has been surveyed and declared agricultural land; but they
can't go in and get title till it is surveyed and passed. But you can
plaster the railway scrip _where it is unsurveyed_. That's the little
joker somebody tucked in when the scrip railway act was passed. I
guess by the time they have red-taped and trapesed round and wrangled
those two tangles of title out, the logs will be safe down the River;
and I guess that will about see the finish of Wayland before the coal
cases come up--"

"That's it, Brydges." Moyese had lowered his voice. "What about
Wayland? Have you found out anything? Where the devil is he? He
isn't on his patrol! He hasn't been at the Ridge for three weeks. He
hasn't been at the Ridge since I left for Washington. If we could
prove how he's been using Government time," he paused to reflect.
"_That_ might be shortest way out! Did you find out anything at the
MacDonald Ranch?"

Bat threw a precautionary glance over his shoulder towards the door
opening on the street. Then he rose, walked across the office, shut
the door, came back and drawing his chair close to the desk opposite
the Senator, sat down astride with his feet tucked back one round each
hind leg.

"Yes, I did; and no again, I didn't! It's just as it may strike you!
As a news man, I know _how_ this kind of yarn would be taken by the
public."

"Oh, come on with it, Brydges!" Moyese had pushed back and was holding
the edge of the desk with his hands. Mr. Bat Brydges recognized that
while the creases of good-nature crinkled at the chin, the jaws and the
hands had locked.

"Your newsman got this despatch from Mine City: you see it's pretty
vague: 'bodies of two men found forty miles from branch of P. & O.
Line, thought to be drovers overcome by heat and thirst.' I wired for
more particulars; but the railway hands had shovelled the bodies under."

"Brydges," interrupted Moyese sharply, "I'm going to tell you
something; and you put it in your pipe and smoke it; and don't waste
time running off on false clues. You leave that to women and
sissies--to the she-male man! Now listen, _a man can't lose himself in
the Desert: He can't lose himself in the Wilderness_. If he's a
damphool, he can get lost, but he can't lose himself, he can't hide in
the wilderness, not ever! He can lose himself in a city in one week.
He could drop out of sight right here in Smelter City; but he can't go
into the w