job," replied Merker unmoved. His
large, cowlike eyes roved across the yards. "Men grow in a generation;
trees grow in ten," he resumed with unexpected directness. "I have
calculated that of a great tree but 40 per cent. is used. All the rest
is economic waste--slabs, edging, tops, stumps, sawdust." He sighed. "I
couldn't get anybody to consider your toothpick and matches idea, nor
the 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 have
done so?"

"Lord, no!" cried Welton fervently.

"The sawdust ought to make something," continued Merker. "But I am
unable to discover a practical use for it." He indicated the great
yellow 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 a
valuable man for just his position. It tickled the burly lumberman, too,
to stop for a moment in his rounds for the purpose of discussing with
mock gravity any one of Marker's thousand ideas on economic waste,
Welton discovered a huge entertainment in this. One day, however, he
found Merker in earnest discussion with a mountain man, whom the
store-keeper introduced as Ross Fletcher. Welton did not pay very much
attention to this man and was about to pass on when his eye caught the
gleam 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, "I
want one thing distinctly understood. This Government gang don't go
here. This is my property, and I won't have them loafing around. That's
all there is to it. Now understand me; I mean business. If those fellows
come 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 with
Welton, had he seen the older man plainly out of temper. Welton's usual
habit in aggravating and contrary circumstances was to show a surface,
at least, of the most l