eisurely good nature. So unprecedented was the
present condition that Bob, after hesitating a moment, dismounted and
approached.

Merker was staring at his chief with wide and astonished eyes, and
plucking nervously at his brown beard.

"Why, that is Ross Fletcher," he gasped. "We were just talking about the
economic 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 around
here, and I won't have my employees confabbing with them. I don't care
what 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 a
poison-snake!"

Merker glanced from Welton to the ranger and back again perplexed.

"But--but--" he stammered. "I've known Ross Fletcher a long time. What
can I say--"

Welton cut in on him with contempt.

"Well, you'd better say something, unless you want me to throw him off
the place. This is no corner saloon for loafers."

"I'll fix it," offered Bob, and without waiting for a reply, he walked
over 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 Forest
Ranger we conclude that you must be very busy people--too busy to waste
time on us."

The man's face changed, but he evidently had not quite arrived at the
drift of this.

"I think you know what I mean," said Bob.

A slow flush overspread the ranger's face. He looked the young man up
and 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 Merker
get you anything?"

Fletcher shot a glance half of bewilderment, half of anger, in the
direction of the store-keeper. Then he nodded, not without a certain
dignity, 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 little
more 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, slow
man. "But they're a bad