s and
instructions. That one had been told clearly that he was in the wrong,
and must amend his ways. The other had been advised but tentatively, and
informed that he must see the Supervisor personally. To each of these
Thorne responded by a brief nod, puffing, meanwhile, on his pipe.

"All right?" she asked, when she had finished.

"All right but one," said he, removing his pipe at last. "I don't think
it will be advisable to let Francotti have what he wants."

"Pull the string, then!" cried the girl gaily.

Thorne turned to California John in discussion of the Francotti affair.

"What do you mean by 'pull the string'?" Bob took the occasion to
inquire.

"I settle a lot of these little matters that aren't worth bothering
Ashley with," she explained, "but I tie a string to each of my
decisions. I always make them 'subject to the Supervisor's approval.'
Then if I do wrong, all I have to do is to write the man and tell him
the Supervisor does not approve."

"I shouldn't think you'd like that," said Bob.

"Like what?"

"Why, it sort of puts you in a hole, doesn't it? Lays all the blame on
you."

She laughed in frank amusement.

"What of it?" she challenged.

"Any letters?" Thorne asked abruptly. "Morton brought mail this morning,
didn't he?"

"Nothing wildly important--except that they're thinking of adopting a
ranger uniform."

"A uniform!" snorted California John, rearing his old head.

"Oh, yes, I've heard of that," put in Thorne instantly. "It's to be a
white pith helmet with a green silk scarf on it; red coat with gold
lace, and white, English riding breeches with leather leggins. Don't you
think old John would look sweet in that?" he asked Bob.

But the old man refused to be drawn out.

"Supervisors same; but with a gold pompon on top the helmet," he
observed. "What _is_ the dang thing, anyway, Amy?" he asked.

"Dark green whipcord, green buttons, gray hat, military cut."

"Not bad," said Thorne.

"About one fifty-mile ride and one fire would make that outfit look like
a bunch of mildewed alfalfa. Blue jeans is about my sort of uniform,"
observed John.

"I don't believe we'd be supposed to wear it on range," suggested
Thorne. "Only in town and official business." He turned to the girl
again: "May have to go over Baldy to-morrow," said he, "so we'll run off
those letters."

She arose and saluted, military fashion. The two disappeared in the tiny
box-office, whence presently came the sound