a horse as well
as most cowboys, hence my uniform. I'm not the best forest ranger in the
service, I'll admit, but I fancy I'm a fair average."

"And that is your badge--the pine-tree?"

"Yes, and I am proud of it. Some of the fellows are not, but so far as I
am concerned I am glad to be known as a defender of the forest. A tree
means much to me. I never mark one for felling without a sense of
responsibility to the future."

Her questions came slowly, like those of a child. "Where do you live?"

"Directly up the South Fork, about twenty miles."

"What do you do?"

He smiled. "Not much. I ride the trails, guard the game, put out fires,
scale lumber, burn brush, build bridges, herd cattle, count sheep, survey
land, and a few other odd chores. It's supposed to be a soft snap, but I
can't see it that way."

"Do you live alone?"

"Yes, for the larger part of the time. I have an assistant who is with me
during part of the summer months. Mostly I am alone. However, I am
supposed to keep open house, and I catch a visitor now and then."

They were both more at ease now, and her unaffected interest pleased him.

She went on, steadily: "Don't you get very lonely?"

"In winter, sometimes; in summer I'm too busy to get lonely. In the fire
season I'm in the saddle every day, and sometimes all night."

"Who cooks for you?"

"I do. That's part of a ranger's job. We have no 'servant problem' to
contend with."

"Do you expect to do this always?"

He smiled again. "There you touch my secret spring. I have the hope of
being Chief Forester some time--I mean we all have the prospect of
promotion to sustain us. The service is so new that any one with even a
knowledge of forestry is in demand; by and by real foresters will arise."

She returned abruptly to her own problem. "I dread to go back to my
mother, but I must. Oh, how I hate that hotel! I loathe the flies, the
smells, the people that eat there, the waiters--everything!" She
shuddered.

"Many of the evils you mention could be reformed--except, of course, some
of the people who come to eat. I fear several of them have gone beyond
reformation."

As they started back down the street she saw the motor-stage just leaving
the door of the office. "That settles one question," she said. "I can't
get away till to-morrow."

"Where would you go if you broke camp--back to the East?"

"No; my mother thinks there is a place for me in Sulphur City."

"Your case interests me de