rt. Do I get my shoes, or not?"
growled the beaver man.

"Not," answered the Ranger, cheerfully. "We'll wrap your feet up with a
few handkerchiefs and let you ride this horse." He got down. "What's the
matter? Burns? Bad leg? Say! These kids are some class on first-aid,
aren't they! You're lucky. Did you thank them? Now you can ride nicely
and the game warden will sure be glad to see you." Then he spoke to us.
"I'm going over to my cabin, boys, where there's a telephone. Better
come along and spend the night."

We hustled for our blanket-rolls. The beaver man gruntingly climbed
aboard the Ranger's horse, and we all set out. The Ranger led the horse,
and carried his rifle.

"Is the fire out?" asked Kit Carson.

"Not out, but it's under control. It'll burn itself out, where it's
confined. I've left a squad to guard it and I'll telephone in to
headquarters and report. But if it had got across this fire line and
around those willows, we'd have been fighting it for a week."

"How did it start?"

"Somebody's camp-fire."

The trail we were making led through the timber and on, across a little
creek and up the opposite slope. The sun was just setting as we came out
beyond the timber, and made diagonally up a bare ridge. On top it looked
like one end of that plateau we had crossed when we were trailing the
gang and we had first seen the fire.

The Ranger had come up here because traveling was better and he could
take a good look around. We halted, puffing, while he looked. Off to the
west was the snowy range, and old Pilot Peak again, with the sun setting
right beside him, in a crack. The range didn't seem far, but it seemed
cold and bleak--and over it we were bound. Only, although now we had the
message, we didn't have the other Scouts. If they were burned--oh,
jiminy!

"Great Caesar! More smoke!" groaned the Ranger. "If that's another fire
started--!"

His words made us jump and gaze about. Yes, there was smoke, plenty of
it, over where the forest fire we had fought was still alive. But he was
looking in another direction, down along the top of the plateau.

"See it?" he asked.

Yes, we saw it. But--! And then our hearts gave a great leap.

"That's not a forest fire!" we cried. "That's a smoke signal!"

"A what?"

"A smoke signal! And--"

"Wait a second. We'll read it, if we can. Scouts must be over there," I
exclaimed.

"More Scouts!" grunted the beaver man. "These here hills are plumb full
of 'em."