The keeper looked blankly at the master: "Why--why, Mr. Burleson, he's the dirtiest, meanest market hunter in the lot!" "You do as I say, Rolfe," said the master, amiably. "Yes, sir--but--" "Did you deliver my note to the fire-warden?" "Yes, sir. The old man's abed with miseries. He said he'd send his deputy at noon." Burleson laid his gloved hand on his horse's saddle, looking sharply at the keeper. "They tell me that Mr. Elliott has seen better fortune, Rolfe." "Yes, sir. When the Cross-roads went to pot, he went too. He owned a piece o' land that was no good only for the timber. He's like the rest o' them, I guess--only he had more to lose--an' he lost it same as all o' them." Burleson drew out his watch, glanced at it, and then mounted. "Try to make a friend of Abe Storm," he said; "that is my policy, and you all know it. Help me to keep the peace, Rolfe. If I keep it, I don't see how they're going to break it." "Very well, sir. But it riles me to--" "Nonsense! Now tell me where I'm to meet the fire-warden's deputy. Oh! then I'll jump him somewhere before long. And remember, Rolfe, that it's no more pleasure for me to keep my temper than it is for anybody. But I've got to do it, and so have you. And, after all, it's more fun to keep it than to let it loose." "Yes, sir," said Rolfe, grinning like a dusty fox in July. So Burleson rode on at a canter, presently slacking to a walk, arguing with himself in a low, calm voice: "Poor devils--poor, half-starved devils! If I could afford to pay their prices I'd do it.... I'll wink at anything short of destruction; I can't let them cut the pine; I can't let them clean out the grouse and deer and fish. As for law-suits, I simply won't! There must be some decent way short of a shot-gun." He stretched out a hand and broke a flaming maple leaf from a branch in passing, drew it through his button-hole, thoughtful eyes searching the road ahead, which now ran out through long strips of swale bordered by saplings. Presently a little breeze stirred the foliage of the white birches to a sea of tremulous gold; and at the same moment a rider appeared in the marsh beyond, galloping through the blanched swale-grass, which rose high as the horse's girth. Young Burleson drew bridle; the slim youth who sat his saddle so easily must be the deputy of the sick fire-warden; this was the time and the place. As the young rider galloped up, Burleson leaned forward, offering his hand with an easy, pleasant greeting. The hand was unnoticed, the greeting breathlessly returned; two grave, gray eyes met his, and Burleson found himself looking into the flushed face of a young girl. When he realized this, he took off his cap, and she inclined her head, barely acknowledging his salute. "I am Mr. Elliott's daughter," she said; "you are Mr. Burleson?" Burleson had the honor of presenting himself, cap in hand.