"Get away!" shouted the older man. "Gregg hired me to do this work, and it don't matter whether I live or die; but you've got something to do in the world. My girl needs you, and she don't need me, so get out o' here and stay out. Go bring me that wood, and I'll go in and see what's the matter." Cavanagh looked him in the face an instant. "Very well," said he, "I'll do as you say. There's no use of our both taking chances." It was beginning to rain, and the tent was dark and desolate, but as the fire in the little stove commenced to snarl, and the smoke to pour out of the pipe, the small domicile took on cheer. Wetherford knew how to care for the sick, and in the shelter of the canvas wall developed unforeseen vigor and decision. It was amazing to Cavanagh to witness his change of manner. Soon a pan of water was steaming, and some hot stones were at the sufferer's feet, and when Wetherford appeared at the door of the tent his face was almost happy. "Kill a sheep. There isn't a thing but a heel of bacon and a little flour in the place." As the ranger went about his outside duties he had time to take into full account the tragic significance of the situation. He was not afraid of death, but the menace of sickness under such surroundings made his blood run cold. It is such moments as these that the wilderness appalls. Twenty miles of most difficult trail lay between his own cabin and this spot. To carry the sick man on his horse would not only be painful to the sufferer but dangerous to the rescuer, for if the Basque were really ill of smallpox contagion would surely follow. On the other hand, to leave him to die here unaided seemed inhuman, impossible. "There is only one thing to do," he called to Wetherford, "and that is for me to ride back to the station and bring up some extra bedding and my own tent, and so camp down beside you." "All right; but remember I've established a quarantine. I'll crack your head if you break over the line an inch." There was no longer any feeling of reaching up or reaching down between the two men--they were equals. Wetherford, altogether admirable, seemed to have regained his manhood as he stood in the door of the tent confronting the ranger. "This Basque ain't much of a find, but, as you say, he's human, and we can't let him lie here and die, I'll stay with him till you can find a doctor or till he dies." "I take off my hat to you," responded Cavanagh. "You are a man." X THE SMOKE OF THE BURNING The reader will observe that the forest ranger's job is that of a man and a patriot, and such a ranger was Cavanagh, notwithstanding his foreign birth. He could ride all day in the saddle and fight fire all night. While not a trained forester, he was naturally a reader, and thoroughly understood the theories of the department. As a practical ranger he stood half-way between the cowboy (who was at first the only available material) and the trained expert who is being educated to follow him.