“You are helping me, Ginger, bringing up our food, looking after things at camp-- It’s a great comfort for me to know that you are in charge there.” “But I’m not really needed there, doctor. In case of danger they could all walk over to Pfeiffer’s--even Aunt Fan”--she smiled a little--“and be taken in to Monterey. And I am needed here; you’re terribly short-handed.” “I know we are, just now, Ginger, but Dean has telephoned in to King City to the Chief; he’ll be coming in to-morrow himself, with twenty men, bringing their own supplies.” “Yes, but to-day, and to-night?” “We’ll manage; we’ll manage.” His eyes were bloodshot and his face was lined with weariness and grimed with smoke, but he pulsed with energy. He was dedicating himself gladly to the wild land which had been, quite literally, his recreation; it had given him endless joy and content, and now he was fighting in its service. “Please let me stay?” Ginger put a hand on his arm. “I thought you might; that’s why I came alone to-day, without the boys, and I left word for them not to be anxious at camp if I didn’t come back--that I’d be with you.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t think of it, Ginger. Miss Fanny would never forgive me; I expect she never will, as it is! No, you must go back to camp.” Ginger swung into the saddle. She flushed, but her gaze was very steady. “Doctor, how is Dean doing? Are you satisfied?” The taut lines of his face loosened and his tired eyes warmed. “Ginger, that boy’s doing splendidly--remarkably! I’m no end pleased with him. Fighting like an old campaigner, but he’s trying to swing too much alone. He’s handling all the Marble Peak slope by himself--just the youngster with him. Insisted on it, but it’s too much; he has all the theory, but he hasn’t had the practice. Still, he’s doing great work, Ginger, great work! If I had a man to spare, I’d send him over to him, but we’re short ourselves, and we’ve got a nasty stretch. Well, I must be getting back to work, and you must be getting back to camp. Tell the folks not to worry--we’re getting it under.” “I wish you’d let me stay,” said the girl, mutinously, but she turned her horse and started down, and waved back at him just before she rounded the bend. He was a gallant figure as he stood there, swinging his old wide hat, fighting guardian of the hills and the trees he loved. Ginger rode very slowly down the trail, and when she came to the forks she drew rein. The right-hand trail led down to camp, and the other wound back by a rising and circuitous route to the Marble Peak territory. The air was heavily sultry and there was a brooding and ominous feeling in it; flakes of ashes and bits of charred leaves and now and then a spark fell to the ground; the sky was obscured by a low-hanging curtain of smoke. There was a sense of menace and foreboding, of the relentless advance of an implacable foe.