“Fine, Scout. But”--he consulted him gravely--“I don’t believe we ought to leave yet, do you?” “No; I don’t guess we ought to leave, Ranger. We ought to stay on the job to-day and to-night; you never can tell.” He wagged his head owlishly. “That’s the way I feel about it, Scout.” This would be a good time, he thought--the long and lazy day of patroling--to tell Elmer Bunty of his aunt’s defection and to spread before him the happy plans he had made. Directly they had eaten their scanty breakfast they walked down the trail to the horses and saddled them and rode two miles to a place where there was lush and lavish feed for them--they had been on short rations for three days now. It was a gently sloping hillside covered with white pines and carpeted with fresh and hardy green. The Mabel horse whinnied with pleasure at sight of it. They removed the saddles and bridles and Snort was staked out with a generous length of rope; the lady horse would be canny enough to remain without being tied. Dean Wolcott meant to have his talk with Elmer Bunty as they walked back up the trail but they found themselves a little spent and languid; the mere business of climbing, afoot, was sufficiently engrossing. They would rest, when they got back to their station, and talk in the warm, still afternoon. But there was to be no rest for the Ranger and his Scout that day. A slim snake of fire had crawled over from the floor of one cañon to another, coaxed on by a treacherous wind, whispering close to the ground; by seven in the morning it had grown to be a dragon in size and strength and it was roaring up the side of the mountain which had been inviolate before; in half an hour it would be upon the spot which harbored the spring. Their tired bodies and their weary wills grew taut again. “Water, first,” said Dean Wolcott, curtly. They filled their canteens and soaked their sacks and staggered up the slope three times with slopping buckets, and then they worked fast and furiously on their firebreak. Almost without pause birds flew past them, coming up from below, uttering strange cries, and presently small, shy beasts began to run up to them and past them. “Look, Scout,” said Dean, softly. “I’ve heard about it and read of it, but I’ve never seen it before--wild things fleeing before a forest fire. Let’s stand aside here and watch for a moment. Come over here, where you can see down.” They came swiftly and silently, panting with haste, their soft eyes wild--squirrels and little bush rabbits scurrying by the dozen; now a pair of small foxes running low; a wildcat, crouching, slinking, belly to the ground; coyotes, gaunt and gray and furtive; does and fawns, and four or five great bucks driven out of cover at last, and at the end of the hurrying horde a mountain lion and his mate. There was something primeval about it; something simple, and far away; Dean Wolcott held his breath.