Lorry laughed. He had not considered it a risk. "You remember that book you lent me. Well, I left it in my cabin. There was one piece that kep' botherin' me. I couldn't recollect the last part about those 'Little Fires.' I was plumb worried tryin' to remember them verses. When I got it, I sure learned that piece from the jump to the finish." "The 'Little Fires'? I'm glad you like it. I do. "'From East to West they're burning in tower and forge and home, And on beyond the outlands, across the ocean foam; On mountain crest and mesa, on land and sea and height, The little fires along the trail that twinkle down the night.' "And about the sheep-herder; do you remember how-- "'The Andalusian herder rolls a smoke and points the way, As he murmurs, "Caliente," "San Clemente," "Santa Fé," Till the very names are music, waking memoried desires, And we turn and foot it down the trail to find the little fires. Adventuring! Adventuring! And, oh, the sights to see! And little fires along the trail that wink at you and me.'" "That's it! But I couldn't say it like that. But I know some of them little fires." "We must make one some day. Won't it be fun!" "It sure is when a fella ain't hustlin' to get grub. That poem sounds better after grub, at night, when the stars are shinin' and the horses grazin' and mebby the pack-horse bell jinglin' 'way off somewhere. Then one of them little fires is sure friendly." "Have you been reading this winter?" "Oh, some. Mostly forestry and about the war. Bud was tellin' me to read up on forestry. He's goin' to put me over west--and a bigger job this summer." "You mean--to stay?" "About as much as I stay anywhere." Dorothy pouted. She had thought that the Blue Mesa and the timberlands were more beautiful than ever that spring, but to think that the neighboring cabin would be vacant all summer! No cheery whistling and no wood smoke curling from the chimney and no blithe voice talking to the ponies. No jolly "Good-mornin', miss, and the day is sure startin' out proud to see you." Well, Dorothy had considered Mr. Shoop a friend. She would have a very serious talk with Mr. Shoop when she saw him. She had read of Waring's fight in the desert and of his slow recovery, and that Waring was Lorry's father; matters that she could not speak of to Lorry, but the knowledge of them lent a kind of romance to her ranger man. At times she studied Lorry, endeavoring to find in him some trace of his father's qualities. She had not met Waring, but she imagined much from what she had heard and read. And could Lorry, who had such kind gray eyes and such a pleasant face, deliberately go out and kill men as his father had done? Why should men kill each other? The world was so beautiful, and there was so much to live for.