He scouted about and got some pictures of chipmunks real close, by waiting, and a picture of a woodpecker feeding young ones, at a hole in a dead pine stump. This was a good place for bear to come, after the berries; and we were hoping that one would amble in while we were there so that Fitz could take a picture of it, too. Bears don't hurt people unless people try to hurt them; and a bear would sooner have raspberries than have a man or boy, any day. Fitzpatrick thought that if he could get a good picture of a bear, out in the open, that would bring him a Scout's honor. Of course, chipmunk pictures help, too. But while we were resting and fooling and taking pictures, and General Ashley was bringing his diary and his map up to date, for record, we had another visitor. (Note 20.) A man came riding a dark bay horse, with white nose and white right fore foot, along our side of the beaver pond, and halted at our camp. The horse had left ear swallow-tailed and was branded with a Diamond Five on the right shoulder. The man wasn't the man we had seen across the pond, for he wore a sombrero, and was taller and had on overalls, and cow-puncher boots. [Illustration] "Howdy?" he said. "How are you?" we answered. He sort of lazily dismounted, and yawned--but his sharp eyes were taking us and our camp all in. "Out fishing?" he asked. "No, sir. Passing through," said General Ashley. "Going far?" "Over to Green Valley." "Walking?" "Yes, sir." "Good place for beaver, isn't it?" "A bad place." "That so? Used to be some about here. Couldn't catch any, eh?" "We aren't trying. But it seems a bad place for beaver because the only one we have seen is a dead one in a trap." The man waked up. "Whose trap?" "We don't know." And the general went on to explain. The man nodded. "I'm a deputy game warden," he said at last. "Somebody's been trapping beaver in here, and it's got to stop. Haven't seen any one pass through?" We had. The general reported. "Smallish man?" "Yes, sir." "Roan hoss branded quarter circle D on the left hip? Brass-bound stirrups?" "We didn't see the horse; but we think the man was left-handed," said the general. "Why?" "He was left-footed, because there was a hole in the sole of the left shoe, and that would look as though he used his left foot more than his right. So we think he may be left-handed, too." (Note 21.) The game warden grunted. He eyed our flag. "You kids must be regular Boy Scouts." "We are." "Then I reckon you aren't catching any beaver. All right, I'll look for a left-footed man, maybe left-handed. But it's this fellow on the roan hoss I'm after. He's been trying to sell pelts. There's no use my trailing him, to-day. But I'll send word ahead, and if you lads run across him let somebody know. Where are you bound for?" The general told him. "By way of Pilot Peak?" "Yes, sir."