"You don't say," commented Bob. "You don't believe it. Well, it's so. And they sent him in after sheep in the high mountains early, when the feed was froze, and wouldn't allow him pay for three sacks of barley for his animals. And Ross gets sixty dollars a month, and he spends about half of that for trail tools and fire tools that they won't give him. What do you think of that?" "Merker," said Bob kindly, "I think your man is either a damn liar or a damn fool. Why does he say he does all this?" "He likes the mountains. He--well, he just believes in it." "I see. Are there any more of these altruists? or is he the only bird of the species?" Merker caught the irony of Bob's tone. "They don't amount to much, in general," he admitted. "But there's a few--they keep the torch lit." "I supposed their job was more in the line of putting it out," observed Bob; then, catching Merker's look of slow bewilderment, he added: "So there are several." "Yes. There's good men among 'em. There's Ross, and Charley Morton, and Tom Carroll, and, of course, old California John." Bob's amused smile died slowly. Before his mental vision rose the picture of the old mountaineer, with his faded, ragged clothes, his beautiful outfit, his lean, kindly face, his steady blue eyes, guarding an empty trail for the sake of an empty duty. That man was no fool; and Bob knew it. The young fellow slid from the counter to the floor. "I'm glad you believe in your friend, Merker," said he "and I don't doubt he's a fine fellow; but we can't have rangers, good, bad, or indifferent, hanging around here. I hope you understand that?" Merker nodded, his wide eyes growing dreamy. "It's an economic waste," he sighed, "all this cross-purposes. Here's you a good man, and Ross a good man, and you cannot work in harmony because of little things. The Government and the private owner should conduct business together for the best utilization of all raw material--" "Merker," broke in Bob, with a kindly twinkle, "you're a Utopian." "Mr. Orde," returned Merker with entire respect, "you're a lumberman." With this interchange of epithets they parted. XII