Then all at once Bob found himself temporarily out of the game. In trying to roll a boulder out of the way, he caught his hand. A sharp, lightning pain shot up his arm and into the middle of his chest. When he had succeeded in extricating himself, he found that his middle finger was squarely broken. VI Bob stood still for a moment, looking at the injured member. Charley Morton touched him on the shoulder. When he looked up, the ranger motioned him back. Casting a look of regret at his half-completed defences, he obeyed. To his surprise he found the other four already gathered together. Evidently his being called off the work had nothing to do with his broken finger, as he had at first supposed. "Well, I guess we'll have to fall back," said Morton composedly. "It's got away from us." Without further comment he shouldered his implements and took his way up the hill. Bob handed his hoe and rake to Jack Pollock. "Carry 'em a minute," he explained. "I hurt my hand a little." As he walked along he bound the finger roughly to its neighbour, and on both tied a rude splint. "What's up?" he muttered to Jack, as he worked at this. "I reckon we must be goin' to start a fire line back of the next cross-bridge somewheres," Jack ventured his opinion. Bob stopped short. "Then we've abandoned the old one!" he exclaimed. "Complete," spoke up Ware, who overheard. "And all the work we've done there is useless?" "Absolutely." "We've got it all to do over again from the beginning?" "Certain sure." Bob adjusted his mind to this new and rather overwhelming idea. "I saw Senator What's-his-name--from Montana--made a speech the other day," spoke up Elliott, "in which he attacked the Service because he said it was a refuge for consumptives and incompetents!" At this moment Amy rode up draped with canteens and balancing carefully a steaming pail of coffee. She was accompanied by another woman similarly provided. The newcomer was a decided-looking girl under thirty, with a full, strong figure, pronounced flaxen-blond hair, a clear though somewhat sunburned skin, blue eyes, and a flash of strong, white teeth. Bob had never seen her before, but he recognized her as a mountain woman. She rode a pinto, guided by a hackamore, and was attired quite simply in the universal broad felt hat and a serviceable blue calico gown. In spite of this she rode astride; and rode well. A throwing rope, or riata, hung in the sling at the right side of her saddle pommel; and it looked as though it had been used. "Where's Charley?" she asked promptly as she rode up. "Is that you? You look like a nigger. How you feeling? You just mind me, and don't you try to do too much. You don't get paid for overtime at this job." "Hullo, Lou," replied Charley Morton; "I thought it was about time you showed up." The woman nodded at the others. "Howdy, Mrs. Morton," answered Tom Carroll, Pollock and Ware. Bob and Elliott bowed.