the forest ahead caused me to use more
caution. As I rode forward I saw a vast area of tree-tops far below, and
then I found myself on the edge of a foot-hill.

Right under me was a wide, yellow, bare spot, miles across, a horrible
slash in the green forest, and in the middle of it, surrounded by stacks
on stacks of lumber, was a great sawmill.

I stared in utter amazement. A sawmill on Penetier! Even as I gazed a
train of fresh-cut lumber trailed away into the forest.

V. THE SAWMILL

In my surprise I almost forgot the Mexican. Then I thought that if Dick
were there the Mexican would be likely to have troubles of his own. I
remembered Dick's reputation as a fighter. But suppose I did not find
Dick at the sawmill? This part of the forest was probably owned by
private individuals, for I couldn't imagine Government timber being
cut in this fashion. So I tied Hal and the pony amidst a thick clump of
young pines, and, leaving all my outfit except my revolver, I struck out
across the slash.

No second glance was needed to tell that the lumbering here was careless
and without thought for the future. It had been a clean cut, and what
small saplings had escaped the saw had been crushed by the dropping and
hauling of the large pines. The stumps were all about three feet high,
and that meant the waste of many thousands of feet of good lumber. Only
the straight, unbranched trunks had been used. The tops of the pines had
not been lopped, and lay where they had fallen. It was a wilderness of
yellow brush, a dry jungle. The smell of pine was so powerful that I
could hardly breathe. Fire must inevitably complete this work of ruin;
already I was forester enough to see that.

Presently the trail crossed a railroad track which appeared to have been
hastily constructed. Swinging along at a rapid step on the ties I soon
reached the outskirts of the huge stacks of lumber; I must have walked
half a mile between two yellow walls. Then I entered the lumber camp.

It was even worse-looking than the slash. Rows of dirty tents, lines
of squatty log-cabins, and many flat-board houses clustered around an
immense sawmill. Evidently I had arrived at the noon hour, for the mill
was not running, and many rough men were lounging about smoking pipes.
At the door of the first shack stood a fat, round-faced Negro wearing a
long, dirty apron.

"Is Dick Leslie here?" I asked.

"I dunno if Dick's come in yet, but I 'specks him," he replied. "B