ered my chance with the Government."

"No, you haven't--neither has Jim--not if you'll be straight from now
on. You can't keep faith with Buell. He tried to kidnap me. That lets
you out. We'll spoil Buell's little deal and save Penetier. A letter
to father will do it. He has friends in the Forestry Department at
Washington. Dick, what do you say? It's not too late!"

The dark shade lifted from the ranger's face, and he looked at me with
the smile of the old fishing days.

"Say? I say yes!" he exclaimed, in ringing voice, "Ken, you've made a
man of me!"

VI. BACK TO HOLSTON

Soon we were out of the forest, and riding across the sage-flat with
Holston in sight. Both of us avoided the unpleasant subject of my
enforced home-going. Evidently Dick felt cut up about it, and it caused
me such a pang that I drove it from my mind. Toward the end of our ride
Dick began again to talk of forestry.

"Ken, it's mighty interesting--all this you've said about trees. Some of
the things are so simple that I wonder I didn't hit on them long ago; in
fact, I knew a lot of what you might call forestry, but the scientific
ideas--they stump me. Now, what you said about a pine-tree cleaning
itself--come back at me with that."

"Why, that's simple enough, Dick," I answered. "Now, say here we have
a clump of pine saplings. They stand pretty close--close enough to make
dense shade, but not too crowded. The shade has prevented the lower
branches from producing leaves. As a consequence these branches die.
Then they dry, rot, and fall off, so when the trees mature they
are clean-shafted. They have fine, clear trunks. They have cleaned
themselves, and so make the best of lumber, free from knots."

So our talk went on. Once in town I was impatient to write to my father,
for we had decided that we would not telegraph. Leaving our horses
in Cless's corral, we went to the hotel and proceeded to compose the
letter. This turned out more of a task than we had bargained for. But
we got it finished at last, not forgetting to put in a word for Jim
Williams, and then we both signed it.

"There!" I cried. "Dick, something will be doing round Holston before
many days."

"That's no joke, you can bet," replied Dick, wiping his face. "Ken, it's
made me sweat just to see that letter start East. Buell is a tough sort,
and he'll make trouble. Well, he wants to steer clear of Jim and me."

After that we fell silent, and walked slowly back toward Cless's