he'd set a fire?" asked Wilbur.

"He's mean enough to," said McGinnis, "but I don't believe he would. No
man that knows anything at all about timber would. Sure, he knows that
we could put it out in no time if there wasn't a wind, and if there was,
why the blaze might veer at any minute and burn up his mill and all his
lumber."

"But for revenge?"

"A Frenchy pea-jammer isn't goin' to lose any dollars unless he has to,"
said McGinnis. "I don't think you need to be afraid of that." Then,
following along the train of thought that had been suggested, he told
the boy some lurid stories of life in the lumber camps of Michigan and
Wisconsin in the early days.

Early next morning Wilbur returned to his camp to resume his round of
fire rides, which he found to be of growing interest. On his return to
his camp, although tired, the lad would work till dark over his little
garden, knowing that everything he succeeded in growing would add to the
enrichment of his food supply. Then the fence around the garden was in
very bad repair, and he set to work to make one which should effectively
keep out the rabbits.

Another week he found that if he could build a little bridge across a
place where the canyon was very narrow he could save an hour's ride on
one of his trails. Already the lad had put up a small log span on his
own account. He went over and over this line of travel, blazing his way
until he felt entirely sure that he had picked out the best line of
trail, and then one evening he called up Rifle-Eye and asked him if he
would come over some time and show him how to build this little bridge.

There followed three most exciting days in which the Ranger and a Guard
from the other side of the forest joined him in bridge-building. They
not only spanned the canyon, but strengthened the little log bridge the
boy had made all by himself. Wilbur's reward was not only the shortening
of his route, but commendation from Rifle-Eye that he had taken the
trouble to find out the route and that he had picked it so well. That
night he wrote home as though he had been appointed in charge of all the
forests of the world, so proud was he.

Then there was one day in which Wilbur found the value of his lookout,
for from the very place that the old hunter had pointed out as being one
of "the windows of his house," the boy saw curling up to the westward a
small, dull cloud of smoke. Remembering the warnings of the Ranger, he
did not leap to the