imself that he
felt quite strange, but the night's rest had eased him wonderfully, and
aside from a little soreness where he had had his scalp laid open, he
was quite himself again.

"Did Doctor Davis have to go away in the night?" he asked. "I thought I
heard the telephone."

"Yes," answered the doctor's wife. "But that is nothing new. Almost once
a week, at least, he is sent for in the night, or does not reach home
till late in the night. I've grown used to it," she added; "doctors'
wives must."

"But distances are so great, and there are so few trails," said the boy,
"and Doctor Davis is so famous, one would think that he would do better
in a city."

"Better for himself?" came the softly uttered query.

The boy colored hotly as he realized the idea of selfishness that there
had been in his speech.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "No, I see. But it does seem strange, just
the same, that he should be out here."

"He wouldn't be happy anywhere else."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Davis," said the boy, who had caught something of the
Supervisor's abruptness, "but what brought him here?"

"Do you not," answered the doctor's wife, giving question for question,
"know the old hunter, 'Rifle-Eye Bill'? I don't know his right name.
Why, of course, you must; he's the Ranger in your part of the forest."

"Do I know him?" said Wilbur, and without stopping for further question
talked for ten minutes on end, telling all that the old hunter had done
for him and how greatly he admired him. "Know him," he concluded, "I
should just guess I did."

"It was he," said the woman, "who persuaded us to come out here."

"Won't you tell me?" pleaded the boy. "I'd love to hear anything about
Rifle-Eye. And the doctor, too," he added as an afterthought.

"It was long ago," she began, "seventeen years ago. Yes," she continued
with a smile at the lad's surprise, "I have lived here seventeen years."

"Do you--" began the boy excitedly, "do you ride a white mare?"

This time it was the doctor's wife who colored. She flushed to the roots
of her hair.

"Yes," she answered hurriedly, and went on to explain the early
conditions of the forest. But Wilbur was not listening, he was
remembering the stories that he had heard since his arrival into the
forest of the "little white lady," of whom the ranchers and miners
always spoke so reverently. But presently Rifle-Eye's name attracted his
attention and he listened again.

"We were camping," she said,