t the
Ranger at the ranch. His name was given to me as Rifle-Eye Bill, because
I was told he had been a famous hunter before he joined the Service. I
thought at first you might be the Ranger, but he was described to me as
being very tall."

"Which he does look some like a Sahaura cactus on the Arizona deserts,"
said the range-rider, "an' I surely favor him none. But that mistake of
yours naterally brings it to me that I haven't what you might say
introdooced myself. Which my baptismal handle is more interestin' than
useful, an' I lays it by. So I'll just hand you the title under which I
usually trots, bein' 'Bob-Cat Bob,' ridin' for the Double Bar J."

"Not having risen to any later title," said Wilbur good-humoredly, "I've
got to be satisfied with the one I started with. I'm generally called
Wilbur."

"Which is sure unfamiliar to me. I opine it's a new brand on the range."
He flourished his sombrero in salute, so that his pony bucked twice and
then tried to bolt. Wilbur watched and envied him the absolute ease with
which he brought down the broncho to a quiet lope again.

"I'm going to join the Forest Service," the boy explained, knowing that
according to the etiquette of the West no question would be asked about
his business, but that he would be expected to volunteer some statement,
"and my idea in coming to the ranch was to pick up a couple of horses
and go on to the forest with the Ranger. I understand the Supervisor,
Mr. Merritt, is very busy with some timber sales, and I didn't know
whether the Ranger would be able to get away."

"I kind o' thought you might be headed for the Forest Service, since you
was goin' along with Rifle-Eye," said the cowboy. "An' if you're goin'
with him, you'll be all right."

"The Service looks pretty good to me," said Wilbur.

"I've no kick comin' agin the National Forests," said Bob-Cat, "we've
always been treated white enough. Of course, there's always some
soreheads who want to stampede the range and gets peevish when they're
balked, but I guess the Service is a good thing all round. It don't
appeal none to me, o' course. If I held all the cards, I'd rip down
every piece of barbed wire west of the Mississippi, let the sheepmen go
to the ranges beside the canals o' Mars or some other ekally distant
region, an' git back to the good old days o' the Jones 'n' Plummer
trail. But then, I sure enough realize that I'm not the only strikin'
feature o' the landscape an' there's other