t's
got away from us."

Without further comment he shouldered his implements and took his way up
the hill. Bob handed his hoe and rake to Jack Pollock.

"Carry 'em a minute," he explained. "I hurt my hand a little."

As he walked along he bound the finger roughly to its neighbour, and on
both tied a rude splint.

"What's up?" he muttered to Jack, as he worked at this.

"I reckon we must be goin' to start a fire line back of the next
cross-bridge somewheres," Jack ventured his opinion.

Bob stopped short.

"Then we've abandoned the old one!" he exclaimed.

"Complete," spoke up Ware, who overheard.

"And all the work we've done there is useless?"

"Absolutely."

"We've got it all to do over again from the beginning?"

"Certain sure."

Bob adjusted his mind to this new and rather overwhelming idea.

"I saw Senator What's-his-name--from Montana--made a speech the other
day," spoke up Elliott, "in which he attacked the Service because he
said it was a refuge for consumptives and incompetents!"

At this moment Amy rode up draped with canteens and balancing carefully
a steaming pail of coffee. She was accompanied by another woman
similarly provided.

The newcomer was a decided-looking girl under thirty, with a full,
strong figure, pronounced flaxen-blond hair, a clear though somewhat
sunburned skin, blue eyes, and a flash of strong, white teeth. Bob had
never seen her before, but he recognized her as a mountain woman. She
rode a pinto, guided by a hackamore, and was attired quite simply in the
universal broad felt hat and a serviceable blue calico gown. In spite of
this she rode astride; and rode well. A throwing rope, or riata, hung in
the sling at the right side of her saddle pommel; and it looked as
though it had been used.

"Where's Charley?" she asked promptly as she rode up. "Is that you? You
look like a nigger. How you feeling? You just mind me, and don't you try
to do too much. You don't get paid for overtime at this job."

"Hullo, Lou," replied Charley Morton; "I thought it was about time you
showed up."

The woman nodded at the others.

"Howdy, Mrs. Morton," answered Tom Carroll, Pollock and Ware. Bob and
Elliott bowed.

By now the fire had been left far in the rear. The crackling of flames
had died in the distance; even the smoke cleared from the atmosphere.
All the forest was peaceful and cool. The Douglas squirrels scampered
and barked; the birds twittered and flashed or slanted in long