o be eliminated before yet the world's
work was done, the energies of men, running too easily, would outstrip
the development of the Plan, as a machine "races" without its load. A
humility came to him. His not to judge his fellows by the mere externals
of their deeds. He could only act honestly according to what he saw, as
he hoped others were doing.

"Just so a man isn't _mean_, I don't know as I have any right to despise
him," he summed it all up to his horse. "But," he added cheerfully,
"that doesn't prevent my kicking him into the paths of righteousness if
he tries to steal my watch."

The sun dipped toward the heat haze of the plains. It was from a golden
world that Bob turned at last to ride through the forest to the
cheerfulness of his rude camp.

VIII

Bob took his examinations, passed successfully, and was at once
appointed as ranger. Thorne had no intention of neglecting the young
man's ability. After his arduous apprenticeship at all sorts of labour,
Bob found himself specializing. This, he discovered, was becoming more
and more the tendency in the personnel of the Service. Jack Pollock
already was being sent far afield, looking into grazing conditions,
reporting on the state of the range, the advisable number of cattle, the
trespass cases. He had a natural aptitude for that sort of thing. Ware,
on the other hand, developed into a mighty builder. Nothing pleased him
more than to discover new ways through the country, to open them up, to
blast and dig and construct his trails, to nose out bridge sites and on
them to build spans hewn from the material at hand. He made himself a
set of stencils and with them signed all the forks of the trails, so
that a stranger could follow the routes. Always he painstakingly added
the letters U.S.F.S. to indicate that these works had been done by his
beloved Service. Charley Morton was the fire chief--though any and all
took a hand at that when occasion arose. He could, as California John
expressed it, run a fire out on a rocky point and lose it there better
than any other man on the force. Ross Fletcher was the best policeman.
He knew the mountains, their infinite labyrinths, better than any other;
and he could guess the location of sheep where another might have
searched all summer.

Though each and every man was kept busy enough, and to spare, on all the
varied business inseparable from the activities of a National Forest,
nevertheless Thorne knew enough to av