whistle. Out of
the sky a diminutive atom would hurl itself downward to light on his
outstretched palm. While we ate it would perch on White Mountain's
shoulder and twitter and make soft little noises in its throat, now and
then coming across to me but soon returning to its idol. There was
something so touching in the confidence of the helpless bird, it brought
a tight feeling into one's throat.

At the height of the drought a national railroad strike was called, and
for a few weeks things looked serious for us poor mortals stranded a
hundred miles from our water supply. Life took a backward leap and we
lived as our forefathers did before us. No water meant no light except
oil lamps, and when the oil supply failed we went to bed at dark.
Flashlights were carefully preserved for emergencies. We learned that
tomato juice will keep life in the body even if it won't quench thirst.

There was one well four miles away, and rangers were stationed there to
see that nothing untoward happened to that supply. The water was drawn
with a bucket, and it was some job to water all the park animals.
Visitors were at that time barred from the Park, but one sage-brusher
managed to get in past the sentry. He camped at Headquarters and sent
his ten-year-old boy walking to Rowe Well to fill a pail with water and
carry it back. Just before dark that night the Chief and I coming in
from Hilltop met the little fellow, courageously struggling along eight
miles from Headquarters and getting farther away every step. His bucket
was leaky, and little of the precious water remained. We took him back
to the well again, filled his bucket, and delivered him to his father.
The lad pulled a dime from his pocket and extended it toward the Chief.

"You keep it, son," said White Mountain.

"Better take it, Mister. You hauled me quite a ways."

The Chief leaned toward him confidentially. "You see it's like this. I
work for the Government and Uncle Sam doesn't like for us to take tips."

And so the matter rested. The boy had discharged his obligation like a
gentleman. He didn't know he had offered the Chief Ranger a dime for
saving his life.

A few stray I. W. W.'s ("I Won't Works," the rangers called them) came
in to see that nobody did anything for the Santa Fe. Of course the
rangers were put on for guard duty around the railroad station and power
house, day and night, and the fact that they protected the railroad's
property at odd hours did not relie