her in that
dress." He was a little comforted by remembering her sudden flight when
she first perceived him coming across the bridge, and he wondered
whether the trustful attitude she afterward assumed was due entirely to
the fact that he was a Federal officer--he hoped not. Some part of it
sprang, he knew, from a liking for him.

The wilderness was no place for a woman. It was all well enough for a
vacation, but to ask any woman to live in a little cabin miles from
another woman, miles from a doctor, was out of the question. He began to
perceive that there were disabilities in the life of a forester. His
world was suddenly disorganized. Life became complex in its bearings,
and he felt the stirrings of new ambitions, new ideals. Civilization
took on a charm which it had not hitherto possessed.

He was awakened at dawn the following morning by the smell of burning
pine--a smell that summons the ranger as a drum arouses a soldier.
Rushing out of doors, he soon located the fire. It was off the forest
and to the southeast, but as any blaze within sight demanded
investigation, he put a pot of coffee on the fire and swiftly roped and
saddled one of his horses. In thirty minutes he was riding up the side
of a high hill which lay between the station and Otter Creek, a branch
of the Shellfish, at the mouth of which, some miles below, stood
Kitsong's ranch.

It was not yet light, the smoke was widely diffused, and the precise
location of the blaze could not be determined, but it appeared to be on
the Shellfish side of the ridge, just below Watson's pasture. Hence he
kept due south over the second height which divided the two creeks. It
was daylight when he reached the second hogback, and the smoke of the
fire was diminishing, but he thought it best to ride on to renew his
warning against the use of fire till the autumn rains set in, and he had
in mind also a plan to secure from Mrs. Kitsong a specimen of her
handwriting and to pick up whatever he could in the way of gossip
concerning the feeling against the Kauffmans.

He was still some miles from the ranch, and crossing a deep ravine, when
he heard the sound of a rifle far above him. Halting, he listened
intently. Another shot rang out, nearer and to the south, and a moment
later the faint reports of a revolver. This sent a wave of excitement
through his blood. A rifle-shot might mean only a poacher. A volley of
revolver-shots meant battle.

Reining his cayuse sharply to t