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lonely trail. If there were bad men in this part of the forest, it was no place for her to be riding. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that the ham had probably been left at home, but down in my inmost mind I almost knew that I had seen it in the food chest. No doubt she was now on her way to me, and if she met with no mishap, would arrive at my cabin at about twelve o’clock. Well, I should be there at that time, and at one o’clock, if she failed to appear, fires or no fires, I should have to go down the trail to look for her. And if she did come all right at noon, I decided that, when I went off duty in the evening, I should spend the night in seeing her safely home and getting back to the cabin. I could ride back upon her horse and turn him loose and he would go straight down to our herd.

      I kept on hunting for beads and arrow-points — and finding some — until my eyes began to ache, and then went into the lookout. The telephone rang one long, the call for the Supervisor’s office, and I listened in. Why not? Forest Service business was my business. I wanted to know what was going on. And now, listening, I heard William Hammond, the owner of a small sawmill located on the Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, five miles west of my home, and almost at the northern edge of the forest, telling the Supervisor that he was having serious trouble with two of his men, strangers who had a week before dropped in off the road and applied for work, and got it. They had proved to be I.W.W. agitators, and, failing to induce his regular employees to join the order, they had called for their wages, demanding three times the amount due them, and upon his refusal to pay it, had sworn that they would burn his mill and the whole Apache National Forest.

      ‘‘Where are they now?” the Supervisor asked.

      ‘‘They shouldered their blanket rolls and went off up the road.”

      “Well, you just guard your mill, and if they show up, shoot, and shoot to kill. And I will order some of my patrols over to your place, and at the first outbreak of fire that way, they’ll be right on top of those I.W.W.’s!”

      I continued listening and heard the Supervisor ordering different patrols to move to the mill, explaining why they were to go, and that they were to go well armed, and take no chances with the firebugs.

      Then the Supervisor called me: “George, there are two I.W.W. firebugs threatening to burn the forest —”

      “Yes, I know, I've been listening,” I interrupted.

      “Well, I must ask you to spend more than the regular hours in your lookout until they are disposed of,” he went on. “I would like you to spend all your daylight hours there; even your noon hour; and keep your eyes on the forest all the time, and especially that part of it around the mill.”

      “Yes! I'll do so,” I answered, ‘‘but this noon I have to go down to the cabin to meet my sister, who is coming up with some things for me —” I hesitated: Should I tell him about my own troubles, my suspicion that there were bad men in my vicinity, too? No. Not at this time, I concluded.

      “All right, meet your sister, and go back on top as soon as you can,” he replied, and hung up.

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