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Updated: June 17, 2025
You have a man here, he see logs, he mark logs, I cut them." The Supervisor swung himself from his horse and handed the reins to Wilbur. McGinnis did the same. "You don't need to get down, Loyle," he said; "it will not take long to find where the logs are." The big lumberman stepped forward with an angry gleam in his eye. "This my mill," he said. "You have not the right to walk it over."
"You certainly seem to be in a mighty big hurry to get there," he said. "We don't loaf on our service," answered the boy with an air of pride. His friend broke into a broad grin. He had known Wilbur Loyle for some time, and was well aware of his enthusiastic nature. "How long has it been 'our' service?" he queried, emphasizing the pronoun. "Ever since I was appointed," rejoined Wilbur exultantly.
"Trying to make converts already, Loyle?" he asked with a smile, nodding pleasantly to the lad's companion. "I was trying to, sir," answered the boy, "but I don't believe Fred would ever make one of us."
"I'm afraid I can't this time," said the Supervisor with one of his abrupt changes of manner, turning to the door. "I'll call for Loyle on my way home to-morrow." "Oh, Mr. Merritt," began Mrs. Davis in protest, "he ought to have two or three days' rest, anyway." The chief of the forest turned to Wilbur. "Well?" he queried.
Wilbur's new chief stepped forward quickly and held out his hand with a word of greeting. Wilbur shook it heartily and decided on the spot that he was going to like him. Wearing khaki with the Forest Service bronze badge, a Stetson army hat, and the high lace boots customarily seen, he looked thoroughly equipped for business. "You're Wilbur Loyle," he said, "of course. I heard you were coming.
I'll see you again soon, Loyle," and with a parting good wish to both boys, he crossed the street and went on his way. Conditions which tax man's resources to the uttermost, and where peril is the price of victory. All the smaller wood is used for cord-wood, the brush is in piles ready for burning, and the young trees are left to grow up into a new forest.
Once he returned and saw the lad laboring for dear life, breathing hard, and showing by his very pose that he was tiring rapidly, although it was not yet noon, and he called to him. "Loyle," he said, "what are you breaking your neck at it that way for?" "I don't come near doing as much as I ought unless I do hurry," he said. "And then I'm a long way behind." "You mean as much as me?"
There are eight of us here, and we will divide, as I said before, each two keeping about fifty yards apart and girdling infected and useless trees. Loyle, you go with Rifle-Eye." Wilbur was delighted at finding himself with his old friend again, and he seized the opportunity gladly of asking him how he happened to find out that the pest had got a start.
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