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"Oh," he said, "I see." Then he continued: "But I didn't know there was any bark-beetle here." McGinnis waved his hand around. "Does this look as if we had known very long?" he said. "Who found it out?" asked Wilbur. "Rifle-Eye," was the reply, "or at least Merritt and he found traces on the same day and brought the news into camp.
"About forty, I heard at school," the boy replied, "and it takes an army of men working all the year round just puttin' in poles." The old hunter struck a match and put a light to his pipe. "More forest destruction," said the boy mischievously, "I should think, Rifle-Eye, you'd be ashamed to waste wood by burning it up in the form of matches."
Wilbur thought to himself that perhaps "backwoodsman" was not quite a fair idea of the great President's Illinois upbringing, but he thought it wiser not to argue the point to no profit. "But it's all different now," continued Rifle-Eye a trifle sadly, "things have changed an' the city's beginnin' to have a bigger hold than the forest.
"They call her 'Squealin' Bess, an' you couldn't pay me to get on her back. Bluey c'n ride her; he's done it twice; but you c'n bet your last blue chip that he doesn't do it fer fun." Wilbur turned to the old Ranger who had been standing silently by through the performance. "I'm much obliged, Rifle-Eye," he said, "but I'd like to buy that sorrel just the same and learn to ride him."
Neither, to do him justice, was he, but rather anticipating the night under the open sky with a good deal of pleasure. After the horses were unsaddled and hobbled, Rifle-Eye told Wilbur to get the beds ready. The boy, greatly pleased with himself that he knew how to do this without being told, picked up his ax and started for the nearest balsam. But he found himself in somewhat of a difficulty.
"There you go again," said the head of the forest, "there's other things to be thought of besides timber." He turned to the boy. "You don't know the trees of the Sierras, I suppose?" "I think I know them pretty well now," answered Wilbur. "I had to learn a lot about them at school, and then Rifle-Eye has been giving me pointers the last few days."
But there's nothin' mean in the sorrel, an' he won't get hurt." "I'll ride him," said Wilbur stoutly. "You might, at that," rejoined Bob-Cat. "He's a game little sport, Rifle-Eye," he added, turning to the tall figure beside him, "why not let him play his hand out? You can't be dead sure how the spots will fall.
"Son," said Rifle-Eye, "what do you suppose you are ridin' from point to point of the forest for?" "To see if there's any sign of fire," said the boy. "And you've got to look pretty closely through those glasses o' yours, don't you?" The boy admitted that they were a little dazzling and that he had to look all he knew how.
He hardly knew that he had fallen asleep when Bob-Cat shook him, saying: "Better tumble up, bub. Rifle-Eye is sure an early bird. He's some chanticleer, believe me. He's plumb convinced that if he ain't awake and up to greet the sun, it won't rise." Wilbur laughed and "tumbled up" accordingly.
Wilbur was silent for a moment, feeling the thrill of Nature in the old man's speech. "It's to be my home, too," he said gently. Rifle-Eye smiled at the lad. "I don't know that I'm quite the oldest inhabitant," he said, "but I sure am the oldest Ranger in the Service, an' all I c'n say is, 'Make yerself to home."
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