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Updated: June 2, 2025


"And it would spoil the drinking water for the horses," exclaimed Wilbur; "I hadn't thought of that. I'm awfully glad you're along, Rifle-Eye, for I should be making all sorts of mistakes." Under the advice of his friend Wilbur washed up and put away the dishes and then settled down for the evening. He made up his day's report, and then thought he would write a long letter.

At first the boys objects, sayin' that the kid was a cowpuncher's kid, but Rifle-Eye convinces 'em that the youngster's locoed for fair, that he's likely to stay that way for good an' all, and sence they agrees they can't ever make anythin' out of him, they lets him go. "Then Rifle-Eye, he takes this unfortunate kid to the man that owned the sheep.

But, next time I come to the ranch I'll try not to be as green, and I know I'll not be as young." The cowboy laughed. "It's no use tryin' to dodge Rifle-Eye," he said. "You stand about as good a chance as if you was tryin' to sidestep a blizzard or parryin' the charge from a Gatlin' gun.

In the meantime he found that Rifle-Eye was getting a fireplace ready, using for the purpose some flat stones which lay conveniently near by. Wilbur, stepping over a tiny rivulet which ran into the creek, noted a couple of stones apparently just suited for the making of a rough fireplace and brought them along. The Ranger looked at them. "What kind o' stone do you call that?" he asked.

"How about the bark?" "Sugar pine bark is smoother," said the boy. The Supervisor nodded. "All right," he said, "we'll try you at it. You go along with McGinnis for an hour or so, to see just how he does it, and then you can take one side, and he the other. Just for a day or two, while Rifle-Eye looks after some other matters."

"You is sure annoyin'," he said in an aggrieved manner, "askin' me to go on record so plumb sudden. I'm no mind-reader." There was a pause, but the Ranger quietly waited. "It's embarrassin'," said Bob-Cat, "to try an' trot out a verdic' on snap-jedgment. I don't know." Rifle-Eye, quite unperturbed, looked at him steadily and inquiringly. "You know what you think," he said.

Pile burn, burn hot, grass catch fire, put out grass." "You mean," said the mountaineer, "that you an' Mickey were burnin' up brush?" "Yes, brush all in piles, burn." "It's a pretty risky business," said Rifle-Eye, "this burnin' brush in the late spring, but Mickey's right enough to have had Ben along. He's one o' the best fire-fighters that ever happened. He never knows enough to quit."

He's a big owner, this man, and runs thirty or forty herds. The old hunter this was all before he was a Ranger, you know he puts it right up to the sheep-owner, who's a half-Indian, by the way, an' tells him that he's got to look after the boy. The old skinflint says 'No, and this here, as I was sayin', is the only time that any one ever turned down old Rifle-Eye."

"But tell me, Rifle-Eye," said the boy, "what is McGinnis? He isn't a Guard, is he? and he doesn't talk like a Ranger from another part of the forest." "No, he's an expert lumberman," replied the hunter. "He isn't attached to this forest at all. He ain't even under the service of the government all the while.

Wilbur stayed but a few days at headquarters, the Supervisor and Rifle-Eye having succeeded in trailing the wagon that had deposited the trees from the point of its entrance into the forest to the place it went out, by this means ensuring the discovery of all the spots where diseased trees had been placed.

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