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Updated: June 2, 2025
By urgin' on the lad's nateral desire you make it hard fer him an' fer me." "All right, Rifle-Eye," said Bob-Cat good-humoredly, "you've got me. I reckon I passes up this hand entire." He nodded and began to stroll away. But Wilbur called him back. "Oh, Bob-Cat," he cried, "aren't you going to saddle him for me now?" The cowboy turned and grinned.
"I didn't notice," said Wilbur wonderingly. The old woodsman picked up his ax, and led the way back to the dead tree. Wilbur looked at the base of the tree. "It isn't a windfall," he said; "it's been cut." "Where's the stump?" asked Rifle-Eye. The boy looked within a radius of a few feet, then looked up at the hunter. "Where's the stump?" repeated the old man.
At breakfast, over the plentiful food served on tin plates and in tin mugs, Rifle-Eye was entirely silent, uttering never a word and paying no attention to any allusion about horses.
It was now used by another Ranger, as well as Rifle-Eye, being near the borders of their two districts, and having plenty of good water and good feed near.
Wilbur turned back and searched for five minutes. Not a stump could he find that fitted the tree. None had been cut for some time, and none at all of so small a girth. "I can't find any," he admitted shamefacedly, afraid that the Ranger would prove him wrong in some way. "Nor can I," said Rifle-Eye. "Well?" "Then I guess there isn't one there," said the boy. "How did the tree get there?"
His name was given to me as Rifle-Eye Bill, because I was told he had been a famous hunter before he joined the Service. I thought at first you might be the Ranger, but he was described to me as being very tall." "Which he does look some like a Sahaura cactus on the Arizona deserts," said the range-rider, "an' I surely favor him none.
"As for grazing, there's not much to be said, except that the sheep limits are pretty well defined. The cattle can wander up the range without doing much harm here, for the young forest is of pretty good growth, but the sheep must stay down where they belong. Rifle-Eye will show you where, and sheep notices have been posted all along the limits. And if there's anything you don't know, ask.
Wilbur's reward was not only the shortening of his route, but commendation from Rifle-Eye that he had taken the trouble to find out the route and that he had picked it so well. That night he wrote home as though he had been appointed in charge of all the forests of the world, so proud was he.
The Supervisor put his horse to the gallop, followed by the party, all save one miner, who, familiar with the country, led the way, finding some trail utterly undistinguishable to the rest. Seeing the vantage point, as Rifle-Eye had done, he made for the crest of the hill. "Any chances?" asked the Supervisor. "I reckon not," said Rifle-Eye.
"I wouldn't want to try it if he was vicious, Rifle-Eye," said the boy appealingly, "but I really can ride, and he looks like a good horse." "Are you buyin' this horse for your own pleasure or the work o' the Service? You're goin' to do your ridin' on my range, an' I reckon you'll admit I have some say." "But I can break him to the work of the Service. Do let me try him!"
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