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Updated: June 24, 2025
I'll see to it," said Poole. This meant a great deal of trouble, first and last, what with the charges and all. Finally, Welton tired of it. "We've got to keep a store," he told Bob finally. With characteristic despatch he put the carpenters to work, and sent for lists of all that had been ordered from Sycamore Flats.
"That's good," said Harding. "I haven't heard of one of your teams on the road, and I began to wonder. We've got to begin deliveries on our Los Angeles and San Pedro contracts by the first of August, and we're depending on you." "We'll be there," replied Welton with a laugh. The young man laughed back.
"You might tell me what this new job is, though," he said at last, in apparent acquiescence. Bob hesitated. "You won't understand; and I won't be able to make you understand," he said. "I'm going to enter the Forest Service!" "What!" cried Welton, in blank astonishment. "What's that?" "I've about decided to take service as a ranger," stated Bob, his face flushing.
Welton's face was a dull gray, ludicrously streaked, and he suspected himself of being in the same predicament. A boy took the horses, and the travellers entered the picketed enclosure. Welton lifted up his great rumbling voice. "O Auntie Belle!" he roared. Within the dark depths of the house life stirred. In a moment a capable and motherly woman had taken them in charge.
"It may have got shoved among some of my things by mistake," replied Bob gravely. "I haven't had a chance of looking. I'm just in from the Basin." At these last words he looked at Jack keenly, but that young man's expression remained inscrutable. "I'll look when I get back," he continued after a moment; "just now I've got to ride over to the mill to see Mr. Welton." Jack nodded gravely.
At the end of the year it showed a fair return on the investment. "Though we'd have to have it even at a dead loss," Welton pointed out, "to hold our community together. All we need is a few tufts of chin whiskers and some politics to be full-fledged gosh-darn mossbacks." The storekeeper, a very deliberate person, Merker by name, was much given to contemplation and pondering.
But if testifying would land you in danger of prison, you might feel differently about it." Bob thought of George Pollock, and smiled a trifle bitterly. Welton might get off with a fine, or even suspended sentence. There was but one punishment for those accessory before the fact to a murder. Amy was eyeing him reflectively. The appearance of anger had died.
They tramped back in silence by the River Trail. On the pole trail across the swamp the stranger walked with a graceful and assured ease in spite of his apparently unwieldy build. As the two entered one of the sawdust-covered streets, they were hailed by Jim Mason. "Why, Mr. Welton!" he cried, "when did you get in and where did you come from?" "Just now, Jim," Welton answered.
By means of long blocks and tackle they set to yanking out logs from certain places specified by Roaring Dick. Still the jam proved obstinate. "I hate to do it," said Roaring Dick to Welton; "but it's a case of powder." "Tie into it," agreed Welton. "What's a few smashed logs compared to hanging the drive?" Dick nodded.
Of course, it's no good telling you that you're going back on a friend, that you'll be dragging Welton into the game when he hasn't got a chip to enter with, that you're betraying private confidence well, I guess the rest is all 'thinks." "I'm sorry, Baker," said Bob, "and I suppose I must appear to be a spy in the matter. But it can't be helped."
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