Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his large popularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he disliked politics quite as heartily as he detested indolence.  He needed work not half so much as he wanted it.

He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the Blue Mesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlement in the heart of the mesa country.

Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of his cabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman, rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason.  By sundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsman sitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as they passed in the dusk of early evening.

Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the office of the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service.  Bondsman accompanied him, stalking seriously at his master’s heels.  The supervisor was busy.  Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polished his bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited.

Presently the supervisor called him in.  Bud rose heavily and plodded to another chair in the private office.  Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud; knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from the shiny dome of his head to his dusty boot.  And Torrance thought he knew why Bud had called.  The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his master.  Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail.

“He’s just tellin’ me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he’ll wait till I get through.  That there dog bosses me around somethin’ scandalous.”

“He’s getting old and set in his ways,” laughed Torrance.

“So be I, John.  Kind of settin’ in my own way mostly.”

“Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?”

“Growin’ and bloomin’ and singin’ and feedin’ and keepin’ still, same as always.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I ain’t seen a doctor for so long I can’t tell you; but I reckon I need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck.”

“I’m glad you came in.  You needn’t say anything about it, but I’m scheduled to leave here next month.”

“Then I reckon I’m left.  Higher up, John?”

“Yes.  I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape.  They seem to think they can use me at headquarters.”

Bud frowned prodigiously.  The situation did not seem to promise much.  And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come out flatfooted and ask for work.

His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question:  “Do you think you could hold down my job, Bud?”

“Say, John, I’ve stood for a lot in my time.  But, honest, I was lookin’ for a job as ranger.  I can ride yet.  And if I do say it I know every hill and canon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the Tonto Basin.”