“Yes.  There’s good men among ’em.  There’s Ross, and Charley Morton, and Tom Carroll, and, of course, old California John.”

Bob’s amused smile died slowly.  Before his mental vision rose the picture of the old mountaineer, with his faded, ragged clothes, his beautiful outfit, his lean, kindly face, his steady blue eyes, guarding an empty trail for the sake of an empty duty.  That man was no fool; and Bob knew it.  The young fellow slid from the counter to the floor.

“I’m glad you believe in your friend, Merker,” said he “and I don’t doubt he’s a fine fellow; but we can’t have rangers, good, bad, or indifferent, hanging around here.  I hope you understand that?”

Merker nodded, his wide eyes growing dreamy.

“It’s an economic waste,” he sighed, “all this cross-purposes.  Here’s you a good man, and Ross a good man, and you cannot work in harmony because of little things.  The Government and the private owner should conduct business together for the best utilization of all raw material—­”

“Merker,” broke in Bob, with a kindly twinkle, “you’re a Utopian.”

“Mr. Orde,” returned Merker with entire respect, “you’re a lumberman.”

With this interchange of epithets they parted.

XII

The establishment of the store attracted a great many campers.  California is the campers’ state.  Immediately after the close of the rainy season they set forth.  The wayfarer along any of the country roads will everywhere meet them, either plodding leisurely through the charming landscape, or cheerfully gipsying it by the roadside.  Some of the outfits are very elaborate, veritable houses on wheels, with doors and windows, stove pipes, steps that let down, unfolding devices so ingenious that when they are all deployed the happy owners are surrounded by complete convenience and luxury.  The man drives his ark from beneath a canopy; the women and children occupy comfortably the living room of the house—­whose sides, perchance, fold outward like wings when the breeze is cool and the dust not too thick.  Carlo frisks joyously ahead and astern.  Other parties start out quite as cheerfully with the delivery wagon, or the buckboard, or even—­at a pinch—­with the top buggy.  For all alike the country-side is golden, the sun warm, the sky blue, the birds joyous, and the spring young in the land.  The climate is positively guaranteed.  It will not rain; it will shine; the stars will watch.  Feed for the horses everywhere borders the roads.  One can idle along the highways and the byways and the noways-at-all, utterly carefree, surrounded by wild and beautiful scenery.  No wonder half the state turns nomadic in the spring.