“None,” replied Plant drily.

“Now rangers’ reports,” requested Thorne at the end of another busy period.

“What, that flapdoodle?” cried Plant.  “Nobody bothers much with that stuff!  A man has to write the history of his life every time he gets a pail of water.”

“Do I understand your ranger reports are remiss?” insisted Thorne.

“Lord, there they are.  Wish you joy of them.  Most of the boys have mighty vague ideas of spelling.”

At noon Thorne knocked off, announcing his return at one o’clock.  Most inspectors would have finished an hour ago.  At the gate he paused.

“This place belong to you or the Government?” he asked.

“To me,” replied Plant.  “Mighty good little joint for the mountains, ain’t it?”

“Why have you a United States Forest Ranger working on the fences then?” inquired Thorne crisply.

Plant stared after his compact, alert figure.  The fat man’s lower jaw had dropped in astonishment.  Nobody had ever dared question his right to use his own rangers as he damn well pleased!  A slow resentment surged up within him.  He would have been downright angry could he have been certain of this inspector’s attitude.  Thorne was cold and businesslike, but he had humorous wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.  Perhaps all this monkey business was one elaborate josh.  If so it wouldn’t do to fall into the trap by getting mad.  That must be it.  Plant chuckled a cavernous chuckle.  Nevertheless he ordered his ranger to knock off fence mending for the present.

By two o’clock Thorne pushed back his chair and stretched his arms over his head.  Plant laughed.

“That pretty near finishes what we have here,” said he.  “There really isn’t much to it, after all.  We’ve got things pretty well going.  To-morrow I’ll get one of the boys to ride out with you near here.  If you want to take any trips back country, I’ll scare up a pack.”

This was the usual and never-accepted offer.

“I haven’t time for that,” said Thorne, “but I’ll look at that bridge site to-morrow.”

“When must you go?”

“In a couple of days.”

Plant’s large countenance showed more than a trace of satisfaction.

On leaving the Supervisor’s headquarters, Thorne set off vigorously up the road.  He felt cramped for exercise, and he was out for a tramp.  Higher and higher he mounted on the road to the mill, until at last he stood on a point far above the valley.  The creak and rattle of a wagon aroused him from his contemplation of the scene spread wide before him.  He looked up to see a twelve-horse freight team ploughing toward him through a cloud of dust that arose dense and choking.  To escape this dust Thorne deserted the road and struck directly up the side of the mountain.  A series of petty allurements led him on.  Yonder he caught a glimpse of tree fungus that interested him.  He pushed and plunged through the manzanita until he had gained its level.  Once there he concluded to examine a dying yellow pine farther up the hill.  Then he thought to find a drink of water in the next hollow.  Finally the way ahead seemed easier than the brush behind.  He pushed on, and after a moment of breathless climbing reached the top of the ridge.