But Bob knew positively the man had lied, when he stated that he had for over an hour been sitting in the chair on Auntie Belle’s back porch.  Why had he done so?  Where had he been?  Bob could not hazard even the wildest guess.  Oldham’s status with Baker was mysterious; his occasional business in these parts—­it might well be that Oldham thought he had something to conceal from Bob.  In that case, where had the elder man been, and what was he about during that fatal hour that Sunday morning?  Bob was not conversant with the affairs of the Power Company, but he knew vaguely that Baker was always shrewdly reaching out for new rights and privileges, for fresh opportunities which the other fellow had not yet seen and which he had no desire that the other fellow should see until too late.  It might be that Oldham was on some such errand.  In the rush of beginning the season’s work, the question gradually faded from Bob’s thoughts.

Forest Reserve matters locally went into the hands of a receiver.  That is to say, the work of supervision fell to Plant’s head-ranger, while Plant’s office was overhauled and straightened out by a clerk sent on from Washington.  Forest Reserve matters nationally, however, were on a different footing.  The numerous members of Congress who desired to leave things as they were, the still more numerous officials of the interested departments, the swarming petty politicians dealing direct with small patronage—­all these powerful interests were unable satisfactorily to answer one common-sense question; why is the management of our Forest Reserves left to a Land Office already busy, already doubted, when we have organized and equipped a Bureau of Forestry consisting of trained, enthusiastic and honest men?  Reluctantly the transfer was made.  The forestry men picked up the tangle that incompetent, perfunctory and often venal management had dropped.

XXII

To most who heard of it this item of news was interesting, but not especially important; Bob could not see where it made much difference who held the reins three thousand miles away.  To others it came as the unhoped-for, dreamed-of culmination of aspiration.

California John got the news from Martin.  The old man had come in from a long trip.

“You got to take a brace now and be scientific,” chaffed Martin.  “You old mossback!  Don’t you dare fall any more trees without measuring out the centre of gravity; and don’t you split any more wood unless you calculate first the probable direction of riving; and don’t you let any doodle-bug get away without looking at his teeth.”

California John grinned slowly, but his eyes were shining.

“And what’s more, you old grafters’ll get bounced, sure pop,” continued Martin.  “They won’t want you.  You don’t wear spectacles, and you eat too many proteids in your beans.”

“You ain’t heard who’s going to be sent out for Supervisor?” asked old John.