“Oh, I’m satisfied well enough, but I kind of hate to leave the service; I like her.”

“Quit!” cried Ross.

“No,” denied California John, “but I’ll get fired.  First thing,” he explained, “I’m going after Simeon Wright’s grazing permits.  He ain’t no right in the mountains, and the ranges are overstocked.  He can’t trail in ten thousand head while I’m supposed to be boss, so it looks as though I wasn’t going to be boss long after Simeon Wright comes in.”

“Oh, go slow,” pleaded Ross; “take things a little easy at first, and then when you get going you can tackle the big things.”

“I ain’t going to enforce any regulations they don’t give me,” stated California John, “and I’m going to try to enforce all they do.  That’s what I’m here for.”

“That means war with Wright,” said Ross.

“Then war it is,” agreed California John comfortably.

“You won’t last ten minutes against Wright.”

“Reckon not,” agreed old John, “reckon not; but I’ll last long enough to make him take notice.”

XXIII

By end of summer California John was fairly on his road.  He entered office at a time when the local public sentiment was almost unanimously against the system of Forest Reserves.  The first thing he did was to discharge eight of the Plant rangers.  These fell back on their rights, and California John, to his surprise, found that he could not thus control his own men.  He wagged his head in his first discouragement.  It was necessary to recommend to Washington that these men be removed; and California John knew well by experience what happened to such recommendations.  Nevertheless he sat him down to his typewriter, and with one rigid forefinger, pecked out such a request.  Having thus accomplished his duty in the matter, but without hope of results, he went about other things.  Promptly within two weeks came the necessary authority.  The eight ornamentals were removed.

Somewhat encouraged, California John next undertook the sheep problem.  That, under Plant, had been in the nature of a protected industry.  California John and his delighted rangers plunged neck deep into a sheep war.  They found themselves with a man’s job on their hands.  The sheepmen, by long immunity, had come to know the higher mountains intimately, and could hide themselves from any but the most conscientious search.  When discovered, they submitted peacefully to being removed from the Reserve.  At the boundaries the rangers’ power ceased.  The sheepmen simply waited outside the line.  It was manifestly impossible to watch each separate flock all the time.  As soon as surveillance was relaxed, over the line they slipped, again to fatten on prohibited feed until again discovered, and again removed.  The rangers had no power of arrest; they could use only necessary force in ejecting the trespassers.  It was possible to sue in the United States courts, but the process was slow and unsatisfactory, and the damages awarded the Government amounted to so little that the sheepmen cheerfully paid them as a sort of grazing tax.  The point was, that they got the feed—­either free or at a nominal cost—­and the rangers were powerless to stop them.