They all turned to and set the table under the open.

“This is great fun,” said Bob gratefully, as they sat down.  “Good as a field day.  When do you expect to begin your examinations?  That’s what these fellows are here for, isn’t it?”

He looked up to catch both Thorne and Amy looking on him with a comically hopeless air.

“You don’t mean to say!” cried Bob, a light breaking in on him. “—­of course!  I never thought——­”

“What do you suppose we would examine candidates for Forest Ranger in—­higher mathematics?” demanded Amy.

“Now that’s practical—­that’s got some sense!” cried Bob enthusiastically.

Thorne, with a whimsical smile, held up his finger for silence.  Through the thin screen of azalea bushes that fringed this open-air dining room Bob saw two men approaching down the forest.  They were evidently unaware of observation.  With considerable circumspection they drew near and disappeared within the little tool house.  Bob recognized the two lumberjacks from his own camp.

“What are those fellows after?” he demanded indignantly.

But Thorne again motioned for caution.

“I suspect,” said Thorne in a low voice.  “Go on eating your lunch.  We’ll see.”

The men were inside the tool house for some time.  When they reappeared, each carried an axe.  They looked about them cautiously.  No one was in sight.  Then they thrust the axes underneath a log, and disappeared in the direction of their own camp.

Thorne laughed aloud.

“The old foxes!” said he.  “I’ll bet anything you please that we’ll find the two best-balanced axes the Government owns under that log.”

Such proved to be the case.  Furthermore, the implements had been ground to a razor edge.

“When I mentioned tree cutting, I saw their eyes light up,” said Thorne.  “It’s always interesting in a crowd of candidates like this to see every man cheer up when his specialty comes along.”  He chuckled.  “Wait till I spring the written examinations on them.  Then you’ll see them droop.”

“What else is there?” asked Bob.

“Well, I’ll organize regular survey groups—­compass-man, axe-man, rod-man, chain-men—­and let them run lines; and I’ll make them estimate timber, and make a sketch map or so.  It’s all practical.”

“I should think so!” cried Bob.  “I wonder if I could pass it myself.”  He laughed.  “I should hate to tackle tying those things on that horse—­even after seeing those prospectors do it!”

“Most of them will go a little slow.  They’re used to kyacks.  But you’d have your specialty.”

“What would it be?” asked Amy curiously of Bob.

The young man shook his head.

“You haven’t got some nice scrappy little job, have you?” he asked, “where I can tell people to hop high?  That’s about all I’m good for.”

“We might even have that,” said Thorne, eyeing the young man’s proportions.