He looked Bob tranquilly in the eye with the limpid gaze of innocence before which Bob’s scrutiny fell abashed.  For a while his suspicions of anything unusual were almost lulled; the countryside was proverbially curious of anything out of the course of events.  Then, from a point midway up the steep trail, he just happened to look back, and just happened through an extraordinary combination of openings to catch a glimpse of a rider on the trail.  The man was far below.  Bob watched a long time, his eye fixed on another opening.  Nothing appeared.  From somewhere in the canon a coyote shrilled.  Another answered him from up the mountain.  A moment later Bob again saw the rider through the same opening as before, but this time descending.

“A signal!” he exclaimed, in reference to the coyote howls.

On arriving at the bare rock, he dismounted and hastily looked it over on all sides.  Near the stream it had been splashed.  A tiny eddy out of reach of the current still held mud in suspension.

X

On his arrival at camp he found Elliott much interested over discoveries of his own.  It seemed that the Easterner had spent the afternoon fishing.  At one point, happening to look up, he caught sight of a man surveying him intently from a thicket.  As he stared, the man drew back and disappeared.

“I couldn’t see him very plainly,” said Elliott.  “He had a beard and an old gray hat; but that doesn’t mean much of course.  When I got my nerve up, and had concluded to investigate, I could hardly find a trace of him.  He must wear moccasins, I think.”

In return Bob detailed his own experiences.  The two could make nothing of it all.

“If we were down South I’d say ‘moonshiners,’” said Elliott, “but the beautiful objection to that is, that we aren’t!”

“It’s some mystery to do with the Basin,” said Bob, “and the whole countryside is ’on’—­except our boys.  I don’t believe California John knew a thing about it.”

“Didn’t act so.  Question:  what possibly could everybody in the mountains be interested in that the Forest Service would object to?”

“Lots of things,” replied Bob promptly, “but I don’t believe the mountains are unfriendly to us—­as a unit.  I know Martin isn’t, and he was the first one I noticed as particularly worried.”

Elliott reflected.

“If he’s so friendly, perhaps he was a little uneasy about us,” he suggested at length.  “If somebody doesn’t want the Forest Service in this neck of the woods—­if that somebody is relying on the fact that we never come down in here farther than the lookout, why then it may not be very healthy here.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Bob.  “That looks cheerful.  But what’s the point?  Nine-tenths of this timber is private property anyway.  There’s certainly no trespass—­sheep, timber or otherwise—­on the government land.  What in blazes is the point?”