A vision swept before Bob’s eyes of a noble forest supposedly safe for all time devoted by his silence to a private greed.

“But concealing evidence is as much of a perjury as falsifying it—­” he began.  A second vision flashed by of a ragged, unshorn fugitive, now in jail, whom his testimony could condemn.  He fell silent.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” said Welton, earnestly.  “You don’t know the harm you may do.  Your father’s reelection comes this fall, you know, and even if it’s untrue, a suit of this character—­” He in his turn broke off.

“I don’t see how this could hurt father’s chances—­either way,” said Bob, puzzled.

“Well, you know how I think about it,” said Welton curtly, rising.  “You asked me.”

He stumped over to Jane, untied the rope with his thick fingers, clambered aboard.  From the mule’s back he looked down on Bob, his kindly, homely face again alight with affection.

“If you never have anything worse on your conscience than keeping your face shut to protect a friend from injustice, Bobby,” he said, “I reckon you won’t lose much sleep.”

With these words he rode away.  Bob, returning to camp, unsaddled, and, very weary, sought his cabin.  His cabin mate was stolidly awaiting him, seated on the single door step.

“My friend that was going to leave me some money in my bunk was coming to-day,” said Jack Pollock.  “It ain’t in your bunk by mistake?”

“Jack,” said Bob, weariedly throwing all the usual pretence aside, “I’m ashamed to say I clean forgot it; I had such a job on hand.  I’ll ride over and get it now.”

“Don’t understand you,” said Jack, without moving a muscle of his face.

Bob smiled at the serious young mountaineer, playing loyally his part even to his fellow-conspirator.

“Jack,” said he, “I guess your friend must have been delayed.  Maybe he’ll get here later.”

“Quite like,” nodded Jack gravely.

XXI

Bob made the earliest chance to obtain California John’s promised advice.  The old man was unlettered, but his understanding was informed by a broad and gentle spirit and long experience of varied things.  On this the head ranger himself touched.

“Bob,” he began, “I’m an old man, and I’ve lived through a lot.  When I come into this state the elk and deer and antelope was running out on the plains like sheep.  I mined and prospected up and down these mountains when nobody knew their names.  There’s hardly a gold camp you can call over that I ain’t been in on; nor a set of men that had anything to do with making the state that I ain’t tracked up with.  Most of the valley towns wasn’t in existence those days, and the rest was little cattle towns that didn’t amount to anything.  The railroad took a week to come from Chicago.  There wasn’t any railroad up the coast.  They hadn’t begun to irrigate much.  Where the Redlands and