“I don’t doubt they’ll try to get him proper, next time.  We must get out papers and the sheriff after this Saleratus Bill.”

“He’ll be almighty hard to locate,” put in California John.

“And I think we’d better not let Bob, here, go around alone any more.”

“I don’t think he ought to go around at all!” Amy amended this vigorously.

Bob shot at her an obliquely humorous glance, before which her own fell.  Somehow the humour died from his.

“Bodyguard accepted with thanks,” said he, recovering himself.  “I’ve had enough Wild West on my own account.”  His words and the expression of his face were facetious, but his tones were instinct with a gravity that attracted even Thorne’s attention.  The Supervisor glanced at the young man curiously, wondering if he were going to lose his nerve at the last.  But Bob’s personal stake was furthest from his mind.  Something in Amy’s half-frightened gesture had opened a new door in his soul.  The real and insistent demands of the situation had been suddenly struck shadowy while his forces adjusted themselves to new possibilities.

“Ware’s your man,” suggested California John.  “He’s a gun-man, and he’s got a nerve like a saw mill man.”

“Where is Ware?” Thorne asked Amy.

“He’s over at Fair’s shake camp.  He will be back to-morrow.”

“That’s settled, then.  How about Welton?  Is he warned?  You say he’ll testify?”

“If he has to,” replied Bob, by a strong effort bringing himself back to a practical consideration of the matter in hand.  “At least he’ll never perjure himself, if he’s called.  Welton’s case is different.  Look here; it’s bound to come out, so you may as well know the whole situation.”

He paused, glancing from one to another of his hearers.  Thorne’s keen face expressed interest of the alert official; California John’s mild blue eye beamed upon him with a dawning understanding of the situation; Amy, intuitively divining a more personal trouble, looked across at him with sympathy.

“John, here, will remember the circumstance,” said Bob.  “It happened about the time I first came out here with Mr. Welton.  It seems that Plant had assured him that everything was all arranged so our works and roads could cross the Forest, so we went ahead and built them.  In those days it was all a matter of form, anyway.  Then when we were ready to go ahead with our first season’s work, up steps Plant and asks to see our permission, threatening to shut us down!  Of course, all he wanted was money.”

“And Welton gave it to him?” cried Amy.

“It wasn’t a case of buy a privilege,” explained Bob, “but of life itself.  We were operating on borrowed money, and just beginning our first year’s operations.  The season is short in these mountains, as you know, and we were under heavy obligations to fulfil a contract for sawed lumber.  A delay of even a week meant absolute ruin to a large enterprise.  Mr. Welton held off to the edge of danger, I remember, exhausting every means possible here and at Washington to rush through the necessary permission.”