“I say, Rosa, are you riding?” greeted Ace. The girl shook her head merrily. “Dad, that’s Pierre La Coste’s sister,—you know, he’s fire-lookout on Red Top. Used to be one of our Scouts when we lived in Peach Cove.”
“Yeh, we used to call him Pur-r-r,” supplemented the ranch boy.
“And that’s the horse Ranger Radcliffe’s been trying to give her,” added Ace, sotto voce. “Isn’t he a beauty?”
“And she won’t have him?” laughed the Senator.
“Won’t have man or beast.”
Ace, now studying geology at the University of California, though he had traveled widely since the old ranch days, still counted Ted, sandy haired, thin and freckled, struggling to make his mother’s fruit ranch a go, his chum. Pedro, a neighbor of the old days, was his roommate in the fraternity house at Berkeley. All three ran to greet Norris, a young man in the uniform of the U. S. Geological Survey (son of the Forest Supervisor), who now appeared, galloping beside Ranger Radcliffe. For he was to pilot them on a camping trip into the high Sierras in a week or two.
The first entry was just being led forth to be saddled as the fifth and final member of their expedition arrived on the scene, afoot,—Long Lester, a lanky, bewhiskered old prospector in soft felt hat, clean but collarless “b’iled shirt,” vest, cartridge belt and corduroy “pants,” thrust into the tops of ordinary hob-nailed boots.
“Well, you broncho-busters, out in the center!” megaphoned the man on the big bay. “Five more riders here!—Two-fifty to ride and seven-fifty more to go up!” Three men came forward. “We want two more entries. If you pull-leather or fall off, two-fifty. If a fellow rides a bull with one hand hold, he gets seven-fifty. Ten dollars if you go up!”
Ace and Ted exchanged glances as they started forward.
“You’re sure courtin’ trouble,” called the Senator.