They crossed the park and followed a winding, sidehill trail up across the face of the slope. The stand of trees was so open and there was so little underbrush that it did not seem to Scott much like the Northern forests he had known.
“That big locked box there,” Mr. Ramsey explained again, “is a tool cache. It is filled with fire-fighting tools. The ranger will furnish you with a pass key and give you all the necessary instructions.”
They came to the fork in the trail. “That one to the left,” said Mr. Ramsey, “leads over to your headquarters, but we’ll go on to the ranger cabin and he’ll bring you back here.”
Some three miles farther on and over the ridge lay the ranger’s headquarters. Scott paused on the ridge and looked back. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. The wonderfully clear atmosphere made everything stand out with equal intensity whether it was one or twenty miles away. The size of the object alone gave one an idea of the distance; if there was no known object in sight for comparison the distance remained unknown. The park they had left an hour before seemed right at their feet; the houses in the town far down in the valley looked like toys, but every detail of them was distinct.
The colors also seemed most unreal. There were no gray rocks and brown hillsides such as Scott had seen so often at home. The cliffs all took on various purple hues and what should have been a dull, dead brown had here a rich, attractive, reddish tinge. The shadows on the forested hillsides were the deepest purple.
“Think an artist was crazy if he painted those colors,” Mr. Ramsey suggested, reading his thoughts.
“Have thought so more than once,” Scott said. “Sort of makes up for the bareness, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does look pretty bare to you coming straight from New England, but you’ll learn to like it. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
On the other side of the ridge was a very similar view, except that the valley was not so deep and there was no town at the bottom. In the immediate foreground was a neat little cabin set back against the hill in a flower-spangled yard. The Stars and Stripes streaming from the flag pole proclaimed its official character. It was the quarters of Ranger Dawson, Scott’s immediate boss.
They dropped down the trail to the cabin and Dawson came out to meet them. He was a local man who had been selected for his knowledge of the stock business and he had a very good record in the service. Somehow, Scott did not like the cold appraising look that the ranger gave him, but the welcome he received was cordial enough to satisfy any one. They dismounted at the gate.