"There's few in the Rockies as don't know old Rifle-Eye Bill," the Ranger replied, "an' my address is wherever I c'n find some good to be done. Any one c'n find me when I'm wanted, an' I'm ready any time you say. Now, you're goin' to celebrate the Fourth to-morrow, to show how fond you are o' good government. You c'n add to your lectures on Social Economy one rule you don't know any thin' about. It's a Western rule, this one, an' it's just that no man that can't govern himself can govern anythin' else."
He turned on his heel, ignoring the reply shouted after him, and followed by Wilbur, mounted and rode away up the trail.
"I've got to get right back," said the Ranger; "we're goin' to start workin' out a special sale of poles."
"Telegraph poles?" queried Wilbur.
"Yes."
"When you come to think of it," said the boy, "there must be quite a lot of poles all over the country."
"Merritt said he reckoned there was about sixteen million poles now in use, an' three and a half million poles are needed every year just for telegraph and telephone purposes alone."
"When you think," said Wilbur, "that every telegraph and telephone pole means a whole tree, there's some forest been cut down, hasn't there?"
"How many poles do you s'pose are used in a mile?"
"About forty, I heard at school," the boy replied, "and it takes an army of men working all the year round just puttin' in poles."