“The nurse from Sulphur refused to come when she found that her patient was in a mountain cabin. I’m sorry, old man; I did the best I could.”
“Never mind,” replied Cavanagh. “I’m still free from any touch of fever. I’m tired, of course, but good for another night of it. My main anxiety concerns Lee—get her to go home with you if you can.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” responded Redfield, “but meanwhile you must not think of getting out of the Forest Service. I have some cheering news for you. The President has put a good man into the chief’s place.”
Cavanagh’s face lighted up. “That’ll help some,” he exclaimed; “but who’s the man?”
Redfield named him. “He was a student under the chief, and the chief says he’s all right, which satisfies me. Furthermore, he’s a real forester, and not a political jobber or a corporation attorney.”
“That’s good,” repeated Cavanagh; “and yet—” he said, sadly, “it leaves the chief out just the same.”
“No, the chief is not out. He’s where he can fight for the idea to better advantage than when he was a subordinate under another man. Anyhow, he asks us all to line up for the work and not to mind him. The work, he says, is bigger than any man. Here’s that resignation of yours,” he said, taking Cavanagh’s letter from his pocket; “I didn’t put it on file. What shall I do with it?”
“Throw it to me,” said Cavanagh, curtly.
Redfield tossed it over the hitching-pole, and Ross took it up, looked at it for a moment in silence, then tore it into bits and threw it on the ground.
“What are your orders, Mr. Supervisor?” he asked, with a faint, quizzical smile around his eyes.