“I think we can employ you, but you’ll have to go on as fire-guard or something like that for the first year. You see, the work is getting to be more and more technical each year. As a matter of fact”—here he lowered his voice a little—“McFarlane is one of the old guard, and will have to give way. He don’t know a thing about forestry, and is too old to learn. His girl knows more about it than he does. She helps him out on office work, too.”
Wayland wondered a little at the freedom of expression on the part of Nash; but said: “If he runs his office as he runs his ranch he surely is condemned to go.”
“There’s where the girl comes in. She keeps the boys in the office lined up and maintains things in pretty fair shape. She knows the old man is in danger of losing his job, and she’s doing her best to hold him to it. She’s like a son to him and he relies on her judgment when a close decision comes up. But it’s only a matter of time when he and all he represents must drift by. This is a big movement we’re mixed with.”
“I begin to feel that that’s why I’d like to take it up. It’s the only thing out here that interests me—and I’ve got to do something. I can’t loaf.”
“Well, you get Berrie to take up your case and you’re all right. She has the say about who goes on the force in this forest.”
It was late in the afternoon before Wayland started back to Meeker’s with intent to repack his belongings and leave the ranch for good. He had decided not to call at McFarlane’s, a decision which came not so much from fear of Clifford Belden as from a desire to shield Berea from further trouble, but as he was passing the gate, the girl rose from behind a clump of willows and called to him: “Oh, Mr. Norcross! Wait a moment.”
He drew rein, and, slipping from his horse, approached her. “What is it, Miss Berrie?” he asked, with wondering politeness.
She confronted him with gravity. “It’s too late for you to cross the ridge. It’ll be dark long before you reach the cut-off. You’d better not try to make it.”
“I think I can find my way,” he answered, touched by her consideration. “I’m not so helpless as I was when I came.”
“Just the same you mustn’t go on,” she insisted. “Father told me to ask you to come in and stay all night. He wants to meet you. I was afraid you might ride by after what happened to-day, and so I came up here to head you off.” She took his horse by the rein, and flashed a smiling glance up at him. “Come now, do as the Supervisor tells you.”