Charley flushed a little. "You don't understand, Mr. Morton," he went on. "I wasn't nervous--that is, I didn't--I mean, it wasn't the mere fact that the men were smoking that made me feel anxious. I didn't like the looks of the men or their actions."
"What did they do?"
"Well, they swore at us."
The ranger laughed. "That's a habit of these mountaineers," he said. "You mustn't pay any attention to it. They don't mean anything by it."
"Do they look at you as though they'd like to kill you, too?" demanded Charley. "Is that a habit of these mountaineers?"
Instantly the ranger's face was sober. "See here," he said seriously. "What have you been doing? What did you do or say to the men that made them curse you? A little authority hasn't made you toplofty, has it? You know you are not supposed to let anybody know that you're a fire patrol."
"I didn't," replied Charley, stung by the implied criticism. "We caught a few fish in our own valley, then cut through to the valley just below us, on our way to this trail. Just as we reached the run, two men came out of the bushes. They asked what we had caught, and when I showed them, one of them swore at us terribly and said we had fished the stream out so that they would have to go on to the next valley."
"Is that all?" laughed the ranger, looking much relieved.
"No, sir, it isn't," continued Charley. "They looked as though they wanted to kill us."
The ranger was inclined to smile, but he forbore, seeing that Charley was sensitive. "You'll soon get used to meeting tough-looking customers in the forest," he said.