But Ted was not to be persuaded, and after they had finished the chores, Andy set out, leaving Ted writing.
In their letters to their mother the boys had refrained from mentioning the shooting of the bear and the incidents of the fateful dinner, fearing to alarm her, and Ted was busy explaining to her about the irrigation system when he heard hoof-beats.
Wondering who could be coming, he went to the door, and beheld a rubber-clad chap of about thirty, tall, lithe, and well set up, his face tanned by sun and wind, calmly leading his horse under the animal shelter.
“Pray make yourself perfectly at home,” called the boy, sarcastically.
“Thanks,” returned the other, smilingly ignoring the slur. “I am Chester, of the forest patrol. How long have you been here? I’ve noticed your smoke for several days, but this is the first rainy day I’ve had to leave my station to investigate.”
“My name is Porter. Come in. My brother and I have had a rather rough time with strangers, which accounts for my uncivil greeting. I thought you patrolmen investigated every smudge as soon as you saw it.”
“The patrolmen do, if it is on their route. I only said I belonged to the forest patrol, I’m a lookout.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a station on the top of Bear Mountain from which I can cover about a thirty-mile radius. Whenever I see smoke, I report it to the patrolman in whose section it lies, or to the nearest settler who has a ’phone, if our man is out on his route.”
“Hasn’t been any one here.”