Finding a willing and eager listener in the young homesteader, Chester was pointing out on the map and describing the biggest fires that had occurred in his division, when his buzzer again rang.
“Ho? Oh, you, Mr. Jackson? Yes, sir, right away.” And hastily picking up a notebook and pencils, he hurried toward his pony, saying: “Sorry, but the district chief has sent for me. Wants to question Petersen and I’m the only man he has handy who writes shorthand. Casey’s on his way to serve here.”
With a rapidity that surprised Ted, the lookout had saddled and bridled, then turned to help him. And at a pace that seemed foolhardy, the warden was soon descending the trail, leaving the boy far behind.
“Better go back to your claim,” he shouted, as he reached the level. “I’ve got to ride so hard you’d get lost trying to follow. See you again sometime.”
And before the young homesteader could protest, for he was keen to watch, and perhaps help, in the fire-fighting, Chester was out of sight.
“Good thing I paid especial attention to the trail when we rode over,” said Ted to himself, as he turned Daisy toward E 1. “Some time, though, old girl, they’ll find you and I can cover ground even if I am a tenderfoot.”
As the lookout had predicted, the sun burst through the clouds before the boy reached the shakedown, and its torrid rays were quickly drying the trees.
Coming within sight of the thatched hut, Ted suddenly drew rein, as he beheld a pony tied near the door.
“Wonder who it is this time.” And the boy’s hand dropped to his holster, which Andy had cautioned the young homesteaders never to be without, in view of the warning they had received.
But he withdrew his hand as quickly as he had lowered it when the person who had ridden the strange pony, having heard his approach, appeared in the doorway.