THE new Forest Ranger for the Big Sur District and Elmer Bunty, his Scout, rode rapidly away from the doctor’s camp on the night of the fire alarm. They spoke sharply and concisely to each other and were immensely cool and collected about it all, but each of them was high keyed with excitement. To the boy, it was a vivid drama, staged for his especial benefit, and to Dean Wolcott it was the final stage of his proving. Hotly as he had exulted when Ginger yielded for that instant and keenly as he had wanted that moment with her by the creek, away from the gay and strident music and the gay and friendly people, he was glad, now, for its postponement. When he had conquered his first fire he would go to her with another decoration, another evidence of his citizenship in her vigorous world: he smiled at his heroics but he continued to be satisfied that things had worked out as they had.
Snort was making for the cottage at Post’s at an eager pace and the Mabel horse galloped earnestly and clumsily after them, and sometimes the rhythm of the hurrying hoofs was like the lilt and swing of the music, back at the Lodge ... when Ginger was in his arms.
There was an hour of swift and sure preparation and then a snatch of sleep; and at the first graying light of dawn they were on their way. Rusty, the Airedale, was left at Post’s, but before they had ridden an hour he had overtaken them, panting with a violence which seemed almost to rend him asunder, a bit of torn rope hanging to his collar.
“He has to be with me,” said Elmer Bunty, proudly. “I’ll take care of him, Ranger.” So the shabby little dog went on with them, and rested thankfully while they made a brief stop at the Golinda ranch; Mateo Golinda had left an hour earlier for the fire, and his wife would ride after them with food and coffee late in the afternoon.
“It’s your first fire, isn’t it?” she said, regarding him thoughtfully with her bright and friendly eyes. “It’s hard, heart-breaking work, but I think you’ll enjoy fighting—and winning. Mateo is wonderful; he will be at your right hand.”
She had cleverly calculated the time they would be passing and had stirrup cups of hot chocolate for them; she set them off as blithely as if they had been going to a barbecue. A heartening person, Margaret Golinda; across a continent and an ocean, down the long corridor of the years, her house would always be “King’s X!” to Dean Wolcott.
They rode on together, the Ranger and the Scout on Snort and the Mabel horse with the Airedale plodding sturdily behind, and soon there was tangible evidence of the red demon in the distance. The boy was stout-heartedly ready for action and the young man considered him with warm and possessive pride. Air and exercise and good food had nourished his meager little body and comradely appreciation had fed his starved soul. A very different creature, this, from the one who had come into Pfeiffer’s on the stage that day, clinging and timid, and yet the old wise women of the ranches told Dean Wolcott—“that boy’ll never make old bones,” and the doctor shook his head. “If you’d gotten hold of him two years ago—” he said once.
But the Ranger refused to accept these dark forebodings; young Elmer Bunty had wriggled his way deep into his reserved affections and he had no intention of leaving a stone unturned to save him, body and brain. For a week, now, he had been revolving schemes in his mind. His San Francisco friend had written him, acknowledging receipt of the Scout’s salary for delivery to the aunt.
Your Scout’s relative appeared to-day with her usual punctuality to collect the reckless wage which you are lavishing upon him, but after bestowing it in what I think she would call her safety pocket she remarked that it would be her last collecting call; she was, she stated, taking Edna and going “back east to her husband’s folks.” She has long contemplated such a step, it appears, but has been deterred by her tender consideration for the son of her sister, deceased—said Scout above mentioned. Now, however, that he is self-supporting and has found a protector—my impression is that she thinks you are not quite all there, old son—she is about to fold her tents like the Arabs. Elmer may in future keep his entire wage, she says, and saying which, departs—so thoroughly that the places which knew her, know her no more. The Edna must have been waiting for her outside my office, I gather, booted and spurred and ready to ride. Thus, in a word, you are now the only known human being to whom my measliest Scout can turn, and I earnestly urge that you continue to be as human as is Bostonly possible!
Dean Wolcott had made up his mind to leave Elmer Bunty in the best California outdoor school he could find—somewhere near Santa Barbara, perhaps, or in the Santa Cruz mountains—whichever climate was best for him, and at holiday time—but his mind refused to function coolly on plans for the future. That instant’s yielding of Ginger to his insistent arms—who could say where he would be himself at holiday time? He dragged his thoughts resolutely back to the subject of his Scout. The time had come, he thought, to tell the youngster that he was going to be his guardian—he would go thoroughly into the matter with his San Francisco friend, of course.