"It was just waiting for this time that is coming. In five years we'll have the people with us; we'll have Congress, and the money to do things; we'll have sawmills and water-power, and regulated grazing, and telephone lines, and comfortable quarters. We'll have a Service safeguarded by Civil Service, and a body of disciplined men, and officers as the Army and Navy have. It's coming; and it's coming soon. You've been nine years at the other thing—"
"It's humiliating," insisted California John, "to do a job well and get fired."
"You'll still have just the job you have now—only you'll be called a head-ranger."
"My people won't see it that way."
Ashley Thorne hesitated.
"No, they won't," said he frankly at last. "I could argue on the other side; but they won't. They'll think you've dropped back a peg; and they'll say to each other—at least some of them will: 'Old Davidson bit off more than he could chew; and it serves him right for being a damn fool, anyway.' You've been content to play along misunderstood for nine years because you had faith. Has that faith deserted you?"
California John looked down, and his erect shoulders shrunk forward a little.
"Old friend," said Thorne, "it's a sacrifice. Are you going to stay and help me?"
California John for a long time studied a crack in the floor. When he looked up his face was illuminated with his customary quizzical grin.
"I've sure got it on Ross Fletcher," he drawled. "I done told him I wasn't no supervisor, and he swore I was."