"Where are you camped?" persisted Bob. No answer.

"Where's your boss?"

A faint gleam came into the sheep-herder's eyes. He raised his arm and pointed across through the woods.

Bob reined his horse in the direction indicated. As he passed the last of the flock in that direction, he caught sight of another herder and two more dogs. This seemed to be a bearded man of better appearance than the boy; but he too leaned motionless on his long staff; he too gazed unblinking on the nibbling, restless, changing, imbecile sheep.

As Bob looked, this man uttered a shrill, long-drawn whistle. Like arrows from bows the two dogs darted away, their ears flat, their bodies held low to the ground. The whistle was repeated by the youth. Immediately his dogs also glided forward. The noise of quick, sharp barkings was heard. At once the slow, shifting movement of the masses of gray ceased. The sound of murmurous, deeptoned bells, of bleating, of the movement of a multitude arose. The flock drew to a common centre; it flowed slowly forward. Here and there the dark bodies of the dogs darted, eager and intelligently busy. The two herders followed after, leaning on their long staffs. Over the hill passed the flock. Slowly the sounds of them merged into a murmur. It died. It died. Only remained the fog of dust drifting through the trees, caught up by every passing current of air, light and impalpable as powder.

Bob continued on his way, but had not proceeded more than a few hundred feet before he was overtaken by Lejeune.

"You're the man I was looking for," said Bob. "I see you got your sheep in all right. Have any trouble?"

The sheepman's teeth flashed.

"Not 'tall," he replied. "I snik in ver' easy up by Beeg Rock."

At the mill, Bob, while luxuriously splashing the ice-cold

water on his face and throat, took time to call to Welton in

the next room.

"Saw your sheep man," he proffered. "He got in all right, sheep and all.”

Welton appeared in the doorway, mopping his round, red face with a towel.

"Funny we haven't heard from Plant, then," said he. "That fat man must be keeping track of Leejune's whereabouts, or he's easier than I thought he was."

VIII

HE week slipped by. Welton seemed to be completely immersed in the business of cutting lumber. In due time Orde senior had replied by wire, giving assurance that he would see to the matter of the crossing permits.

"So that's settled," quoth Welton. "You bet-you Jack Orde will make the red tape fly. It'll take a couple of weeks, I suppose - time for the mail to get there and back. Meantime, we'll get a cut ahead."

But at the end of ten days came a letter from the congress

man.

"Don't know just what is the hitch," wrote Jack Orde. "It ought to be the simplest matter in the world, and so I told Russell in the Land Office to-day. They seem inclined to fall back on their technicalities, which is all rot, of course. The man wants to be annoying for some reason, but I'll take it higher at once. Have an appointment with the Chief

The next letter came by the following mail. "This seems to be a bad mess. I can't understand it, nor get to the bottom of it. On the face of the showing here we've just bulled ahead without any regard whatever for law or regulations. Of course, I showed your letter stating your agreement and talks with Plant, but the department has his specific denial that you ever approached him. They stand pat on that, and while they're very polite, they insist on a detailed investigation. I'm going to see the Secretary this morning."

Close on the heels of this came a wire:

"Plant submits reports of alleged sheep trespass committed this spring by your orders. Wire denial."

"My Lord!" said Welton, as he took this. "That's why we never heard from that! Bobby, that was a fool move, certainly; but I couldn't turn Leejune down after I'd agreed to graze him."

"How about these lumber contracts?" suggested Bob. "We've got to straighten this matter out," said Welton soberly.

He returned a long telegram to Congressman Orde in Washington, and himself interviewed Plant. He made no headway whatever with the fat man, who refused to emerge beyond the hard technicalities of the situation. Welton made a journey to White Oaks, where he interviewed the Superintendent of the Forest Reserves. The latter proved to be a well-meaning, kindly, white-whiskered gentleman, named Smith, who listened sympathetically, agreed absolutely with the equities of the situation, promised to attend to the matter, and expressed himself as delighted always to have these things brought to his personal attention. On reaching the street, however, Welton made a bee-line for the bank through which he did most of his business.

"Mr. Lee," he asked the president, "I want you to be frank with me. I am having certain dealings with the Forest Reserve, and I want to know how much I can depend on this man Smith."

Lee crossed his white hands on his round stomach, and looked at Welton over his eyeglasses.'

"In what way?" he asked.

"I've had a little trouble with one of his subordinates. I've just been around to state my case to Smith, and he agrees with my side of the affair and promises to call down his man. Can I rely on him? Does he mean what he says?"

"He means what he says," replied the bank president, slowly, "and you can rely on him until his subordinate gets a chance to talk to him."

"H'm," ruminated Welton. "Chinless, eh? I wondered why he wore long white whiskers."

As he walked up the street toward the hotel, where he would spend the night before undertaking the long drive back, somebody hailed him. He looked around to see a pair of beautiful driving horses, shying playfully against each other, coming to a stop at the curb. Their harness was the lightest that could be devised. no blinders, no

breeching, slender, well-oiled straps; the rig they drew shone and twinkled with bright varnish, and seemed as delicate and light as thistledown. On the narrow seat sat a young man of thirty, covered with an old-fashioned linen duster, wearing the wide, gray felt hat of the country. He was a keen-faced, brown young man, with snapping black eyes.

"Hullo, Welton," said he as he brought the team to a stand; "when did you get out of the hills?"

"How are you, Mr. Harding?" Welton returned his greeting. "Just down for the day?"

"How are things going up your way?"

"First rate," replied Welton. "We're going ahead three bells and a jingle. Started to saw last week."

"That's good," said Harding. "I haven't heard of one of your teams on the road, and I began to wonder. We've got to begin deliveries on our Los Angeles and San Pedro contracts by the first of August, and we're depending on you." "We'll be there," replied Welton with a laugh.

The young man laughed back.

"You'd better be, if you don't want us to come up and take your scalp," said he, gathering his reins.

"Guess I lay in some hair tonic so's to have a good one ready for you," returned Welton, as Harding nodded his farewell.