The Rules of the Game

  XIV

  At Christmas Bob took a brief trip East, returning to California aboutthe middle of January. The remainder of the winter was spent in outsidebusiness, and in preparatory arrangements for the next season's work.The last of April he returned to the lower mountains.

  He found Sycamore Flats in a fever of excitement over the cattlequestion. After lighting his post-prandial pipe he sauntered down tochat with Martin, the lank and leisurely keeper of the livery,proprietor of the general store, and clearing house of both informationand gossip.

  "It looks like this," Martin answered Bob's question. "You rememberPlant sent back old California John to make a report on the grazing.John reported her over-stocked, of course; nobody could have donedifferent. Plant kind of promised to fix things up; and the word gotaround pretty definite that the outside stock would be reduced."

  "Wasn't it?"

  "Not so you'd notice. When the permits was published for this summer,they read good for the same old number."

  "Then Wright's cattle will be in again this year."

  "That's the worst of it; they _are_ in. Shelby brought up a thousandhead a week ago, and was going to push them right in over the snow. Thefeed's _just_ starting on the low meadows in back, and it hasn't woke upa mite in the higher meadows. You throw cattle in on that mushy, softground and new feed, and they tromp down and destroy more'n they eat. Nomountain cattleman goes in till the feed's well started, never."

  "But what does Shelby do it for, then?"

  Martin spat accurately at a knothole.

  "Oh, he don't care. Those big men don't give a damn what kind of shapecattle is in, as long as they stay alive. Same with humans; only theyain't so particular about the staying alive part."

  "Couldn't anything be done to stop them?"

  "Plant could keep them out, but he won't. Jim and George Pollock, andTom Carroll and some of the other boys put up such a kick, though, thatthey saw a great light. They ain't going in for a couple of weeks more."

  "That's all right, then," said Bob heartily.

  "Is it?" asked Martin.

  "Isn't it?" inquired Bob.

  "Well, some says not. Of course they couldn't be expected to drive allthose cattle back to the plains, so they're just naturally spraddled outgrazing over this lower country."

  "Why, what becomes of the winter feed?" cried Bob aghast, well awarethat in these lower altitudes the season's growth was nearly finishedand the ripening about to begin.

  "That's just it," said Martin; "where, oh, where?"

  "Can't anything be done?" repeated Bob, with some show of indignation.

  "What? This is all government land. The mountain boys ain't got any realexclusive rights there. It's public property. The regulations are prettyclear about preference being given to the small owner, and the localman; but that's up to Plant."

  "It'll come pretty hard on some of the boys, if they keep on eating offtheir winter feed and their summer feed too," hazarded Bob.

  "It'll drive 'em out of business," said Martin. "It'll do more; it'llclose out settlement in this country. There ain't nothing doing _but_cattle, and if the small cattle business is closed up, the permanentsettlement closes up too. There's only lumber and power and such left;and they don't mean settlement. That's what the Government is supposedto look out for."

  "Government!" said Bob with contempt.

  "Well, now, there's a few good ones, even at that," stated Martinargumentively. "There's old John, and Ross Fletcher, and one or two morethat are on the square. It may be these little grafters have got theirscoming yet. Now and then an inspector comes along. He looks over thebooks old Hen Plant or the next fellow has fixed up; asks a fewquestions about trails and such; writes out a nice little recommend onhis pocket typewriter, and moves on. And if there's a roar from some ofthese little fellows, why it gets lost. Some clerk nails it, and sendsit to Mr. Inspector with a blue question mark on it; and Mr. Inspectorpasses it on to Mr. Supervisor for explanation; and Mr. Supervisor'sstrong holt is explanations. There you are! But it only needs oneinspector _who inspects_ to knock over the whole apple-cart. Once get byyour clerk to your chief, and you got it."

  Whether Martin made this prediction in a spirit of hope and a fullknowledge, or whether his shot in the air merely chanced to hit themark, it would be impossible to say. As a matter of fact within themonth appeared Ashley Thorne, an inspector who inspected.

  By this time all the cattle, both of the plainsmen and the mountaineers,had gone back. The mill had commenced its season's operations. After theroutine of work had been well established, Bob had descended to attendto certain grading of the lumber for a special sale of uppers. Thus hefound himself on the scene.

  Ashley Thorne was driven in. He arrived late in the afternoon. Plantwith his coat on, and a jovial expression illuminating his fat face,held out both hands in greeting as the vehicle came to a stop byMartin's barn. The Inspector leaped quickly to the ground. He was seento be a man between thirty and forty, compactly built, alert inmovement. He had a square face, aggressive gray eyes, and wore a smallmoustache clipped at the line of the lips.

  "Hullo! Hullo!" roared Plant in his biggest voice. "So here we are, hey!Kind of dry, hot travel, but we've got the remedy for that."

  "How are you?" said Thorne crisply; "are you Mr. Plant? Glad to meetyou."

  "Leave your truck," said Plant. "I'll send some one after it. Come rightalong with me."

  "Thanks," said Thorne, "but I think I'll take a wash and clean up a bit,first."

  "That's all right," urged Plant. "We can fix you up."

  "Where is the hotel?" asked Thorne.

  "Hotel!" cried Plant, "ain't you going to stay with me?"

  "It is kind of you, and I appreciate it," said Thorne briefly, "but Inever mix official business with social pleasure. This is an invariablerule and has no personal application, of course. After my official workis done and my report written, I shall be happy to avail myself of yourhospitality."

  "Just as you say, of course," said Plant, quite good-humouredly. To himthis was an extraordinarily shrewd, grand-stand play; and he approved ofit.

  "I shall go to your office at nine to-morrow," Thorne advised him."Please have your records ready."

  "Always ready," said Plant.

  Thorne was assigned a room at Auntie Belle's, washed away the dust oftravel, and appeared promptly at table when the bell rang. He wore anordinary business suit, a flannel shirt with white collar, and hung onthe nail a wide felt hat. Nevertheless his general air was of anout-of-door man, competent and skilled in the open. His manner wasself-contained and a trifle reserved, although he talked freely enoughwith Bob on a variety of subjects.

  After supper he retired to his room, the door of which, however, he leftopen. Any one passing down the narrow hallway could have seen him bentover a mass of papers on the table, his portable typewriter close athand.

  The following morning, armed with a little hand satchel, he tramped downto Henry Plant's house. The Supervisor met him on the verandah.

  "Right on deck!" he roared jovially. "Come in! All ready for thedoctor!"

  Thorne did not respond to this jocosity.

  "Good morning," he said formally, and that was all.

  Plant led the way into his office, thrust forward a chair, waved acomprehensive hand toward the filing cases, over the bill files, at thetabulated reports laid out on the desk.

  "Go to it," said he cheerfully. "Have a cigar! Everything's all ready."

  Thorne laid aside his broad hat, and at once with keen concentrationattacked the tabulations. Plant sat back watching him. Occasionally thefat man yawned. When Thorne had digested the epitome of the financialend, he reached for the bundles of documents.

  "That's just receipts and requisitions," said Plant, "and such truck.It'll take you an hour to wade through that stuff."

  "Any objections to my doing so?" asked Thorne.

  "None," replied Plant drily.

  "Now rangers' reports," requested Thorne at
the end of another busyperiod.

  "What, that flapdoodle?" cried Plant. "Nobody bothers much with thatstuff! A man has to write the history of his life every time he gets apail of water."

  "Do I understand your ranger reports are remiss?" insisted Thorne.

  "Lord, there they are. Wish you joy of them. Most of the boys havemighty vague ideas of spelling."

  At noon Thorne knocked off, announcing his return at one o'clock. Mostinspectors would have finished an hour ago. At the gate he paused.

  "This place belong to you or the Government?" he asked.

  "To me," replied Plant. "Mighty good little joint for the mountains,ain't it?"

  "Why have you a United States Forest Ranger working on the fences then?"inquired Thorne crisply.

  Plant stared after his compact, alert figure. The fat man's lower jawhad dropped in astonishment. Nobody had ever dared question his right touse his own rangers as he damn well pleased! A slow resentment surged upwithin him. He would have been downright angry could he have beencertain of this inspector's attitude. Thorne was cold and businesslike,but he had humorous wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps allthis monkey business was one elaborate josh. If so it wouldn't do tofall into the trap by getting mad. That must be it. Plant chuckled acavernous chuckle. Nevertheless he ordered his ranger to knock off fencemending for the present.

  By two o'clock Thorne pushed back his chair and stretched his arms overhis head. Plant laughed.

  "That pretty near finishes what we have here," said he. "There reallyisn't much to it, after all. We've got things pretty well going.To-morrow I'll get one of the boys to ride out with you near here. Ifyou want to take any trips back country, I'll scare up a pack."

  This was the usual and never-accepted offer.

  "I haven't time for that," said Thorne, "but I'll look at that bridgesite to-morrow."

  "When must you go?"

  "In a couple of days."

  Plant's large countenance showed more than a trace of satisfaction.

  On leaving the Supervisor's headquarters, Thorne set off vigorously upthe road. He felt cramped for exercise, and he was out for a tramp.Higher and higher he mounted on the road to the mill, until at last hestood on a point far above the valley. The creak and rattle of a wagonaroused him from his contemplation of the scene spread wide before him.He looked up to see a twelve-horse freight team ploughing toward himthrough a cloud of dust that arose dense and choking. To escape thisdust Thorne deserted the road and struck directly up the side of themountain. A series of petty allurements led him on. Yonder he caught aglimpse of tree fungus that interested him. He pushed and plungedthrough the manzanita until he had gained its level. Once there heconcluded to examine a dying yellow pine farther up the hill. Then hethought to find a drink of water in the next hollow. Finally the wayahead seemed easier than the brush behind. He pushed on, and after amoment of breathless climbing reached the top of the ridge.

  Here Thorne had reached a lower spur of that range on which were locatedboth the sawmill and Plant's summer quarters. He drew a deep breath andlooked about him over the topography spread below. Then he examined withan expert's eye the wooded growths. His glance fell naturally to theground.

  "Well, I'll be----" began Thorne, and stopped.

  Through the pine needles at his feet ran a shallow, narrow andmeandering trough. A rod or so away was a similar trough. Thorne setabout following their direction.

  They led him down a gentle slope, through a young growth of pines andcedars to a small meadow. The grass had been eaten short to the soil andtrampled by many little hoofs. Thorne walked to the upper end of themeadow. Here he found old ashes. Satisfied with his discoveries, heglanced at the westering sun, and plunged directly down the side of themountain.

  Near the edge of the village he came upon California John. The old manhad turned Star into the corral, and was at this moment seated on aboulder, smoking his pipe, and polishing carefully the silver inlay ofhis Spanish spade-bit. Thorne stopped and examined him closely, comingfinally to the worn brass ranger's badge pinned to the old man'ssuspenders. California John did not cease his occupation.

  "You're a ranger, I take it," said Thorne curtly.

  California John looked up deliberately.

  "You're an inspector, I take it," said he, after a moment.

  Thorne grinned appreciation under his close-clipped moustache. This wasthe first time he had relaxed his look of official concentration, andthe effect was most boyish and pleasing. The illumination was butmomentary, however.

  "There have been sheep camped at a little meadow on that ridge," hestated.

  "I know it," replied California John tranquilly.

  "You seem to know several things," retorted Thorne crisply, "but yourinformation seems to stop short of the fact that you're supposed to keepsheep out of the Reserve."

  "Not when they have permission," said California John.

  "Permission!" echoed Thorne. "Sheep are absolutely prohibited byregulation. What do you mean?"

  "What I say. They had a permit."

  "Who gave it?"

  "Supervisor Plant, of course."

  "What for?"

  California John polished his bit carefully for some moments in silence.Then he laid it one side and deliberately faced about.

  "For ten dollars," said he coolly, looking Thorne in the eye.

  Thorne looked back at him steadily.

  "You'll swear to that?" he asked.

  "I sure will," said California John.

  "How long has this sort of thing gone on?"

  "Always," replied the ranger.

  "How long have you known about it?"

  "Always," said California John.

  "Why have you never said anything before?"

  "What for?" countered the old man. "I'd just get fired. There ain't nogood in saying anything. He's my superior officer. They used to teach mein the army that I ain't got no call to criticize what my officer does.It's my job to obey orders the best I can."

  "Why do you tell me, then?"

  "You're my superior officer, too--and his."

  "So were all the other inspectors who have been here."

  "Them--hell!" said California John.

  Thorne returned to his hotel very thoughtful. It was falling dark, andthe preliminary bell had rung for supper. Nevertheless he lit his lampand clicked off a letter to a personal friend in the Land Officerequesting the latter to forward all Plant's vouchers for the past twoyears. Then he hunted up Auntie Belle.

  "I thought I should tell you that I won't be leaving my room Wednesday,as I thought," said he. "My business will detain me longer."