The Rules of the Game

  I

  When next Bob was able to visit the Upper Camp, he found Thorne fullyestablished. He rode in from the direction of Rock Creek, and so throughthe pasture and by the back way. In the tiny potato and garden patchbehind the house he came upon a woman wielding a hoe.

  Her back was toward him, and a pink sunbonnet, freshly starched,concealed all her face. The long, straight lines of her gown fell abouta vigorous and supple figure that swayed with every stroke of the hoe.Bob stopped and watched her. There was something refreshing in theeagerness with which she attacked the weeds, as though it were less adrudgery than a live interest which it was well to meet joyously. Aftera moment she walked a few steps to another row of tiny beans. Hermovements had the perfect grace of muscular control; one melted, flowed,into the other. Bob's eye of the athlete noted and appreciated thisfact. He wondered to which of the mountain clans this girl belonged.Vigorous and breezy as were the maidens of the hills, able to care forthemselves, like the paladins of old, afoot or ahorse, they lacked thisgrace of movement. He stepped forward.

  "I beg pardon," said he.

  The girl turned, resting the heel of her hoe on the earth, and bothhands on the end of its handle. Bob saw a dark, oval countenance, withvery red cheeks, very black eyes and hair, and an engaging flash ofteeth. The eyes looked at him as frankly as a boy's, and the flash ofteeth made him unaffectedly welcome.

  "Is Mr. Thorne here?" asked Bob.

  "Why, no," replied the girl; "but I'm Mr. Thorne's sister. Won't I do?"

  She was leisurely laying aside her hoe, and drawing the fringed buckskingauntlets from her hands. Bob stepped gallantly forward to relieve herof the implement.

  "Do?" he echoed. "Why, of course you'll do!"

  She stopped and looked him full in the face, with an air of greatamusement.

  "Did you come to see Mr. Thorne on business?" she asked.

  "No," replied Bob; "just ran over to see him."

  She laughed quietly.

  "Then I'm afraid I won't do," she said, "for I must cook dinner. Yousee," she explained, "I'm Mr. Thorne's clerk, and if it were business, Imight attend to it."

  Bob flushed to the ears. He was ordinarily a young man of sufficientself-possession, but this young woman's directness was disconcerting.She surveyed his embarrassment with approving eyes.

  "You might finish those beans," said she, offering the hoe. "Of course,you must stay to dinner, and I must go light the fire."

  Bob finished the beans, leaned the hoe up against the house, and wentaround to the front. There he stopped in astonishment.

  "Well, you have changed things!" he cried.

  The stuffy little shed kitchen was no longer occupied. A floor had beenlaid between the bases of four huge trees, and walls enclosing threesides to the height of about eight feet had been erected. The affair hadno roof. Inside these three walls were the stove, the kitchen table, theshelves and utensils of cooking. Miss Thorne, her sunbonnet laid asidefrom her glossy black braids, moved swiftly and easily here and there inthis charming stage-set of a kitchen. About ten feet in front of it, onthe pine needles, stood the dining table, set with white.

  "I beg pardon," said he. The girl turned]

  The girl nodded brightly to Bob.

  "Finished?" she inquired. She pointed to the water pail: "There's auseful task for willing hands."

  Bob filled the pail, and set it brimming on the section of cedar logwhich seemed to be its appointed resting place.

  "Thank you," said the girl. Bob leaned against the tree and watched heras she moved here and there about the varied business of cooking. Everyfew minutes she would stop and look upward through the cool shadows ofthe trees, like a bird drinking. At times she burst into snatches ofsong, so brief as to be unrecognizable.

  "Do you like sticks in your food?" she asked Bob, as though suddenlyremembering his presence, "and pine needles, and the husks of pine nuts,and other debris? because that's what the breezes and trees and naughtylittle squirrels are always raining down on me."

  "Why don't you have the men stretch you a canvas?" asked Bob.

  "Well," said the girl, stopping short, "I have considered it. I no morethan you like unexpected twigs in my dough. But you see I do likeshadows and sunlight and upper air and breezes in my food. And you can'thave one without the other. Did you get all the weeds out?"

  "Yes," said Bob. "Look here; you ought not to have to do such work asthat."

  "Do you think it will wear down my fragile strength?" she asked, lookingat him good-humouredly. "Is it too much exercise for me?"

  "No--" hesitated Bob, "but--"

  "Why, bless you, I like to help the babies to grow big and green," saidshe. "One can't have the theatre or bridge up here; do leave us some ofthe simple pleasures."

  "Why did you want me to finish for you then?" demanded Bob shrewdly.

  She laughed.

  "Young man," said she, "I could give you at least ten reasons," withwhich enigmatic remark she whipped her apron around her hand and whiskedopen the oven door, where were displayed rows of beautifully brownedbiscuits.

  "Nevertheless----" began Bob.

  "Nevertheless," she took him up, raising her face, slightly flushed bythe heat, "all the men-folks are busy, and this one woman-folk is notharmed a bit by playing at being a farmer lassie."

  "One of the rangers could do it all in a couple of hours."

  "The rangers are in the employ of the United States Government, and thisgarden is mine," she stated evenly. "How could I take a Governmentemployee to work on my property?"

  "But surely Mr. Thorne--"

  "Ashley, bless his dear old heart, takes beans for granted, as somethingthat happens on well-regulated tables."

  She walked to the edge of the kitchen floor and looked up through thetrees. "He ought to be along soon now. I hope so; my biscuits are juston the brown." She turned to Bob, her eyes dancing: "Now comes theexciting moment of the day, the great gamble! Will he come alone, orwill he bring a half-dozen with him? I am always ready for thehalf-dozen, and as a consequence we live in a grand, ingenious debauchof warmed-ups and next-days. You don't know what good practice it is;nor what fun! I've often thought I could teach those cooks of MarcAntony's something--you remember, don't you, they used to keep sixdinners going all at different stages of preparation because they neverknew at what hour His High-and-mightiness might choose to dine. Orperhaps you don't know? Football men don't have to study, do they?"

  "What makes you think I'm a football man?" grinned Bob; "generallybovine expression?"

  "Not know the great Bob Orde!" cried the girl. "Why, not one of us buthad your picture, generally in a nice gilt shrine, but _always_ withviolets before it."

  But on this ground Bob was sure.

  "You have been reading a ten-cent magazine," he admonished her gravely."It is unwise to take your knowledge of the customs in girls' collegesfrom such sources."

  From the depths of the forest eddied a cloud of dust. Miss Thorneappraised it carefully.

  "Warmed-overs to-night," she pronounced. "There's no more than two ofthem."

  The accuracy of her guess was almost immediately verified by theappearance of two riders. A moment later Thorne and California Johndismounted at the hitching rail, some distance removed among theazaleas, and came up afoot. The younger man had dropped all his dry,official precision, his incisive abruptness, his reticence. Clad in thehigh, laced cruisers, the khaki and gray flannel, the broad, felt hatand gay neckerchief of what might be called the professional class ofout-of-door man, his face glowing with health and enthusiasm, he seemeda different individual.

  "Hullo! Hullo!" he cried out a joyous greeting as he drew nearer; "Icouldn't bring you much company to-day, Amy. But I see you've foundsome. How are you, Orde? I'm glad to see you."

  He and California John disappeared behind the shed, where the wash basinwas; while Amy, with deftness, rearranged the table to accord with thenumbers who would sit down to it.

  The meal in the open was mos
t delightful; especially to Bob, after hislong course of lumber-camp provender. The deep shadows shifted slowlyacross the forest floor. Sparkles of sunlight from unexpected quarterstouched gently in turn each of the diners, or glittered back from glassor linen. Occasionally a wandering breeze lifted a corner of thetablecloth and let it fall, or scurried erratically across the tableitself. Occasionally, too, a pine needle, a twig, a leaf would zigzagdown through the air to fall in some one's coffee or glass or plate.Birds flashed across the open vault of this forest room--brilliantbirds, like the Louisiana Tanager; sober little birds like the creepersand nuthatches. Circumspect and reserved whitecrowns and brush toheesscratched and hopped silently over the forest litter. Once a swiftfalcon, glancing like a shadowy death, slanted across the upper spaces.The food was excellent, and daintily served.

  "I am proud of my blue and white enamel-ware," Miss Thorne told Bob;"it's so much better than tin or this ugly gray. And that glass pitcherI got with coupons from the coffee packages."

  "You didn't get these with coupons?" said Bob, lifting one of themassive silver forks.

  "No," she admitted. "That is my one foolishness. All the rest does notmatter, but I can't get along without my silver."

  "And a great nuisance it is to those who have to move as we move," putin Ashley Thorne.

  The forest officers took up their broken conversation. Bob found himselfa silent but willing listener. He heard discussion of policies, businessdealings, plans that widened the horizon of what the Forest had meant tohim. In these discussions the girl took an active and intelligent part.Her opinion seemed to be accepted seriously by both the men, as one whohad knowledge, and indeed, her grasp of details seemed as comprehensiveas that of the men themselves.

  Finally Thorne pushed his chair back and began to fill his pipe.

  "Anybody here to-day?" he asked.

  The girl ran over rapidly a half-dozen names, sketching briefly thebusiness they had brought. Then, one after the other, she told theanswers she had made to them. This one had been given blanks, forms andinstructions. That one had been told clearly that he was in the wrong,and must amend his ways. The other had been advised but tentatively, andinformed that he must see the Supervisor personally. To each of theseThorne responded by a brief nod, puffing, meanwhile, on his pipe.

  "All right?" she asked, when she had finished.

  "All right but one," said he, removing his pipe at last. "I don't thinkit will be advisable to let Francotti have what he wants."

  "Pull the string, then!" cried the girl gaily.

  Thorne turned to California John in discussion of the Francotti affair.

  "What do you mean by 'pull the string'?" Bob took the occasion toinquire.

  "I settle a lot of these little matters that aren't worth botheringAshley with," she explained, "but I tie a string to each of mydecisions. I always make them 'subject to the Supervisor's approval.'Then if I do wrong, all I have to do is to write the man and tell himthe Supervisor does not approve."

  "I shouldn't think you'd like that," said Bob.

  "Like what?"

  "Why, it sort of puts you in a hole, doesn't it? Lays all the blame onyou."

  She laughed in frank amusement.

  "What of it?" she challenged.

  "Any letters?" Thorne asked abruptly. "Morton brought mail this morning,didn't he?"

  "Nothing wildly important--except that they're thinking of adopting aranger uniform."

  "A uniform!" snorted California John, rearing his old head.

  "Oh, yes, I've heard of that," put in Thorne instantly. "It's to be awhite pith helmet with a green silk scarf on it; red coat with goldlace, and white, English riding breeches with leather leggins. Don't youthink old John would look sweet in that?" he asked Bob.

  But the old man refused to be drawn out.

  "Supervisors same; but with a gold pompon on top the helmet," heobserved. "What _is_ the dang thing, anyway, Amy?" he asked.

  "Dark green whipcord, green buttons, gray hat, military cut."

  "Not bad," said Thorne.

  "About one fifty-mile ride and one fire would make that outfit look likea bunch of mildewed alfalfa. Blue jeans is about my sort of uniform,"observed John.

  "I don't believe we'd be supposed to wear it on range," suggestedThorne. "Only in town and official business." He turned to the girlagain: "May have to go over Baldy to-morrow," said he, "so we'll run offthose letters."

  She arose and saluted, military fashion. The two disappeared in the tinybox-office, whence presently came the sound of Thorne's voice indictation.

  California John knocked the ashes from his pipe.

  "Get your apron on, sonny," said he.

  He tested the water on the stove and slammed out a commodious dish-pan.

  "Glasses first; then silver; and if you break anything, I'll bash inyour fool head. There's going to be some style to this dishwashing. Iused to slide 'em all in together and let her go. But that ain't the wayhere. She knows four aces and the jolly joker better than that. Glassesfirst."

  They washed and wiped the dishes, and laid them carefully away.

  "She's a little wonder," said California John, nodding at the office,"and there ain't none of the boys but helps all they can."

  Thorne called the old man by name, and he disappeared into the office. Amoment later the girl emerged, smoothing back her hair with both hands.She stepped immediately to the little kitchen.

  "Thank you," said she. "That helps."

  "It was old John," disclaimed Bob. "I'm ashamed to say I should neverhave thought of it."

  The girl nodded carelessly.

  "Where did you learn stenography?" asked Bob.

  "Oh, I got that out of a ten-cent magazine too." She sat on a bench,looked up at the sky through the trees, and drew a deep breath.

  "You're tired," said Bob.

  "Not a bit," she denied. "But I don't often get a chance to just lookup."

  "You seem to do the gardening, the cooking, the housework, the clericalwork--you don't do the laundry, too, do you?" demanded Bob ironically.

  "You noticed those miserable khakis!" cried Amy with a gesture ofdismay. "Ashley," she called, "change those khakis before you go out,"

  "Yes, mama," came back a mock childish voice.

  "What's your salary?" demanded Bob bluntly, nodding toward the office.

  "What?" she asked, as though puzzled.

  "Didn't you say you were the clerk?"

  "Oh, I see. I just help Ashley out. He could _never_ get through thefield work and the office work both."

  "Doesn't the Service allow him a clerk?"

  "Not yet; but it will in time."

  "What is Mr. Thorne's salary?"

  "Well, really----"

  "Oh, I beg pardon," cried Bob flushing; "I just meant supervisors'salaries, of course. I wasn't prying, really. It's all a matter ofpublic record, isn't it?"

  "Of course." The girl checked herself. "Well, it's eighteen hundred--andsomething for expenses."

  "Eighteen hundred!" cried Bob. "Do you mean to say that the _two_ of yougive all your time for that! Why, we pay a good woods foreman prettynear that!"

  "And that's all you do pay him," said the girl quietly. "Money wageisn't the whole pay for any job that is worth doing."

  "Don't understand," said Bob briefly.

  "We belong to the Service," she stated with a little movement of pride."Those tasks in life which give a high moneyed wage, generally give onlythat. Part of our compensation is that we belong to the Service; we aredoing something for the whole people, not just for ourselves." Shecaught Bob's half-smile, more at her earnestness than at her sentiment,and took fire. "You needn't laugh!" she cried. "It's small now, butthat's because it's the beginning, because we have the privilege ofbeing the forerunners, the pioneers! The time will come when in thiscountry there will be three great Services--the Army, the Navy, theForest; and an officer in the one will be as much respected and lookedup to as the others! Perhaps more! In the long times of pea
ce, whilethey are occupied with their eternal Preparation, we shall be labouringat Accomplishment."

  She broke off abruptly.

  "If you don't want to get me started, don't be superior," she ended,half apologetic, half resentful.

  "But I do want to get you started," said Bob.

  "It's amusing, I don't doubt."

  "Not quite that: it's interesting, and I am no longer bewildered at theeighteen hundred a year--that is," he quoted a popular song, "'if thereare any more at home like you.'"

  She looked at him humorously despairing.

  "That's just like an outsider. There are plenty who feel as I do, butthey don't say so. Look at old California John, at Ross Fletcher, at ahalf-dozen others under your very nose. Have you ever stopped to thinkwhy they have so long been loyal? I don't suppose you have, for I doubtif they have. But you mark my words!"

  "All right, Field Marshal--or is it 'General'?" said Bob.

  She laughed.

  "Just camp cook," she replied good-humouredly.

  The sun was slanting low through the tall, straight trunks of the trees.Amy Thorne arose, gathered a handful of kindling, and began to rattlethe stove.

  "I am contemplating a real pudding," she said over her shoulder.

  Bob arose reluctantly.

  "I must be getting on," said he.

  They said farewell. At the hitching rail Thorne joined him.

  "I'm afraid I'm not very hospitable," said the Supervisor, "but thatmustn't discourage you from coming often. We'll be better organized intime."

  "It's mighty pleasant over here; I've enjoyed myself," said Bob,mounting.

  Thorne laid his hand on the young man's knee.

  "I wish we could induce you old-timers to come to our way of thinking,"said he pleasantly.

  "How's that?" asked Bob.

  "Your slash is in horrible shape."

  "Our slash!" repeated Bob in a surprised tone. "How?"

  "It's a regular fire-trap, the way you leave it tangled up. It wouldn'tcost you much to pile the tops and leave the ground in good shape."

  "Why, it's just like any other slash!" protested Bob. "We're loggingjust as everybody always logs!"

  "That's just what I object to. And when you fell a tree or pull a log tothe skids, I do wish we could induce you to pay a little attention tothe young growth. It's a little more trouble, sometimes, to go aroundinstead of through, but it's worth it to the forest."

  Bob's brows were bent on the Supervisor in puzzled surprise. Thornelaughed, and slapped the young man's horse on the flanks to start him.

  "You think it over!" he called.

  A half-hour's ride took Bob to the clearing where the logging crews hadworked the year before. Here, although the hour was now late, he reinedin his horse and looked. It was the first time he had ever really doneso. Heretofore a slashing had been as much a part of the ordinarywoodland landscape as the forest itself.

  He saw then the abattis of splintered old trunks, of lopped limbs, andentangled branches, piled up like jackstraws to the height of even sixor eight feet from the ground; the unsightly mat of sodden old masses ofpine needles and cedar fans; the hundreds of young saplings bent doubleby the weight of debris, broken square off, or twisted out of all chanceof becoming straight trees in their age; the long, deep, ruthlessfurrows where the logs had been dragged through everything that couldstand in their way; the few trees left standing, weak specimens,undesirable species, the culls of the forest, further scarred where thecruel steel cables had rasped or bitten them. He knew by experience thedifficulty of making a way, even afoot, through this tangle. Now, underthe influence of Thorne's suggestion, he saw them as great piles of somuch fuel, laid as though by purpose for the time when the evil geniusof the forest should desire to warm himself.