The Rules of the Game

  VIII

  Bob found it much more difficult to approach Welton. When he did, he hadto contend with the older man's absolute disbelief in what he wassaying. Welton sat down on a stump and considered Bob with a humoroustwinkle.

  "Want to quit the lumber business!" he echoed Bob's first statement."What for?"

  "I don't think I'm cut out for it."

  "No? Well, then, I never saw anybody that was. You don't happen to needno more money?"

  "Lord, no!"

  "Of course, you know you'll have pretty good prospects here----" statedWelton tentatively.

  "I understand that; but the work doesn't satisfy me, somehow: I'mthrough with it."

  "Getting restless," surmised Welton. "What you need is a vacation. Iforgot we kept you at it pretty close all last winter. Take a coupleweeks off and make a trip in back somewheres."

  Bob shook his head.

  "It isn't that; I'm sorry. I'm just through with this. I couldn't keepon at it and do good work. I know that."

  "It's a vacation you need," insisted Welton chuckling, "--or else you'rein love. Isn't that, is it?"

  "No," Bob laughed quite wholeheartedly. "It isn't that."

  "You haven't got a better job, have you?" Welton joked.

  Bob considered. "Yes; I believe I have," he said at last; "at least I'mhoping to get it."

  Welton looked at him closely; saw that he was in earnest.

  "What is it?" he asked curtly.

  Bob, suddenly smitten with a sense of the futility of trying to argueout his point of view here in the woods, drew back.

  "Can't tell just yet," said he.

  Welton climbed down from the stump; stood firmly for a moment, hissturdy legs apart; then moved forward down the trail.

  "I'll raise his ante, whatever it is," he said abruptly at length. "Idon't believe in it, but I'll do it. I need you."

  "You've always treated me better than I ever deserved," said Bobearnestly, "and I'll stay all summer, or all next winter--until you feelthat you do not need me longer; but I'm sure that I must go."

  For two days Welton disbelieved the reality of his intention. For twodays further he clung to a notion that in some way Bob must bedissatisfied with something tangible in his treatment. Then, convincedat last, he took alarm, and dropped his facetious attitude.

  "Look here, Bob," said he, "this isn't quite fair, is it? This is a bigpiece of timber. It needs a man with a longer life in front of him thanI can hope for. I wanted to be able to think that in a few years, when Iget tired I could count on you for the heavy work. It's too big abusiness for an old man."

  "I'll stay with you until you find that young man," said Bob. "There area good many, trained to the business, capable of handling thisproperty."

  "But nobody like you, Bobby. I've brought you up to my methods. We'vegrown up together at this. You're just like a son to me." Welton'sround, red face was puckered to a wistful and comically pathetic twist,as he looked across at the serious manly young fellow.

  Bob looked away. "That's just what makes it hard," he managed to say atlast; "I'd like to go on with you. We've gotten on famously. But Ican't. This isn't my work."

  Welton laboured in vain to induce him to change his mind. Several timeshe considered telling Bob the truth--that all this timber belongedreally to Jack Orde, Bob's father, and that his, Welton's interest in itwas merely that of the active partner in the industry. But this hisfriend had expressly forbidden. Welton ended by saying nothing about it.He resolved first to write Orde.

  "You might tell me what this new job is, though," he said at last, inapparent acquiescence.

  Bob hesitated. "You won't understand; and I won't be able to make youunderstand," he said. "I'm going to enter the Forest Service!"

  "What!" cried Welton, in blank astonishment. "What's that?"

  "I've about decided to take service as a ranger," stated Bob, his faceflushing.

  From that moment all Welton's anxiety seemed to vanish. It becameunbearably evident that he looked on all this as the romance of youth.Bob felt himself suddenly reduced, in the lumberman's eyes, to thestatus of the small boy who wants to be a cowboy, or a sailor, or anIndian fighter. Welton looked on him with an indulgent eye as on one whowould soon get enough of it. The glamour--whatever it was--would soonwear off; and then Bob, his fling over, would return to sober, realbusiness once more. All Welton's joviality returned. From time to timehe would throw a facetious remark in Bob's direction, when, in thecourse of the day's work, he happened to pass.

  "It's sure going to be fine to wear a real tin star and be an officer!"

  Or:

  "Bob, it sure will seem scrumptious to ride out and boss the wholecountry--on ninety a month. Guess I'll join you."

  Or:

  "You going to make me sweep up my slashings, or will a rake do, Mr.Ranger?"

  To these feeble jests Bob always replied good-naturedly. He did notattempt to improve Welton's conception of his purposes. That must comewith time. To his father, however, he wrote at great length; trying hisbest to explain the situation. Mr. Orde replied that a governmentposition was always honourable; but confessed himself disappointed thathis son had not more steadfastness of purpose. Welton received a replyto his own letter by the same mail.

  "I shouldn't tell him anything," it read. "Let him go be a ranger, or acowboy, or anything else he wants. He's still young. I didn't get mystart until I was thirty; and the business is big enough to wait forhim. You keep pegging along, and when he gets enough, he'll come back.He's apparently got some notions of serving the public, and doing goodin the world, and all that. We all get it at his age. By and by he'llfind out that tending to his business honestly is about one man's job."

  So, without active opposition, and with only tacit disapproval, Bob madehis change. Nor was he received at headquarters with any blare oftrumpets.

  "I'll put you on as 'temporary' until the fall examinations," saidThorne, "and you can try it out. Rangering is hard work--all kinds ofhard work. It isn't just riding around, you know. You'll have to makegood. You can bunk up with Pollock at the upper cabin. Report to-morrowmorning with him."

  Amy smiled at him brightly.

  "Don't let him scare you," said she. "He thinks it looks official to bean awful bear!"

  California John met him as he rode out the gate. He reached out hisgnarled old hand.

  "Son, we'll get him to send us sometime to Jack Main's Canon," said he.

  Bob, who had been feeling the least shade depressed, rode on, his headhigh. Before him lay the great mysterious country where had penetratedonly the Pioneers! Another century would build therein the structuresof its institutions. Now, like Jack Main's Canon, the far country of newthings was to be the field of his enterprise. In the future, when thenew generations had come, these things would all be ordered and secure,would be systematized, their value conceded, their acceptance a matterof course. All problems would be regulated; all difficulties smoothedaway; all opposition overcome. Then the officers and rangers of thatpeaceful and organized service, then the public--accepting such thingsas they accept all self-evident truths--would look back on thesebeginnings as men look back on romance. They would recall the time when,like knights errant, armed men rode abroad on horses through awilderness, lying down under the stars, living hard, dwelling lowly inpoverty, accomplishing with small means, striving mightily, combatingthe great elemental nature and the powers of darkness in men, enduringpatiently, suffering contempt and misunderstanding and enmity in orderthat the inheritance of the people yet to come might be assured. He wasone of them; he had the privilege. Suddenly his spirit felt freed. Hisold life receded swiftly. A new glory and uplift of soul swept him fromhis old moorings.

  PART FIVE