lay around and fish and recuperate – if I can.”
“You can – you will. You can’t help it,” the other assured him. “Join one of our surveying crews for a week and I’ll mellow that suit of yours and make a real mountaineer of you. I see you wear a Sigma Chi pin. What was your school?”
“I am a ‘Son of Eli.’ Last year’s class.”
The other man displayed his fob. “I’m ten classes ahead of you. My name is Nash. I’m what they call an ‘expert.’ I’m up here doing some estimating and surveying for a big ditch they’re putting in. I was rather in hopes you had come to join our ranks. We sons of Eli are holding the conservation fort these days, and we need help.”
“My knowledge of your work is rather vague,” admitted Norcross. “My father is in the lumber business; but his point of view isn’t exactly yours.”
“He slays ’em, does he?”
“He did. He helped devastate Michigan.”
“After me the deluge! I know the kind. Why not make yourself a sort of vicarious atonement?”
Norcross smiled. “I had not thought of that. It would help some, wouldn’t it?”
“It certainly would. There’s no great money in the work; but it’s about the most enlightened of all the governmental bureaus.”
Norcross was strongly drawn to this forester, whose tone was that of a highly trained specialist. “I rode up on the stage yesterday with Miss Berrie McFarlane.”
“The Supervisor’s daughter?”
“She seemed a fine Western type.”
“She’s not a type; she’s an individual. She hasn’t her like anywhere I’ve gone. She cuts a wide swath up here. Being an only child she’s both son and daughter to McFarlane. She knows more about forestry than her father. In fact, half the time he depends on her judgment.”
Norcross was interested, but did not want to take up valuable time. He said: “Will you let me use your telephone to Meeker’s?”
“Very sorry, but our line is out of order. You’ll have to wait a day or so – or use the mails. You’re too late for to-day’s stage, but it’s only a short ride across. Come outside and I’ll show you.”
Norcross followed him to the walk, and stood in silence while his guide indicated the pass over the range. It all looked very formidable to the Eastern youth. Thunderous clouds hung low upon the peaks, and the great crags to left and right of the notch were stern and barren. “I think I’ll wait for the stage,” he said, with candid weakness. “I couldn’t make that trip alone.”
“You’ll have to take many such a ride over that range in the night– if you join the service,” Nash warningly replied.
As they were standing there a girl came galloping up to the hitching-post and slid from her horse. It was Berea McFarlane. “Good morning, Emery,” she called to the surveyor. “Good morning,” she nodded at Norcross. “How do you find yourself this morning?”
“Homesick,” he replied, smilingly.
“Why so?”
“I’m disappointed in the town.”
“What’s the matter with the town?”
“It’s so commonplace. I expected it to be – well, different. It’s just like any other plains town.”
Berrie looked round at the forlorn shops, the irregular sidewalks, the grassless yards. “It isn’t very pretty, that’s a fact; but you can always forget it by just looking up at the high country. When you going up to the mill?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had any word from Meeker, and I can’t reach him by telephone.”
“I know, the line is short-circuited somewhere; but they’ve sent a man out. He may close it any minute.”
“Where’s the Supervisor?” asked Nash.
“He’s gone over to Moore’s cutting. How are you getting on with those plats?”
“Very well. I’ll have ’em all in shape by Saturday.”
“Come in and make yourself at home,” said the girl to Norcross. “You’ll find the papers two or three days old,” she smiled. “We never know about anything here till other people have forgotten it.”
Norcross followed her into the office, curious to know more about her. She was so changed from his previous conception of her that he was puzzled. She had the directness and the brevity of phrase of a business man, as she opened letters and discussed their contents with the men.
“Truly she is different,” thought Norcross, and yet she lost something by reason of the display of her proficiency as a clerk. “I wish she would leave business to some one else,” he inwardly grumbled as he rose to go.
She looked up from her desk. “Come in again later. We may be able to reach the mill.”
He thanked her and went back to his hotel, where he overhauled his outfit and wrote some letters. His disgust of the town was lessened by the presence of that handsome girl, and the hope that he might see her at luncheon made him impatient of the clock.
She did not appear in the dining-room, and when Norcross inquired of Nash whether she took her meals at the hotel or not, the expert replied: “No, she goes home. The ranch is only a few miles down the valley. Occasionally we invite her, but she don’t think much of the cooking.”
One of the young surveyors put in a word: “I shouldn’t think she would. I’d ride ten miles any time to eat one of Mrs. McFarlane’s dinners.”
“Yes,” agreed Nash with a reflective look in his eyes. “She’s a mighty fine girl, and I join the boys in wishing her better luck than marrying Cliff Belden.”
“Is it settled that way?” asked Norcross.
“Yes; the Supervisor warned us all, but even he never has any good words for Belden. He’s a surly cuss, and violently opposed to the service. His brother is one of the proprietors of the Meeker mill, and they have all tried to bulldoze Landon, our ranger over there. By the way, you’ll like Landon. He’s a Harvard man, and a good ranger. His shack is only a half-mile from Meeker’s house. It’s a pretty well-known fact that Alec Belden is part proprietor of a saloon over there that worries the Supervisor worse than anything. Cliff swears he’s not connected with it; but he’s more or less sympathetic with the crowd.”
Norcross, already deeply interested in the present and future of a girl whom he had met for the first time only the day before, was quite ready to give up his trip to Meeker. After the men went back to work he wandered about the town for an hour or two, and then dropped in at the office to inquire if the telephone line had been repaired.
“No, it’s still dead.”
“Did Miss McFarlane return?”
“No. She said she had work to do at home. This is ironing-day, I believe.”
“She plays all the parts, don’t she?”
“She
