Every man in the service, I don’t care what his technical job is, should be schooled in taking care of himself in the forest and on the trail. I often meet surveyors and civil engineers—experts—who are helpless as children in camp, and when I want them to go into the hills and do field work, they are almost useless. The old-style ranger has his virtues. Settle is just the kind of instructor you young fellows need.”

Berrie also had keen eyes for his outfit and his training, and under her direction he learned to pack a horse, set a tent, build a fire in the rain, and other duties.

“You want to remember that you carry your bed and board with you,” she said, “and you must be prepared to camp anywhere and at any time.”

The girl’s skill in these particulars was marvelous to him, and added to the admiration he already felt for her. Her hand was as deft, as sure, as the best of them, and her knowledge of cayuse psychology more profound than any of the men excepting her father.

One day, toward the end of his second week in the village, the Supervisor said: “Well, now, if you’re ready to experiment I’ll send you over to Settle, the ranger, on the Horseshoe. He’s a little lame on his pen-hand side, and you may be able to help him out. Maybe I’ll ride over there with you. I want to line out some timber sales on the west side of Ptarmigan.”

This commission delighted Norcross greatly. “I’m ready, sir, this moment,” he answered, saluting soldier-wise.

That night, as he sat in the saddle-littered, boot-haunted front room of Nash’s little shack, his host said, quaintly: “Don’t think you are inheriting a soft snap, son. The ranger’s job was a man’s job in the old days when it was a mere matter of patrolling; but it’s worse and more of it to-day. A ranger must be ready and willing to build bridges, fight fire, scale logs, chop a hole through a windfall, use a pick in a ditch, build his own house, cook, launder, and do any other old trick that comes along. But you’ll know more about all this at the end of ten days than I can tell you in a year.”

“I’m eager for duty,” replied Wayland.

The next morning, as he rode down to the office to meet the Supervisor, he was surprised and delighted to find Berea there. “I’m riding, too,” she announced, delightedly. “I’ve never been over that new trail, and father has agreed to let me go along.” Then she added, earnestly: “I think it’s fine you’re going in for the Service; but it’s hard work, and you must be careful till you’re hardened to it. It’s a long way to a doctor from Settle’s station.”

He was annoyed as well as touched by her warning, for it proclaimed that he was still far from looking the brave forester he felt himself to be. He replied: “I’m not going to try anything wild, but I do intend to master the trailer’s craft.”

“I’ll teach you how to camp, if you’ll let me,” she continued. “I’ve been on lots of surveys with father, and I always take my share of the work. I threw that hitch alone.” She nodded toward the pack-horse, whose neat load gave evidence of her skill. “I told father this was to be a real camping expedition, and as the grouse season is on we’ll live on the country. Can you fish?”

“Just about that,” he laughed. “Good thing you didn’t ask me if I could catch fish?” He was recovering his spirits. “It will be great fun to have you as instructor in camp science. I seem to be in for all kinds of good luck.”

They both grew uneasy as time passed, for fear something or some one would intervene to prevent this trip, which grew in interest each moment; but at last the Supervisor came out and mounted his horse, the pack-ponies fell in behind, Berrie followed, and the student of woodcraft brought up to rear.

“I hope it won’t rain,” the girl called back at him, “at least not till we get over the divide. It’s a fine ride up the hill, and the foliage is at its best.”

It seemed to him the most glorious morning of his life. A few large white clouds were drifting like snow-laden war-vessels from west to east, silent and solemn, and on the highest peaks a gray vapor was lightly clinging. The near-by hills, still transcendently beautiful with the flaming gold of the aspen, burned against the dark green of the farther forest, and far beyond the deep purple of the shadowed slopes rose to smoky blue and tawny yellow. It was a season, an hour, to create raptures in a poet, so radiant, so wide-reaching, so tumultuous was the landscape. Nothing sad, nothing discouraging, showed itself. The wind was brisk, the air cool and clear, and jewel-like small, frost-painted vines and ripened shrubberies blazed upward from the ground. As he rode the youth silently repeated: “Beautiful! Beautiful!”

For several miles they rode upward through golden forests of aspens.