Jim’s Test

Jim's Test By Elsie C. Carroll "Of course you realize what your position means?" the supervisor said, looking searchingly into Jim's face. "You are not merely an employee of the government; you are also an officer of the law." Jim nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I understand." "You may have had the idea," the forest supervisor con- tinued, "that your chief duty as ranger would be to guard the forest from fires. But in this district at the present time, that seems to be the least of our worries. The game preserve gives us a little work and trouble; but our biggest problem here just now is with the sheep and cattlemen. Perhaps you know as well as I how these men who have been running their herds over the whole of creation for so long, feel about the new re- striction. They look upon the forest service as their natural enemy and we've been having considerable trouble as you may guess. The trouble would be easily done away with if I could get loyal men into the service. Too many of them are in sym- pathy with the sheep and cattle men, and will not report condi- tions as they should. I'd much prefer to take local men into the service if I can get them, because they understand condi- t'ons and could be much more valuable than strangers. But there's my trouble. You understand why Judsen was fired, I suppose? I discovered that he was permitting over two thou- sand head or more cattle on his district than should be there. It was because old man Jarvis was a special friend I suppose, and he let his sympathies shut out his sense of duty." "I think you can trust me, sir," Jim said gravely. "I hope so, my lad. I'm in sore need of men who can be trusted." His appointment as forest ranger seemed a big thing to Jim Sanford. Since he was seventeen he had helped in his father's store, but he had never liked the work. He had al- ways envied the cow-puncher, and sheepherder — anyone whose life was lived in the great out-of-doors. On his twenty-first birthday his father had talked with him about his future and learning for the first time the boy's dislike for indoor work, he had set him free to try to find em- ployment that appealed to him. About that time, Jim had seen a notice of a Forest Service examination. He had taken it, passed, and now had received his appointment.

2i IMPROVEMENT ERA "]Niml\ dollars a month!1 That seemed a wonderful sal- .11 \ to Jim. He bad never drawn a regular salary at the store. "Ninety dollars!' He knew that at one time in his father's life he had clerked for thirty-five. He threw hack his head and held his shoulders high as he left the forest office and swung down the street. He would run in and tell Mae the good news, then he must hurry home and get ready. He was to go to his district that very afternoon with the supervisor. "It is perfectly splendid!" Mae had declared enthusiasti- cally, when he had reported. "Of course I knew you'd get it, though. Which is your range?" "Tin to have the Lone Spring District." "Good, good! Why, Jim that is where Dad is going to have his sheep this summer. He got his permits today. They'll be moving the sheep out next week, and what do you think, Dad says if I can coax Aunt Sarah to go, that I may go out and stay as long as I want to. He'll have the old cabin at the saw mill fixed up for us. You know how crazy I am about the mountain — just like you have always been." Jim's face beamed. He and Mae had been chums ever since they were little tots in the beginners' grade at school. Of late Jim was becoming aware of a change in his attitude to- v ard the girl, which made him both happy and miserable. Mr. Mathison, Mae's father, was one of the biggest sheep men in the county. Jim had always felt just a little in awe of him, and the prospect of him on his range was only outbalanced by the thought that it would bring Mae to the mountain and that he could sometimes see her. All the way out to the mountain that afternoon, as they passed from the familiar dusty roads of the towns, out over the desert, then up, up into the cool green of the great Kiabab. Jim's pulses thrilled with joyous wonder at the greatness of i Kit ure about him. The two men talked little; each seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. But as they left the towns farther and farther behind, Jim noticed a relaxation in his chief's worried countenance. It only returned when they drew near the Big Gulch Station where they stopped for supper. Sam Walker had charge of the Big Gulch Range. Sam had been a ranger for fifteen years and Jim had heard that he had no use for the new supervisor. Jim could guess why. Mr. Norton was not of the go-easy type Mr. Davis, his predecessor had been. Under old man Davis' regime it had been popularly understood that about all that was required of forest rangers was that they draw their checks once a month. "Well, Walker, how's everything?" the supervisor inquired as he brought in the supplies Sam had sent for.

JIM'S TEST 25 "All right," Sam grunted as he busied himself a little grudgingly at preparing supper for his guests. "Any more suspicious looking gamesters?" the chief con- tinued. "Nope." "Has Barclay come up with his sheep yet?" "Yes. Saturday." Jim couldn't help noticing Sam's curt replies. "I suppose he had only his allotted number?" "Said he had." Jim saw the lips of the supervisor tighten, but he asked no more questions. They were soon riding on towards Jim's destination. The ranger's cabin Jim was to have for his headquarters stood in a small ravine once densely clad with firs. A few years before, however, a large clearing had been made when Bill Preston had been ranger on that district. Bill had had his family out there for several summers and had raised a garden. Jim could see the garden plot behind the cabin as they rode into the clearing. Some volunteer potatoes were already show- ing green on the red-brown surface. It made the place seem more homelike. "You have the nicest location on the whole forest," ob- served the supervisor. "You've been here before I suppose?" "Yes, I've been on the mountain several times — to the Grand Canyon you know, and a few years ago I spent three weeks out here with my cousin — riding the range for cattle. I like the mountain better than any thing I know. There's something about the place like this that's different to town. It's so — big and free — and — " "I know just how you feel, lad," returned Mr. Norton ap- preciatively. "That's one reason I made this the choice in my profession. It sort of gets hold of a fellow — God's great out- of-doors — and makes him want to be big and great himself. At least that is the way it affects me. It makes me feel that I have to be straight — but — well it doesn't seem to work on every one that way." Jim noticed that stern worried look again creep into Mr. Norton's face. That evening by the light of a coal-oil lamp, the two went over the maps of the range together and Jim's duties were ex- plicitly outlined for him. The next morning they arose as soon as it was light and rode over the boundaries of the section. About nine o'clock they returned to the cabin and had break- fast, then the supervisor bade Jim goodby and rode away. Jim's work was the kind that he had always longed for. Every day he was to ride eight hours looking over some part of the range. Each day except Sunday he was to ascend the observation tower located a couple of miles from the station

26 IMPROVEMENT ERA to look out for possible fires. Then there were his reports to make— the iuimher of cattle and sheep in his district to be kept, the condition of the feed, the timber and so on. A ranger's life is not a lonely one, as might be supposed. Scarcely a day passes that someone does not come to the sta- tion a neighboring ranger, a bunch of cow-punchers, a sheep- herder, or camp-rustler or, on the Kiabab Forest at least, a crowd of tourists on their way to the Grand Canyon. A few days after Jim had become located, he returned from his circuit one afternoon to find Tom Parkin of the Blue Ridge range, in the cabin preparing supper. "Hello, Jim," greeted the guest. "Heard you were here, so thought I'd drop in and surprise you. How do you like your job?" "Fine! It's just what I've always wanted." "Oh, you'll change your tune before long. Wait till old Norton gets to nosing around. I'm about ready to throw up the sponge and so are most of the other fellows that he hasn't fired." "Why, I like Mr. Norton first class what I've seen of him," observed Jim. "What's the matter anyway, Tom?" "Matter? Why, he thinks he owns this whole Kiabab him- self and that the people who have lived around here always and felt that this mountain belonged to them, aren't fit to wipe his feet on. Did you hear about his firing Sam Walker the other day? Why, old Sam's been on this job ever since the forest was first made a National Reserve. He knows the moun- tain from a to izzard. Anyone but a bone-head would know he was a man worth keeping." "What did he fire Sam for?" "I've heard different reports. Likely as not, just because he could smell a little jerky somewheres around." "Well, Sam must have broken the law in some way." "Damn the law!" There's plenty of game and there's plenty of feed : ten times more of both than there's any need of re- serving. Old Norton just wants to show his authority. They've never had any trouble before over a few deer or a few more than the assigned number of cattle and sheep being brought up." "I believe Mr. Norton only wants to do his duty; but he finds it pretty hard when his men feel like most of you seem to. I like him and I feel mighty sorry for him." "That sounds fine, sonny, stick up for the boss and maybe you'll get a plum when promotion day comes. But you'll have a different story when you've been out a few months. By the way, Mae Mathison's Dad is on your range, isn't he? Now just suppose old man Mathison should bring up a few hundred

JIM'S TEST 27 head more sheep than his permit specified — they all do it you know, or always have done it. Now just what would you do?" "I'd do my duty, of course," Jim said doggedly, but his face flushed and Tom saw that he had touched a sensitive chord. "Oh well, I don't want to quarrel," laughed Tom. "I came over to hear about town. Come on; supper is ready. We can eat and talk at the same time." A few days later the supervisor sent Jim a copy of Mr. Mathison's permit and told him they would bring the sheep onto the reserve Friday afternoon and that he should be on the northeast corner of the Mathison district to count them in. This news set Jim in a happy mood, for he remembered Mae's half- promise to come to the mountain when they brought up the sheep. He spent the intervening days cleaning up his cabin and premises when he was off duty. One evening he rode over to the saw-mill site and found that there had been some fixing up of the cabin, so his hopes were higher still. On Friday as he rode toward the receiving point, he was thinking of Mae rather than of the new duty awaiting him. Strangely enough Tom Parkins' disconcerting words did not once occur to him. Soon after Jim's arrival, he heard the bleating of the approaching herd as they came nearer over the timbered ridges. Presently the head of the herd came in sight and he rode out to help round them in. Alex Drew, Mr. Mathison's herder, and Hal Blake, his camp-rustler, were both with the sheep. "Hello, Jim," called Hal as the ranger drew nearer. "I guess you got our permits all right? Don't suppose you'll bother to count, will you. They're about all in and so are we. Mr. Mathison is anxious for us to get over to our first camp- ing ground tonight." Jim looked blankly at the speaker. "Why, of course we'll have to count them, Hal. That's what I'm here for." "Ah, you're a new hand, Jim. They never bother to count. I've brought this herd up for the last four years and they've never been run through yet." Jim's shoulders straightened. "I'm sorry to disappoint vou, Hal, but they'll have to be counted today. Where's Mr. Mathison?" "He's back with the sheep wagon," grunted Hal, after relieving his feelings with an oath. Then with a sudden hope he added: "By the way, you may be interested to know that his daughter and sister are along." He gave Alex a wise wink and they both grinned at Jim's discomfiture. "Maybe that will change your mind about the count." "Not in the least," said Jim with dignity. "I don't doubt that it is unnecessary to count, but that is part of my work."

28 IMI'KnYEMENT ERA Other sheep men might "fudge" on the government, but he COuldn'l tli ink it <>f Mac's father. "Well, you won't be so keen after the work when you've been on a while," observed Hal disgustedly, as he turned to steer in tbe herd. Tbe sheep were run through as rapidly as possible and to Jim's surprise and dismay there were two hundred and fifty head more than specified. He looked at the permit to see if be had not been mistaken in the number; but no. Not until tbeu did be remember Tom Parkins' intimation, and his face became troubled. "Well, run these extras back a little way, then you fellows can take the herd on," he said at last. His companions had not seemed to be aware that anything was wrong. "You're not going to hold us up on a measly little fudge like that, are you?" asked Hal with an oath. "You may take your allotted number onto the reserve but not another one," replied Jim, grimly. "I'll ride back and see Mr. Mathison. He dreaded that interview more than any- thing he had ever had to do before. If it were anyone in the world but Mae's father, and if Mae had only not come. All the joyous anticipation of the hours before suddenly vanished. He rode on to his fate it seemed, in utter misery. But after a while other thoughts came into his mind. Two hundred and fifty sheep were not many, as Hal had suggested. And there was plenty of feed. He felt sure that Mr. Norton would take his word on the count. Ever since that day they had come out together there had been a sort of sympathy be- tween them. Why say anything about it? He had just reached the top of Pine Ridge. Before him the forest stretched in great cool, green waves, and the sun in the west made the red-brown cliffs of the mountain glow with resplendent hue. Jim felt that he would never cease to be thrilled by such scenes. He caught his breath now and drew in his reins until his horse was barely moving. Every new aspect of the mountain was a new miracle to him. He almost worshiped this great silent grandeur. That was the bond of fellowship between himself and his chief. Mr. Norton's grave troubled face seemed to rise before him now and he recalled the words of that other day when they had viewed a scene like this together: "It sort of gets hold of a fellow — God's great out-of-doors and makes him want to be big and great himself. It makes me feel that I have to be — straight." Jim flushed as he recalled the thoughts which had just been passing through his mind. A change came over him. No! He must do his duty no matter what Mr. Mathison thought — no matter what Mae thought of him. Just then he caught a red gleam in the road ahead. It was