A moment or two later he was again advised to turn in, and again Wilbur
persisted that he would finish the letter first. There was a short
pause.
"Son," said Rifle-Eye, "what do you suppose you are ridin' from point to
point of the forest for?"
"To see if there's any sign of fire," said the boy.
"And you've got to look pretty closely through those glasses o' yours,
don't you?"
The boy admitted that they were a little dazzling and that he had to
look all he knew how.
"Then, if you make your eyes heavy and tired for the next mornin',
you're robbin' the Service of what they got you for--your eyesight,
ain't you? I ain't forcin' you, noways. I'm only showin' you what's the
square thing."
Wilbur put forward his chin obstinately, then, thinking of the kindness
he had received from the Ranger all the way through, and realizing that
he was in the right, said:
"All right, Rifle-Eye, I'll turn in."
About half an hour later, just as the old woodsman stretched himself on
his pile of boughs outside the tent, he heard the boy mutter:
"I hope I'll never have to live anywhere but here."
The following day and the next were similar in many ways to the first.
Wilbur and the Ranger rode the various trails, the boy learning the
landmarks by which he might make sure that he was going right, and
making acquaintance with the few settlers who lived in his portion of
the forest.
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