pockets that he might light his pipe; which was a sign that he was
nearly ready to treat the girl kindly. "If you object to smoke--" and
he waved one hand significantly toward the open door.

"All the time--all by yourself. And you don't want to be canned,
either." With the pointer Marion drew aimless little invisible volutes
upon the map, connecting the two spruce cones with an imaginary scroll
design. "How touching!" she said enigmatically.

"Sure, you're heart-broken over the pathos of it. I can see that. You
ought to put in about a week here--that's all I've got to say."

"Think I couldn't?" She looked across at him queerly.

"You wouldn't dare go any farther away than the spring. You'd have to
stay right here on this peak every minute of the twenty-four hours.
They call up at all kinds of ungodly times, just to see if you're on
the job, if they think you're snitching. They'd catch you gone
sometime--you couldn't get by with it--and then--"

"The can," finished Miss Marion gravely. "But what I want to know is,
what have you done?"

"Done?" Jack's jaw dropped slack away from the pipestem. "What yuh
mean, done?"

"Yes. What have you done that they should put you up here and make you
stay up here? It sounds--"

"Now, even a tourist knows that this is a Forest Service lookout