lawyer; and he goes ahead--"

"And doesn't pretend he's fooling the public by giving news, eh, Bat?
Brydges, if you argue that fashion, you must excuse me if I grin."

"Who's the old party talking to your road gang down by the white tent?"
asked Brydges, pointing where the Range sloped down to the Homestead
Settlement and a long canvass bunk house marked the domicile of the
road hands for the Forests.

"Oh, no, you don't get away from the argument so easily, Bat! You make
the Senator's job and your job and public service all round a bunco
game, a bunco game with marked cards; while we Service and Land fellows
act the decent sign for a blind pig--"

"Hullo, he's coming up," interrupted Brydges. "Seems your night for
deputations, Wayland! Looks like a parson! By George, I didn't know
Senator had his drag net out for parsons as dummy entrymen! Nothing
like imparting quality! By George, hanged if I know--he looks like a
peddler--has a pack horse--"

"Peddler o' th' Gospel, Son! Good eé-vening to you, Gentlemen."

The newcomer sang out greeting in a high thin falsetto that belied the
ruddy youth of shaven cheeks and accorded more with his masses of white
hair.

"Is this the Ranger place perched on top o' th' warld? Y'r workmen in
the white tent told me A'd find a short trail here-by t' th' next
Valley. 'Tis y'r Missionary Williams A'm seekin'; A thought if A'd