The ranger shook hands warmly with his young friends. "I see you have kept
the forest safe so far," he said with a smile. "How have things been
going?"

"All right," replied Charley, "but we met a couple of men an hour or so
ago, whose looks we didn't like."

"How's that? What did they do that you didn't like?"

"Well, they were smoking and they were careless with their cigars. Since
we met them I've been expecting to see a smoke column rising every time I
turned around; and I'd hate to tell you how many times I've looked back in
the last hour."

"It never hurts a man in the forest to look back," said Mr. Morton with
another smile. "Lot's wife is the only person on record who came to grief
that way. But seriously, you mustn't get nervous just because you see a
smoker. You'll meet hundreds of them, and they're all pretty careless."

Charley flushed a little. "You don't understand, Mr. Morton," he went on.
"I wasn't nervous--that is, I didn't--I mean, it wasn't the mere fact that
the men were smoking that made me feel anxious. I didn't like the looks of
the men or their actions."

"What did they do?"

"Well, they swore at us."

The ranger laughed. "That's a habit of these mountaineers," he said. "You
mustn't pay any attention to it. They don't mean anything by it."