The Young Lion Hunter | Page 3

to clean out the cougars. The critters are thick as hops back on
the north rim, and we've got a lively summer ahead of us."
"Sounds great," replied Ken. "Say, what do you mean by north rim?"
"It's the north rim of the Ca–on--Grand Ca–on--and the wildest,
ruggedest country on earth."
"Oh yes, I forgot that Coconina takes in the Ca–on. Will we get to see
much of it?"
"Ken, in a month from now you'll be sick of climbing out of that awful

gash."
For answer Ken smiled his doubts. Then, leaving Jim and Hal, who
appeared to be getting on a friendly footing, I took Ken over to the
office of Mr. Birch, the Supervisor of Coconina Forest Preserve. As a
matter of fact, this rather superior person had always jarred on me. He
was inclined to be arrogant, and few of the rangers liked him. I had to
get along with him, for being head ranger, it was policy for me to keep
a civil tongue in my head. When I introduced Ken and stated my desire
to sign him in as my helper the Supervisor looked rebellious and said I
had all the helpers I needed.
"Who is this fellow anyhow, Leslie?" he demanded. "I'm not going to
have any of your Eastern friends chasing around the preserve, setting
fires and killing deer. This idea of yours about a helper is only a bluff. I
don't sign any more rangers. Understand?"
I bit my tongue to keep from loosing it, and while I was trying to think
what was best to do Ken stepped forward.
"Mr. Supervisor," he said, blandly, "I've only come out to have a little
vacation and get some practical ideas on forestry. Please be good
enough to look at my credentials."
Ken handed over letters with the Washington seal stamped on them,
and Birch stared. What was more when he had read the letters his
manner changed very considerably, and he even looked at me with a
shade of surprise.
"Oh--yes--Mr. Ward, that'll be all right. You see--I--I only--I've got to
be particular about rangers and all that. Now anything I can do for you
I'll be glad to do."
Ken's letters must have been pretty strong, and I was secretly pleased to
see old Birch taken down a bit. The upshot of the matter was that Ken
got a free hand in Coconina, to roam where he liked, and spend what
time he wished with the rangers on duty. We left the office highly
pleased.

"We'll go over to the corral now and look over some mustangs," I said.
From Ken's face I knew his thoughts reverted once more to the mustang
which had trotted its way into his heart. But I said nothing. I wanted his
surprise to be complete. Jim and Hal joined us, and together we walked
down the street. Kanab was only a hamlet of a few stores, a church, a
school, and cottages. My lodgings were at a cottage just at the end of
the street, and here, back of a barn, was the corral. When we turned a
corner of the barn there was a black mustang, all glossy as silk, with
long mane flying and shiny hoofs lifting as he pranced around. He
certainly looked proud. That, I felt sure, was because of the thorough
currying and brushing I had given him.
Ken stopped stock-still and his eyes began to bulge. As for the mustang,
he actually tried to climb over the bars. He knew Ken before Ken knew
him.
"Oh! Dick Leslie!" exclaimed Ken.
Then, placing both hands on the top bar, with one splendid vault he
cleared the gate.

CHAPTER II
- WINGS
It did me good to see the way Ken Ward hugged that little black
mustang. Somehow a ranger gets to have a warm feeling for a horse.
Now, Ken's mustang remembered him, or if he did not he surely was a
most deceitful bit of horse-flesh.
"He's fine and fat--in great shape," said Ken, rubbing his hands all over
the mustang. "He hasn't been worked much."
"Been down on our winter range for six months," I replied. "I had him
brought in this morning, and after the blacksmith clipped and shod him

I took a hand myself."
"Ken, I want a mustang," sang out Hal.
He sat on the top of the corral fence, absorbed in the appearance and
action of Ken's mount.
"Now, Kid, keep your shirt on," said Ken. "You'll get one. It's just half
an hour since you arrived."
"That's long enough. Do you think I'm going to stand around here and
watch you have a pony like that and not have one myself?"
"It's a mustang, not a pony," said Ken.
Purcell, the owner of the cottage