Here he turned through the picket gate,
and thundered on the door.
It was almost immediately opened by a meek-looking woman of thirty.
"Plant in?" demanded Welton.
The meek woman had no opportunity to reply.
"Sure! Sure! Come in!" roared the Supervisor's great voice.
They entered to find the fat man, his coat off, leaning luxuriously back
in an office chair, his feet up on another, a cigar in his mouth. He
waved a hospitable hand.
"Sit down! Sit down!" he wheezed. "Glad to see you."
"They tell me there's a fire over in the Stone Creek country," said
Welton.
"So it's reported," said Plant comfortably. "I've sent a man over
already to investigate."
"That timber adjoins ours," went on Welton. "Sending one ranger to
investigate don't seem to help the old man a great deal."
"Oh, it may not amount to much," disclaimed Plant vaguely.
"But if it does amount to much, it'll be getting one devil of a start,"
persisted Welton. "Why don't you send over enough men to give it a
fight?"
"Haven't got 'em," replied Plant briefly.
"There's three playing poker now, down in the first saloon," broke in
Bob.
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