California John listened in silence.
"I won't take sides," said he; "settle it for yourselves. _I'd just as
soon make enemies of both of you as of one_."
Then in the middle of summer came the trial of it all. The Service sent
notice that, beginning the following season, a grazing tax would be
charged, and it requested the Supervisor to send in his estimate of
grazing allotments. California John sat him down at his typewriter and
made out the required list. Simeon Wright's name did not appear therein.
In due time somebody wanted, officially, to know why not. California
John told them, clearly, giving the reasons that the range was
overstocked, and quoting the regulations as to preference being given to
the small owner dwelling in or near the Forests. He did this just as a
good carpenter might finish the under side of a drain; not that it would
do any good, but for his own satisfaction.
"We will now listen to the roar of the lion," he told Ross Fletcher,
"after which I'll hand over my scalp to save 'em the trouble of
sharpening up their knives."
As a matter of fact the lion did roar, but no faintest echo reached the
Sierras.
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