Then they
softened. California John laid his hand on the preacher's shoulder.
"Don't get discouraged," said he; "don't do it. The God of Justice still
rules. I've just had some news that proves it."
XXIV
From this moment the old man held his head high, and went about the work
with confidence. He built trails where trails had long been needed; he
regulated the grazing; he fought fire so successfully that his burned
area dropped that year from two per cent. to one-half of one per cent.;
he adjusted minor cases of special use and privilege justly. Constantly
he rode his district on the business of his beloved Forest. His
beautiful sorrel, Star, with his silver-mounted caparisons, was a
familiar figure on all the trails. When a man wanted his first Special
Privilege, he wrote the Supervisor. The affair was quite apt to bungle.
Then California John saw that man personally. After that there was no
more trouble. The countryside dug up the rest of California John's name,
and conferred on him the dignity of it. John had heard it scarcely at
all for over thirty years. Now he rather liked the sound of "Supervisor
Davidson.
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