On the next day early in the afternoon father appeared on the river road.
"There he is," cried Hal. "He's driving Billy. How he's coming"
Billy was father's fastest horse. It pleased me immensely to see the pace,
for father would not have been driving fast unless he were in a
particularly good humor. And when he stopped on the bank above camp I could
have shouted. He wore his corduroys as if he were ready for outdoor life.
There was a smile on his face as he tied Billy, and, coming down, he poked
into everything in camp and asked innumerable questions. Hal talked about
the bass until I was afraid he would want to go fishing and postpone our
forestry tramp in the woods. But presently he spoke directly to me.
"Well, Kenneth, are you going to come out with the truth about that
Wild-West scheme of yours? Now that you've graduated you want a fling. You
want to ride mustangs, to see cowboys, to hunt and shoot--all that sort of
thing."
When father spoke in such a way it usually meant the defeat of my schemes.
I grew cold all over.
"Yes, father, I'd like all that-- But I mean business. I want to be a
forest ranger. Let me go to Arizona this summer. And in the fall I'd--I'd
like to go to a school of forestry."
There! the truth was out, and my feelings were divided between relief and
fear.
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