CHAPTER 6THE POACHER STRIKES
By the first of April the last of the snow had gone from a soggy, dripping land. At noon the mail truck came churning down the road, a lane of mud that only the most expert of drivers could navigate, and stopped to leave a letter in the tin mail box in front of the Ranger’s headquarters. A couple of Pine Hillers picked their way from the store across the road as John came out to get the letter, and stood interestedly by while he read it.
“The forestry department’s issuing me two hundred and fifty thousand pine seedlings,” John announced. “That’ll mean a tree-planting crew and a chance for you fellows to earn some wages.”
He spent the rest of the day digging a row of holes in a shaded part of his back yard, and early the next morning started up an unused logg
