Lee Kirby was on duty at the US Forest Service office in Safford. It was a slow day, as most were, and Kirby was talking with T. T. Swift, who was off duty but hanging around the office because he could think of nothing else to do that held any interest. Both men turned their attention to the man who had just barged through the door.

“Forest land is government land, right?”

“I beg your pardon?” Kirby asked.

“Forest Service land is public land, ain't it? It belongs to all the people, and anyone can graze cattle on Forest Service land, ain't that right?”

“Well, pretty much,” Kirby said. He picked up a ponderosa pinecone that was sitting on his desk for no reason he could remember.

“‘Pretty much’ my ass. Belongs to everyone.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Kirby asked. His interlocutor was a rangy kid, light hair and eyes and a look more serious than you'd expect from a kid. “You're one of the Powers boys, right?” Kirby turned the pinecone over as if it might have some answer.

“Thomas Power. And I'd like an answer to my question.”

“Most of the land is open range, yes. There are places that are closed for one reason or another and some private leases. But most of it's open.”

“Aravaipa Canyon. That open?”

“That's open if you want to run cattle there. It's some rough country.”

“My family, we're running cattle there, and there are some others, too. They's the ones doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Running off our cattle, chasing them all to hell and back. That ain't right. That ain't what the federal reserve is for. What are you going to do about it?”

Kirby looked over at Swift, who raised his eyebrows and turned the corners of his mouth down in a look of mock consternation. Mostly, it was a look that said, “You got yourself a dandy here.”

“I need to know.”

“Do you know who's running off your cattle?”

“The others that are grazing herds in Aravaipa. They act that it's theirs, and it ain't. It's everybody's land, and they got no rights to be running our cows off. We got to go down there a couple of times a week and round up our cattle, which are scattered all over hell and back, just because the others think they got a right to the grass and water, which they don't.”

“No. They do have a right to the grass and water. Same as you.”

“That's what I'm saying, only it ain't no ‘same as.’ It's ‘mine and mine alone,’ and that ain't right. Can you buy land in Aravaipa? Can you lease it?”

Kirby shook his head. “No. You can't buy or lease it. It's federal land, and it's open for grazing.”

“Which is what I was saying. Now what are you going to do about it?”

Kirby picked up the pinecone again. “Not sure. I'll look into it, though.”