When Frank Calkins came as a rookie game warden to his assignment in northeastern Utah, he arrived in a pickup truck -- with a weathered horse van, a sense of humor, and a naturalist's conscience in tow. This is the story of his generous, good, tough life as a game protector, learning to know the hazards, the rewards, the ways of the Rocky Mountain wilderness. "I believed that all a Westerner needed to get on in life was a horse, a dog, a razor, and a rifle. ... I had all the prerequisite equipment save the dog," is the way Calkins describes his beginnings in the Service. But, as his wonderfully alive book makes clear, he had other prerequisites as well -- a passion for the out-of-doors, an affection for people and animals, and, in a profound sense, the instincts of the conservationist; and while he had no use for the game-hog, his sense of humor kept him on good terms with sportsmen. Having the good fortune to be assigned to an area formerly the exclusive domain of one Fat Gardiner, he learned the hard way from that tough and knowledgeable paragon of game wardens, on a Rocky Mountain beat that was measured in hundreds of square miles, many of them standing on end. Here Calkins little by little acquired the arts and techniques of his profession -- including the savvy to outsmart poachers, professional and occasional (who are apt to know their own country like the backs of their hands). But a warden's life is as much concerned with the general game protection -- to say nothing of people protection! -- as with the pursuit of lawbreakers, and he found himself becoming an amateur veterinarian, a shepherd for lost fawns (and for two-weeks-a-year hunters), and a keen naturalist, as well as a census-taker. And he became the kind of game-law enforcer who never forgets that he too was once a small boy with a rod and gun.