XVII. THE BACK-FIRE
Target pounded over the scaly ground and thundered into the hard trail.Then he stretched out. As we cleared the last obstructing pile of rocksI looked back. There was a vast wave of fire rolling up the canyon andspreading up the slopes. It was so close that I nearly fainted. Withboth hands knotted and stiff I clung to the pommel in a cold horror, andI looked back no more to see the flames reaching out for me. But I couldnot keep the dreadful roar from filling my ears, and it weakened me sothat I all but dropped from the saddle. Only an unconscious instinct tofight for life made me hold on.
Blue and white puffs of smoke swept by me. The trail was a dim, twistingline. The slopes and pines, merged in a mass, flew backward in brownsheets. Above the roar of the pursuing fire I heard the thunder ofTarget's hoofs. I scarcely felt him or the saddle, only a motion and thesplitting of the wind.
The fear of death by fire, which had almost robbed me of strength,passed from me. My brain cleared. Still I had no kind of hope, only adesperate resolve not to give up.
The great bay horse was running to save his life and to save mine. Itwas a race with fire. When I thought of the horse, and saw how fast hewas going, and realized that I must do my part, I was myself again.
The trail was a winding, hard-packed thread of white ground. It had beenmade for leisurely travel. Many turns were sudden and sharp. I loosenedthe reins, and cried out to Target. Evidently I had unknowingly held himin, for he lengthened out, and went on in quicker, longer leaps. Inthat moment riding seemed easy. I listened to the roar behind me, nowa little less deafening, and began to thrill. We were running away fromthe fire.
Hope made the race seem different. Something stirred and beat warmwithin me, driving out the chill in my marrow. I leaned over the neck ofthe great bay horse, and called to him and cheered him on. Then I sawhe was deaf and blind to me, for he was wild. He had the bit between histeeth, and was running away.
The roar behind us relentlessly pursuing, only a little less appalling,was now not my only source of peril. Target could no more be guidednor stopped than could the forest fire. The trail grew more winding andoverhung more thickly by pine branches. The horse did not swerve an inchfor tree or thicket, but ran as if free, and the saving of my life beganto be a matter of dodging. Once a crashing blow from a branch almostknocked me from the saddle. The wind in my ears half drowned the roarbehind me. With hands twisted in Target's mane I bent low, watching withkeen eyes for the trees and branches ahead. I drew up my knees andbent my body, and dodged and went down flat over the pommel like awild-riding Indian. Target kept that straining run for a longer distancethan I could judge. With the same breakneck speed he thundered on overlogs and little washes, through the thick, bordering bushes, and aroundthe sudden turns. His foam moistened my face and flecked my sleeves. Thewind came stinging into my face, the heavy roar followed at my back withits menace.
Swift and terrible as the forest fire was, Target was winning the race.I knew it. Steadily the roar softened, but it did not die away. Pound!pound! pound! The big bay charged up the trail. How long could he standthat killing pace? I began to talk soothingly to him, to pull on thebridle; but he might have been an avalanche for all he heeded. StillI kept at him, fighting him every moment that I was free from lowbranches. Gradually the strain began to tell.
The sight of a cabin brought back to my mind the meaning of the wildrace with fire. I had forgotten the prisoners. I had reached the forestglade and the cabin, but Target was still going hard. What if I couldnot stop him! Summoning all my strength, I quickly threw weight andmuscle back on the reins and snapped the bit out of his teeth. Thencoaxing, commanding, I pulled him back. In the glade were four horses,standing bunched with heads and ears up, uneasy, and beginning to befrightened. Perhaps the sight of them helped me to stop Target; atany rate, he slackened his pace and halted. He was spotted with foam,dripping wet, and his broad sides heaved.
I jumped off, stiff and cramped. I could scarcely walk. The air wasclear, though the fog of smoke overspread the sun. The wind blew strongwith a scent of pitch. Now that I was not riding, the roar of the firesounded close. I caught the same strange growl, the note of on-sweepingfury. Again the creepy cold went over me. I felt my face blanch, andthe skin tighten over my cheeks. I dashed into the cabin, crying: "Fire!Fire! Fire!"
"Whoop! It's the kid!" yelled Herky-Jerky.
He was lying near the door, red as a brick in the face, and pantinghard. In one cut I severed the rope on his feet; in another, that roundhis raw and bloody wrists. Herky had torn his flesh trying to releasehis hands.
"Kid, how'd you git back hyar?" he questioned, with his sharp littleeyes glinting on me. "Did the fire chase you? Whar's Leslie?"
"Buell fired the slash. Penetier is burning. Dick and Hiram sent me backto the pool below, and then didn't come. They got caught--oh!... I'mafraid--lost!... Then I remembered you fellows. The fire's coming--it'sawful--we must fly!"
"You thought of us?" Herky's voice sounded queer and strangled. "Bud!Bill! Did you hear thet? Wal, wal!"
While he muttered on I cut Bill's bonds. He rose without a word. Bud wasalmost unconscious. He had struggled terribly. His heels had dug a holein the hard clay floor; his wrists were skinned; his mouth and chincovered with earth, probably from his having bitten the ground inhis agony. Herky helped him up and gave him a drink from a littlepocket-flask.
"Herky, if you think you've rid some in your day, look at thet hoss,"said Bill, coolly, from the door. He eyed me coolly; in fact, he was ascool as if there were no fire on Penetier. But Bud was white and sick,and Herky flaming with excitement.
"We hain't got a chance. Listen! Thet roar! She's hummin'."
"It's runnin' up the draw. We don't stand no showdown in hyar. Grab ahoss now, an' we'll try to head acrost the ridge."
I remounted Target, and the three men caught horses and climbed upbareback. Bill led the way across the glade, up the slope, into thelevel forest. There we broke into a gallop. The air upon this higherground was dark and thick, but not so hard to breathe as that lowerdown. We pressed on. For a while the roar receded, and almost deadened.Then it grew clearer again' filled out, and swelled. Bud wanted to sheeroff to the left. Herky swore we were being surrounded. Bill turned adeaf ear to them. From my own sense of direction I fancied we were goingwrong, but Bill was so cool he gave me courage. Soon a blue, windy haze,shrouding the giant pines ahead, caused Bill to change his course.
"Do you know whar you're headin'?" yelled Herky, high above the roar.
"I hain't got the least idee, Herky," shouted Bill, as cool as could be,"but I guess somewhar whar it'll be hot!"
We were lost in the forest and almost surrounded by fire, if the roarwas anything to tell by. We galloped on, always governed by the roar,always avoiding the slope up the mountain. If we once started up thatwith the fire in our rear we were doomed. Perhaps there were times whenthe wind deceived us. It was hard to tell. Anyway, we kept on, growingmore bewildered. Bud looked like a dead man already and reeled inhis saddle. The horses were getting hard to manage, and the wind wasstrengthening and puffed at us from all quarters. Bill still lookedcool, but the last vestige of color had faded from his face. Thesethings boded ill. Herky had grown strangely silent, which fact was theworst of all for me. For that tough, scarred, reckless little wretch tohold his tongue was the last straw.
The air freshened somewhat, and the forest lightened. Almost abruptly werode out to the edge of a great, wide canyon. It must have crossed theforest at right angles to the canyon we had left. It was twice as wideand deep as any I had yet seen. In the bottom wound a broad brook.
"Which way now?" asked Herky.
Bill shook his head. Far to our right a pall of smoke moved over thetree-tops, to our left was foggy gloom, behind rolled the unceasingroar. We all looked straight across. Probably each of us harbored thesame thought. Before that wind the fire would leap the canyon in flamingbounds, and on the opposite level was the thick pitch-pine forest ofPenetier proper.
So far we had been among the foot-hills. We dared notenter the real forest with that wild-fire back of us. Momentarily westood irresolute. It was a pause full of hopelessness, such as mighthave come to tired deer, close harried by hounds.
The winding brook and the brown slope, comparatively bare of trees,brought me a sudden inspiration.
"Back-fire! Back-fire!" I cried to my companions, in wild appeal. "Wemust back-fire. It's our chance! Here's the place!"
Bud scowled and Herky grumbled, but Bill grasped at the idea.
"I've heerd of back-firin'. The rangers do it. But how? How?"
They caught his hope, and their haggard faces lightened.
"Kid, we ain't forest rangers," said Herky. "Do you know what you'retalkin' about?"
"Yes, yes! Come on! We'll back-fire!"
I led the way down the slope, and they came close at my heels. I rodeinto the shallow brook, and dismounted about the middle between thebanks. I hung my coat on the pommel of my saddle.
"Bud, you and Bill hold the horses here!" I shouted, intensely excited."Herky, have you matches?"
"Nary a match."
"Hyar's a box," said Bill, tossing it.
"Come on, Herky! You run up the brook. Light a match, and drop it everyhundred feet. Be sure it catches. Lucky there's little wind down here.Go as far as you can. I'll run down!"
We splashed out of the brook and leaped up the bank. The grass waslong and dry. There was brush near by, and the pine-needle mats almostbordered the bank. I struck a match and dropped it.
Sis-s-s! Flare! It was almost like dropping a spark into gunpowder. Theflame ran quickly, reached the pine-needles, then sputtered and fizzedinto a big blaze. The first pine-tree exploded and went off like arocket. We were startled by the sound and the red, up-leaping pillarof fire. Sudden heat shot back at us as if from a furnace. Great sparksbegan to fall.
"It's goin'!" yelled Herky-Jerky, his voice ringing strong. He clappedhis hat down on my bare head. Then he started running up-stream.
I darted in the opposite direction. I heard Bud and Bill yelling, andthe angry crack and hiss of the fire. A few rods down I stopped, struckanother match, and lit the grass. There was a sputter and flash. Thenthe flame flared up, spread like running quicksilver, and, meeting thepine-needles, changed to red. I ran on. There was a loud flutter behindme, then a crack almost like a shot, then a seething roar. Another pinehad gone off. As I stopped to strike the third match there came threedistinct reports, and then others that seemed dulled in a windy roar.I raced onward, daring only once to look back. A fearful sight met mygaze. The slope was a red wave. The pines were tufts of flame. The airwas filled with steaming clouds of whirling smoke. Then I fled onwardagain.
Match after match I struck, and when the box was empty I must havebeen a mile, two miles, maybe more, from the starting-point. I waswringing-wet, and there was a piercing pain in my side. I plunged acrossthe brook, and in as deep water as I could find knelt down to cover allbut my face. Then, with laboring breaths that bubbled the water near mymouth, I kept still and watched.
The back-fire which I had started swept up over the slope and down thebrook like a charge of red lancers. Spears of flame led the advance. Theflame licked up the dry surface-grass and brush, and, meeting the pines,circled them in a whirlwind of fire, like lightning flashing upward.Then came prolonged reports, and after that a long, blistering roar inthe tree-tops. Even as I gazed, appalled in the certainty of a horriblefate, I thrilled at the grand spectacle. Fire had always fascinated me.The clang of the engines and the call of "Fire!" would tear me from anytask or play. But I had never known what fire was. I knew now. Storms ofair and sea were nothing compared to this. It was the greatest forcein nature. It was fire. On one hand, I seemed cool and calculated thechances; on the other, I had flashes in my brain, and kept crying outcrazily, in a voice like a whisper: "Fire! Fire! Fire!"
But presently the wall of fire rolled by and took the roar with it.Dense billows of smoke followed, and hid everything in opaque darkness.I heard the hiss of failing sparks and the crackle of burning wood, andoccasionally the crash of a failing branch. It was intolerably hot, butI could stand the heat better than the air. I coughed and strangled.I could not get my breath. My eyes smarted and burned. Crawling closeunder the bank, I leaned against it and waited.
Some hours must have passed. I suffered, not exactly pain, but adiscomfort that was almost worse. By-and-by the air cleared a little.Rifts in the smoke drifted over me, always toward the far side of thecanyon. Twice I crawled out upon the bank, but the heat drove me backinto the water. The snow-water from the mountain-peaks had changed fromcold to warm; still, it gave a relief from the hot blast of air. Moretime dragged by. Weary to the point of collapse, I grew not to careabout anything.
Then the yellow fog lightened, and blew across the brook and lifted andsplit. The parts of the canyon-slope that I could see were seared andblackened. The pines were columns of living coals. The fire was eatinginto their hearts. Presently they would snap at the trunk, crash down,and burn to ashes. Wreathes of murky smoke circled them, and driftedaloft to join the overhanging clouds.
I floundered out on the bank, and began to walk up-stream. After all, itwas not so very hot, but I felt queer. I did not seem to be able to stepwhere I looked or see where I stepped. Still, that caused me no worry.The main thing was that the fire had not yet crossed the brook. I wantedto feel overjoyed at that, but I was too tired. Anyway I was sure thefire had crossed below or above. It would be tearing down on this sidepresently, and then I would have to crawl into the brook or burn up.It did not matter much which I had to do. Then I grew dizzy, my legstrembled, my feet lost all sense of touching the ground. I could not gomuch farther. Just then I heard a shout. It was close by. I answered,and heard heavy steps. I peered through the smoky haze. Something darkmoved up in the gloom.
"Ho, kid! Thar you are!" I felt a strong arm go round my waist. "Wal,wal!" That was Herky. His voice sounded glad. It roused a strangeeagerness in me; his rough greeting seemed to bring me back from adistance.
"All wet, but not burned none, I see. We kinder was afeared.... Say,kid, thet back-fire, now. It was a dandy. It did the biz. Our whiskerswas singed, but we're safe. An' kid, it was your game, played like a man."
After that his voice grew faint, and I felt as if I were walking in adream.
XVIII. CONCLUSION
That dreadful feeling of motion went away, and I became unconscious ofeverything. When I awoke the sun was gleaming dimly through thin filmsof smoke. I was lying in a pleasant little ravine with stunted pinesfringing its slopes. The brook bowled merrily over stones.
Bud snored in the shade of a big boulder. Herky whistled as he brokedead branches into fagots for a campfire. Bill was nowhere in sight. Isaw several of the horses browsing along the edge of the water.
My drowsy eyelids fell back again. When I awoke a long time seemed tohave passed. The air was clearer, the sky darker, and the sun had gonebehind the peaks. I saw Bill and Herky skinning a deer.
"Where are we?" I asked, sitting up.
"Hello, kid!" replied Herky, cheerily. "We come up to the head of thecanyon, thet's all. How're you feelin'?"
"I'm all right, only tired. Where's the forest fire?"
"It's most burned out by now. It didn't jump the canyon into the bigforest. Thet back-fire did the biz. Say, kid, wasn't settin' off thempines an' runnin' fer your life jest like bein' in a battle?"
"It certainly was. Herky, how long will we be penned up here?"
"Only a day or two. I reckon we'd better not risk takin' you back toHolston till we're sure about the fire. Anyways, kid, you need rest.You're all played out."
Indeed, I was so weary that it took an effort to lift my hand. A strangelassitude made me indifferent. But Herky's calm mention of taking meback to Holston changed the color of my mood. I began to feel morecheerful. The meal we ate was scant enough--biscuits and steaks ofbroiled venison with a pinch of salt; but, starved as we were, it wasmore than sati
sfactory. Herky and Bill were absurdly eager to serve me.Even Bud was kind to me, though he still wore conspicuously over hisforehead the big bruise I had given him. After I had eaten I began togain strength. But my face was puffed from the heat, my injured arm wasstiff and sore, and my legs seemed never to have been used before.
Darkness came on quickly. The dew fell heavily, and the air grew chilly.Our blazing campfire was a comfort. Bud and Bill carried in logs forfirewood, while Herky made me a bed of dry pine needles.
"It'll be some cold tonight," he said, "an' we'll hev to hug the fire.Now if we was down in the foot-hills we'd be warmer, hey? Look thar!"
He pointed down the ravine, and I saw a great white arc of lightextending up into the steely sky.
"The forest fire?"
"Yep, she's burnin' some. But you oughter seen it last night. Not thetit ain't worth seein' jest now. Come along with me."
He led me where the ravine opened wide. I felt, rather than saw, a steepslope beneath. Far down was a great patch of fire. It was like a crazyquilt, here dark, there light, with streaks and stars and streams offire shining out of the blackness. Masses of slow-moving smoke overhungthe brighter areas. The night robbed the forest fire of its fiercenessand lent it a kind of glory. The fire had ceased to move; it had spentits force, run its race, and was now dying. But I could not forget whatit had been, what it had done. Thousands of acres of magnificent pineshad perished. The shade and color and beauty of that part of the foresthad gone. The heart of the great trees was now slowly rolling away inthose dark, weird clouds of smoke. I was sad for the loss and sick withfear for Dick and Hiram.
Herky must have known my mind.
"You needn't feel bad, kid. Thet's only a foothill or so of Penetiergone up in smoke. An' Buell's sawmill went, too. It's almost a surething thet Leslie an' old Bent got out safe, though they must be doin'some tall worryin' about you. I wonder how they feel about me an' Budan' Bill? A little prematoore roastin' for us, eh? Wal, wal!"
We went back to the camp. I lay down near the fire and fell asleep. Sometime in the night I awoke. The fire was still burning brightly. Bud andBill were lying with their backs to it almost close enough to scorch.Herky sat in his shirtsleeves. The smoke of his pipe and the smoke ofthe campfire wafted up together. Then I saw and felt that he had coveredme with his coat and vest.
I slept far into the next day. Herky was in camp alone. The others hadgone, Herky said, and he would not tell me where. He did not appear ascheerful as usual. I suspected he had quarreled with his companions,very likely about what was to be done with me. The day passed, and againI slept. Herky awakened me before it was light.
"Come, kid, we'll rustle in to Holston today."
We cooked our breakfast of venison, and then Herky went in search of thehorses. They had browsed far up the ravine, and the dawn had broken bythe time he returned. Target stood well to be saddled, nor did hebolt when I climbed up. Perhaps that ride I gave him had chastened andsubdued his spirit. Well, it had nearly killed me. Herky mounted the onehorse left, a sorry-looking pack-pony, and we started down the ravine.
An hour of steady descent passed by before we caught sight of any burnedforest land. Then as we descended into the big canyon we turned a curveand saw, far ahead to the left, a black, smoky, hideous slope. We keptto the right side of the brook and sheered off just as we reached apoint opposite, where the burned line began. Fire had run up that sidetill checked by bare weathered slopes and cliffs. As far down the brookas eye could see through the smoky haze there stretched that blackline of charred, spear-pointed pines, some glowing, some blazing, allsmoking.
From time to time, as we climbed up the slope, I looked back. The higherI got the more hideous became the outlook over the burned district. Iwas glad when Herky led the way into the deep shade of level forest,shutting out the view. It would take a hundred years to reforest thoseacres denuded of their timber by the fire of a few days. But as hourafter hour went by, with our trail leading through miles and miles ofthe same old forest that had bewitched me, I began to feel a little lessgrief at the thought of what the fire had destroyed. It was a loss, yetonly a small part of vast Penetier. If only my friends had gotten outalive!
Herky was as relentless in his travelling as I had found him in someother ways. He kept his pony at a trot. The trail was open, we madefast time, and when the sun had begun to cast a shadow before us we weregoing down-hill. Busy with the thought of my friends, I scarcely notedthe passing of time. It was a surprise to me when we rode down the lastlittle foot-hill, out into the scattered pines, and saw Holston only afew miles across the sage-flat.
"Wal, kid, we've come to the partin' of the ways," said Herky, with astrange smile on his smug face.
"Herky, won't you ride in with me?"
"Naw, I reckon it'd not be healthy fer me."
"But you haven't even a saddle or blanket or any grub."
"I've a friend across hyar a ways, a rancher, an' he'll fix me up. But,kid, I'd like to hev thet hoss. He was Buell's, an' Buell owed me money.Now I calkilate you can't take Target back East with you, an' you mightas well let me have him."
"Sure, Herky." I jumped off at once, led the horse over, and heldout the bridle. Herky dismounted, and began fumbling with the stirrupstraps.
"Your legs are longer'n mine," he explained.
"Oh yes, Herky, I almost forgot to return your hat," I said, removingthe wide sombrero. It had a wonderful band made of horsehair and abuckle of silver with a strange device.
"Wal, you keep the hat," he replied, with his back turned. "Greaserstole your hoss an' your outfit's lost, an' you might want somethin'to remember your--your friends in Arizony.... Thet hat ain't much, but,say, the buckle was an Injun's I shot, an' I made the band when I was injail in Yuma."
"Thank you, Herky. I'll keep it, though I'd never need anything to makeme remember Arizona--or you."
Herky swung his bow-legs over Target and I got astride the lean-backedpony. There did not seem to be any more to say, yet we both lingered.
"Good-bye, Herky, I'm glad I met you," I said, offering my hand.
He gave it a squeeze that nearly crushed my fingers. His keen littleeyes gleamed, but he turned away without another word, and, slappingTarget on the flank, rode off under the trees.
I put the hat back on my head and watched Herky for a moment. Hissilence and abrupt manner were unlike him, but what struck me most wasthe fact that in our last talk every word had been clean and sincere.Somehow it pleased me. Then I started the pony toward Holston.
He was tired and I was ready to drop, and those last few miles werelong. We reached the outskirts of the town perhaps a couple of hoursbefore sundown. A bank of clouds had spread out of the west andthreatened rain.
The first person I met was Cless, and he put the pony in his corral andhurried me round to the hotel. On the way he talked so fast and said somuch that I was bewildered before we got there. The office was full ofmen, and Cless shouted to them. There was the sound of a chair scrapinghard on the floor, then I felt myself clasped by brawny arms. Afterthat all was rather hazy in my mind. I saw Dick and Jim and old Hiram,though, I could not see them distinctly, and I heard them all talking,all questioning at once. Then I was talking in a somewhat silly way, Ithought, and after that some one gave me a hot, nasty drink, and I feltthe cool sheets of a bed.
The next morning all was clear. Dick came to my room and tried to keepme in bed, but I refused to stay. We went down to breakfast, and sat ata table with Jim and Hiram. It seemed to me that I could not answer anyquestions till I had asked a thousand.
What news had they for me? Buell had escaped, after firing the slash.His sawmill and lumber-camp and fifty thousand acres of timber had beenburned. The fire had in some way been confined to the foot-hills. It hadrained all night, so the danger of spreading was now over. My letter hadbrought the officers of the forest service; even the Chief, who had beentravelling west over the Santa Fe, had stopped off and was in Holstonthen. There had been no arrests, nor w
ould there be, unless Buell orStockton could be found. A new sawmill was to be built by the service.Buell's lumbermen would have employment in the mill and as rangers inthe forest.
But I was more interested in matters which Dick seemed to wish to avoid.
"How did you get out of the burning forest?" I asked, for the secondtime.
"We didn't get out. We went back to the pool where we sent you. Thepack-ponies were there, but you were gone. By George! I was mad,and then I was just broken up. I was... afraid you'd been burned. Weweathered the fire all right, and then rode in to Holston. Now themystery is where were you?"
"Then you saved all the ponies?"
"Yes, and brought your outfit in. But, Ken, we--that was awful of us toforget those poor fellows tied fast in the cabin." Dick looked haggard,there was a dark gloom in his eyes, and he gulped. Then I knew why heavoided certain references to the fire. "To be burned alive... horrible!I'll never get over it. It'll haunt me always. Of course we had to saveour own lives; we had no time to go to them. Yet--"
"Don't let it worry you, Dick," I interrupted.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slowly.
"Why, I beat the fire up to the cabin, that's all. Buell's horse can runsome. I cut the men loose, and we made up across the ridge, got lost,surrounded by fire, and then I got Herky to help me start a back-fire inthat big canyon."
"Back-fire!" exclaimed Dick, slamming the table with his big fist. Thenhe settled down and looked at me. Hiram looked at me. Jim looked at me,and not one of them said a word for what seemed a long time. It broughtthe blood to my face. But for all my embarrassment it was sweet praise.At last Dick broke the silence.
"Ken Ward, this stumps me I... Tell us about it."
So I related my adventures from the moment they had left me till we metagain.
"It was a wild boy's trick, Ken--that ride in the very face of fire ina dry forest. But, thank God, you saved the lives of those fellows.""Amen!" exclaimed old Hiram, fervently. "My lad, you saved Penetier,too; thar's no doubt on it. The fire was sweepin' up the canyon, an' itwould have crossed the brook somewhars in thet stretch you back-fired."
"Ken, you shore was born in Texas," drawl Jim Williams.
His remark was unrelated to our talk, I did not know what he meant byit; nevertheless it pleased me more than anything that had ever beensaid me in my life.
Then came the reading of letters that had a rived for me. In Hal'sletter, first and last harped on having been left behind. Father sent mea check, and wrote that in the event of a trouble in the lumber districthe trusted me to take the first train for Harrisburg. That, I knew,meant that I must get out of my ragged clothes. That I did, and packedthem up--all except Herky sombrero, which I wore. Then I went to therailroad station to see the schedule, and I compromised with fatherby deciding to take the limited. The fast east-bound train had gonea little before, and the next one did not leave until six o'clock.They would give me half a day with my friends.
When I returned to the hotel Dick was looking for me. He carried me offup-stairs to a hall full of men. At one end were tables littered withpapers, and here men were signing their name Dick explained that forestrangers were being paid and new ones hired. Then he introduced meofficers of the service and the Chief. I knew by the way they looked atme that Dick had been talking. It made me so tongue-tied that I couldnot find my voice when the Chief spoke to me and shook my hand warmly.He was a tall man, with a fine face and kind eyes and hair just touchedwith gray.
"Kenneth Ward," he went on, pleasantly, "I hope that letter ofintroduction I dictated for you some time ago has been of some service."
"I haven't had a chance to use it yet," I blurted out, and I dived intomy pocket to bring forth the letter. It was wrinkled, soiled, andhad been soaked with water. I began to apologize for its disreputableappearance when he interrupted me.
"I've heard about the ducking you got and all the rest of it," he said,smiling. Then his manner changed to one of business and hurry.
"You are studying forestry?"
"Yes, sir. I'm going to college this fall."
"My friend in Harrisburg wrote me of your ambition and, I may say,aptness for the forest service. I'm very much pleased. We need a host ofbright young fellows. Here, look at this map."
He drew my attention to a map lying on the table, and made crosses andtracings with a pencil while he talked.
"This is Penetier. Here are the Arizona Peaks. The heavy shadingrepresents timbered land. All these are canyons. Here's Oak CreekCanyon, the one the fire bordered. Now I want you to tell me how youworked that back-fire, and, if you can, mark the line you fired."
This appeared to me an easy task, and certainly one I was enthusiasticover. I told him just how I had come to the canyon, and how I saw thatthe fire would surely cross there, and that a back-fire was the onlychance. Then, carefully studying the map, I marked off the three milesHerky and I had fired.
"Very good. You had help in this?"
"Yes. A fellow called Herky-Jerky. He was one of Buell's men who kept mea prisoner."
"But he turned out a pretty good sort, didn't he?"
"Indeed, yes, sir."
"Well, I'll try to locate him, and offer him a job in the service. Now,Mr. Ward, you've had special opportunities; you have an eye in yourhead, and you are interested in forestry. Perhaps you can help us.Personally I shall be most pleased to hear what you think might be donein Penetier."
I gasped and stared, and could scarcely believe my ears. But he was notjoking; he was as serious as if he had addressed himself to one of hisofficers. I looked at them all, standing interested and expectant. Dickwas as grave and erect as a deacon. Jim seemed much impressed. But oldHiram Bent, standing somewhat back of the others, deliberately winked atme.
But for that wink I never could have seized my opportunity. It made meremember my talks with Hiram. So I boiled down all that I had learnedand launched it on the Chief. Whether I was brief or not, I was out ofbreath when I stopped. He appeared much surprised.
"Thank you," he said, finally. "You certainly have been observant." Thenhe turned to his officers. "Gentlemen, here's a new point of view fromfirst-hand observation. I call it splendid conservation. It's in theline of my policy. It considers the settler and lumberman instead ofcombating him."
He shook hands with me again. "You may be sure I'll not lose sight ofyou. Of course you will be coming West next summer, after your term atcollege?"
"Yes, sir, I want to--if Dick--"
He smiled as I hesitated. That man read my mind like an open book.
"Mr. Leslie goes to the Coconina Forest as head forest ranger. Mr.Williams goes as his assistant. And I have appointed Mr. Bent gamewarden in the same forest. You may spend next summer with them."
I stammered some kind of thanks, and found myself going out anddown-stairs with my friends.
"Oh, Dick! Wasn't he fine?... Say, where's Coconina Forest?"
"It's over across the desert and beyond the Grand Canyon of Arizona.Penetier is tame compared to Coconina. I'm afraid to let you come outthere."
"I don't have to ask you, Mr. Dick," I replied.
"Lad, I'll need a young fellar bad next summer," said old Hiram, withtwinkling eyes. "One as can handle a rope, an' help tie up lions an'sich."
"Oh! my bear cub! I'd forgotten him. I wanted to take him home."
"Wal, thar weren't no sense in thet, youngster, fer you couldn't do it.He was a husky cub."
"I hate to give up my mustang, too. Dick, have you heard of theGreaser?"
"Not yet, but he'll be trailing into Holston before long."
Jim Williams removed his pipe, and puffed a cloud of white smoke.
"Ken, I shore ain't fergot Greaser," he drawled with his slow smile."Hev you any pertickler thing you want did to him?"
"Jim, don't kill him!" I burst out, impetuously, and then paused,frightened out of speech. Why I was afraid of him I did not know, heseemed so easy-going, so careless--almost sweet, like a woman; but thenI had see
n his face once with a look that I could never forget.
"Wal, Ken, I'll dodge Greaser if he ever crosses my trail again."
That promise was a relief. I knew Greaser would come to a bad end, andcertainly would get his just deserts; but I did not want him punishedany more for what he had done to me.
Those last few hours sped like winged moments. We talked and planned alittle, I divided my outfit among my friends, and then it was time forthe train. That limited train had been late, so they said, every day fora week, and this day it was on time to the minute. I had no luck.
My friends bade me good-bye as if they expected to see me next day, andI said good-bye calmly. I had my part to play. My short stay with themhad made me somehow different. But my coolness was deceitful. Dickhelped me on the train and wrung my hand again.
"Good-bye, Ken. It's been great to have you out.... Next year you'll beback in the forests!"
He had to hurry to get off. The train started as I looked out of mywindow. There stood the powerful hunter, his white head bare, and he waswaving his hat. Jim leaned against a railing with his sleepy, carelesssmile. I caught a gleam of the blue gun swinging at his hip. Dick's eyesshone warm and blue; he was shouting something. Then they all passedback out of sight. So my gaze wandered to the indistinct black lineof Penetier, to the purple slopes, and up to the cold, whitemountain-peaks, and Dick's voice rang in my ears like a prophecy:"You'll be back in the forests."
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