V
Charley Morton received the lunch with joy.
"Ain't had time to get together grub since we came," said he, "anddidn't know when I would."
"What do you want us to do?" asked Bob.
"The fire line's drawn right across from Granite Creek down there in thecanon over to a bald dome. We got her done an hour ago, and pretty wellback-fired. All we got to do now is to keep her from crossing anywheres;and if she does cross, to corral her before she can get away from us."
"I wish we could have got here sooner!" cried Bob, disappointed that thelittle adventure seemed to be flattening out.
"So?" commented Charley drily. "Well, there's plenty yet. If she getsout in one single, lonesome place, this fire line of ours won't be wortha cent. She's inside now--if we can hold her there." He gazedcontemplatively aloft at a big dead pine blazing merrily to its verytop. Every once in a while a chunk of bark or a piece of limb cameflaring down to hit the ground with a thump. "There's the trouble," saidhe. "What's to keep a spark or a coal from that old coon from falling orrolling on the wrong side of the line? If it happens when none of us arearound, why the fire gets a start. And maybe a coal will roll down hillfrom somewhere; or a breeze come up and carry sparks. One spark overhere," he stamped his foot on the brushed line, "and it's all to do overagain. There's six of us," added the ranger, "and a hundred of thesetrees near the line. By rights there ought to be a man camped down nearevery one of them."
"Give us our orders," repeated Bob.
"The orders are to patrol the fire line," said Morton. "If you find thefire has broken across, corral it. If it gets too strong for you, shootyour six-shooter twice. Keep a-moving, but take it easy and saveyourself for to-morrow. About two o'clock, or so, I'll shoot threetimes. Then you can come to camp and get a little sleep. You got to bein shape for to-morrow."
"Why especially to-morrow?" asked Bob.
"Fire dies in the cool of night; it comes up in the middle of the day,"explained Morton succinctly.
Bob took to the right, while Jack went in the opposite direction. Hisway led down hill. He crossed a ravine, surmounted a little ridge. Nowhe was in the worse than total darkness of the almost extinct area.Embers and coals burned all over the side hill like so many evil winkingeyes. Far ahead, down the mountain, the rising smoke glowed incandescentwith the light of an invisible fire beneath, Bob, blinded by this glow,had great difficulty in making his way. Once he found that he hadsomehow crept out on the great bald roundness of a granite dome, and hadto retrace his steps. Twice he lost his footing utterly, but fortunatelyfell but a short distance. At last he found himself in the V of a narrowravine.
All this time he had, with one exception, kept close track of the fireline. The exception was when he strayed out over the dome; but that wasnatural, for the dome had been adopted bodily as part of the system ofdefence. Everywhere the edge of the path proved to be black and dead. Noliving fire glowed within striking distance of the inflammable materialon the hither side the path.
But here, in the bottom of the ravine, a single coal had lodged, and hadalready started into flame the dry small brush. It had fallen originallyfrom an oak fully a hundred feet away; and in some mysterious manner hadfound a path to this hidden pocket. The circumstances somewhat shookBob's faith in the apparent safety of the country he had just traversed.
However, there were the tiny flames, licking here and there,insignificant, but nevertheless dangerous. Bob carefully laid hiscanteens and the rake on a boulder, and set to work with his sharpenedhoe. It looked to be a very easy task to dig out a path around thislittle fire.
In the course of the miniature fight he learned considerable of the waysof fire. The brush proved unexpectedly difficult. It would not stand upto the force of his stroke, but bent away. The tarweed, especially, wasstubborn under even the most vigorous wielding of his sharpened hoe.
He made an initial mistake by starting to hoe out his path too near theblaze, forgetting that in the time necessary to complete his half-circlethe flames would have spread. Discovering this, he abandoned hisbeginning and fell back twenty feet. This naturally considerablylengthened the line he would have to cut. When it was about half done,Bob discovered that he would have to hustle to prevent the fire breakingby him before he could complete his half-circle. It became a race. Heworked desperately. The heat of the flames began to scorch his face andhands, so that it was with difficulty he could face his work.Irrelevantly enough there arose before his mind the image of JackPollock popping corn before the fireplace at headquarters. Continualwielding of the hoe tired a certain set of muscles to the aching point.His mouth became dry and sticky, but he could not spare time to hunt uphis canteen. The thought flashed across his mind that the fire wasprobably breaking across elsewhere, just like this. The other men mustbe in the same fix. There were six of them. Suppose the fire shouldbreak across simultaneously in seven places? The little licking flameshad at last, by dint of a malignant persistence, become a personalenemy. He fought them absorbedly, throwing his line farther and fartheras the necessity arose, running to beat down with green brush the firstfeeble upstartings of the fire as it leaped here and there his barrier,keeping a vigilant eye on every part of his defences.
"Well," drawled Charley Morton's voice behind him, "what you thinkyou're doing?"
"Corralling this fire, of course," Bob panted, dashing at a maraudinglittle flame.
"What for?" demanded Charley.
Bob looked up in sheer amazement.
"See that rock dike just up the hill behind you?" explained Morton."Well, our fire line already runs up to that on both sides. Firecouldn't cross it. We expected this to burn."
Bob suddenly felt a little nauseated and dizzy from the heat andviolence of his exertions in this high altitude.
"Here's your canteen," Morton went on easily. "Take a swig. Better savea little. Feel better? Let me give you a pointer: don't try to stop afire going up hill. Take it on top or just over the top. It burns slowerand it ain't so apt to jump."
"I know; I forgot," said Bob, feeling a trifle foolish.
"Never mind; you've learned something," said Morton comfortably. "Let'sgo down below. There's fresh fire there; and it may have jumped pastElliott."
They scrambled down. Elliott and Ware were found to be workingdesperately in the face of the flames. The fire had not here jumped theline, but it was burning with great ferocity up to the very edge of it.If the rangers could for a half-hour prevent the heat from igniting thegrowths across the defence, the main fire would have consumed its fueland died down to comparative safety. With faces averted, heads lowered,handkerchiefs over their mouths, they continually beat down the newlittle fires which as continually sprang into life again. Here theantagonists were face to face across the narrow line. The rangers couldnot give back an inch, for an inch of headway on the wrong side the pathwould convert a kindling little blaze to a real fire. They stood up totheir work doggedly as best they might.
With entire understanding of the situation Charley motioned Bob to thefront.
"We'll hold her for a minute," he shouted to the others. "Drop back andget a drink."
They fell back to seize eagerly their canteens. Bob gripped his handfulof green brush and set to work. For a minute he did not think itpossible to face the terrible heat. His garments were literally drenchedwith sweat which immediately dried into steam. A fierce drain sucked athis strength. He could hardly breathe, and could see only withdifficulty. After a moment Elliott and Ware, evidently somewhatrefreshed, again took hold.
How they stuck it out for that infernal half-hour Bob could not havetold, but stick it out they did. The flames gradually died down; theheat grew less; the danger that the shrivelled brush on the wrong sidethe fire line would be ignited by sheer heat, vanished. The four menfell back. Their eyebrows and hair were singed; their skin blackened.Bob's face felt sore, and as though it had been stretched. He took along pull at his canteen. For the moment he felt as though his energyhad all been drained
away.
"Well, that was a good little scrap," observed Charley Mortoncheerfully. "I certainly do wish it was always night when a man had tofight fire. In a hot sun it gets to be hard work."
Elliott rolled his eyes, curiously white like a minstrel's in hisblackened face, at Bob, but said nothing.
"We'll leave Elliott here to watch this a few minutes, and go down theline," said Morton.
Bob lifted his canteen, and, to his surprise, found it empty.
"Why, I must have drunk a gallon!" he cried.
"It's dry work," said Morton.
They continued on down the fire line, pausing every once in a while torake and scrape leisurely at the heavy bark beneath some blazing stub.The fierce, hard work was over. All along the fire line from the dome ofgranite over the ridge down to Granite Creek the fire had consumed allthe light fuel on its own side the defence. No further danger was to beapprehended in the breaking across. But everywhere through the nowdarkening forest blazed the standing trees. A wind would fill the airwith brands; and even in the present dead calm those near the line werea threat.
The men traversed the fire line from end to end a half-dozen times. Bobbecame acquainted individually and minutely with each of the dangerspots. The new temporary features of country took on, from the effectsof vigilance and toil, the dignity of age and establishment. Anxiouslyhe widened the path here, kicked back glowing brands there, tried toassure himself that in no possible manner could the seed of a newconflagration find germination. After a long time he heard three shotsfrom up the mountain. This, he remarked, was a signal agreed upon. Heshouldered his blackened implements and commenced a laborious ascent.
Suddenly he discovered that he was very tired, and that his legs wereweak and wobbly. Stubs and sticks protruded everywhere; stones rolledfrom under his feet. Once on a steep shale, he fell and rolled ten feetout of sheer weariness. In addition he was again very thirsty, and hiscanteen empty. A chill gray of dawn was abroad; the smell of staleburning hung in the air.
By the time he had staggered into camp the daylight had come. He glancedabout him wearily. Across a tiny ravine the horses dozed, tied each to ashort picket rope. Bob was already enough of a mountaineer to noticethat the feed was very scant. The camp itself had been made under adozen big yellow pines. A bright little fire flickered. About it stoodutensils from which the men were rather dispiritedly helping themselves.Bob saw that the long pine needles had been scraped together to makesoft beds, over which the blankets had been spread. Amy herself, hercheeks red, her eyes bright, was passing around tin cups of strongcoffee, and tin plates of food. Her horse, saddled and bridled, stoodnearby.
"Take a little of this," she urged Bob, "and then turn in."
Bob muttered his thanks. After swallowing the coffee, however, he felthis energies reviving somewhat.
"How did you leave things at the lower end?" Morton was asking him.
"All out but two or three smouldering old stubs," replied Bob."Everything's safe."
"Nothing's safe," contradicted Morton. "By rights we ought to watchevery minute. But we got to get some rest in a long fight. It's the coolof the morning and the fire burns low. Turn in and get all the sleep youcan. May need you later."
"I'm all in," acknowledged Bob, throwing back his blanket; "I'm willingto say so."
"No more fire in mine," agreed young Elliott.
The other men said nothing, but fell to their beds. Only Charley Mortonrose a little stiffly to his feet.
"Aren't you going to turn in too, Charley?" asked the girl quickly.
"It's daylight now," explained the ranger, "and I can see to ride ahorse. I reckon I'd better ride down the line."
"I've thought of that," said Amy. "Of course, it wouldn't do to let thefire take care of itself. See; I have Pronto saddled. I'll look over theline, and if anything happens I'll wake you."
"You must be about dead," said Charley. "You've been up all night fixingcamp and cooking----"
"Up all night!" repeated Amy scornfully. "How long do you think ittakes me to make camp and cook a simple little breakfast?"
"But the country's almighty rough riding."
"On Pronto?"
"He's a good mountain pony," agreed Charley Morton; "California Johnpicked him out himself. All right. I do feel some tired."
This was about six o'clock. The men had slept but a little over an hourwhen Amy scrambled over the rim of the dike and dropped from her horse.
"Charley!" she cried, shaking the ranger by the shoulder; "I'm sorry.But there's fresh smoke about half-way down the mountain. There wasnothing left to burn fresh inside the fire line, was there? I thoughtnot."
Twenty minutes later all six were frantically digging, hoeing, chopping,beating in a frenzy against the spread of the flames. In some manner thefire had jumped the line. It might have been that early in the fight aspark had lodged. As long as the darkness of night held down thetemperature, this spark merely smouldered. When, however, the rays ofthe sun gathered heat, it had burst into flame.
This sun made all the difference in the world. Where, in the cool of thenight, the flames had crept slowly, now they leaped forward with afierce crackling; green brush that would ordinarily have resisted for along time, now sprang into fire at a touch. The conflagration spreadfrom a single point in all directions, running swiftly, roaring in asheet of fire, licking up all before it.
The work was fierce in its intensity. Bob, in common with the others,had given up trying--or indeed caring--to protect himself. His clothessmoked, his face smarted and burned, his skin burned and blistered. Hebreathed the hot air in gasps. Strangely enough, he did not feel in theleast tired.
He did not need to be told what to do. The only possible defence wasacross a rock outcrop. To right and left of him the other men wereworking desperately to tear out the brush. He grubbed away trying toclear the pine needles and little bushes that would carry the firethrough the rocks like so many powder fuses.
He had no time to see how the others were getting on; he worked onfaith. His own efforts were becoming successful. The fire, trying, oneafter another, various leads through the rocks, ran out of fuel anddied. The infernal roaring furnace below, however, leaped ever to newtrial.
Then all at once Bob found himself temporarily out of the game. Intrying to roll a boulder out of the way, he caught his hand. A sharp,lightning pain shot up his arm and into the middle of his chest. When hehad succeeded in extricating himself, he found that his middle fingerwas squarely broken.