CHAPTER XVI
IN THE MIDST OF A SEA OF FIRE
A subdued but fiery inspiration, as of some monster breathing deeply inthe darkness, gradually made itself heard above the voices of the night,and an eddying gust brought from the distance the sound of twigs andbranches crackling as they burned. As yet the fire was not visible, savefor the red-bronze glow seen through the trees reflected on the skyabove. But before they reached the scene of the fire, Wilbur realizedhow different it was from the blaze he had left. Then it was adifficulty to be overcome: now, it was a peril to be faced.
"It has run about three miles since I left it," Wilbur said. "I hopewe're not too late."
"It's never too late to try, son," replied the Ranger, "so long as thereis a tree left unburned. There ain't anything in life that it ever getstoo late to try over. If a thing's done, it ain't too late ever to tryto do something else which will make up for the first, is it?"
"But I failed to stop it before," said Wilbur.
"Nary a fail. A fight ain't lost until it's over. An' when this littlescrap is over the fire'll be out. You ain't had but one round with thisfire so far."
"That's certainly some fire," rejoined the boy as they turned sharplyfrom a glade to the edge of a hill that looked upon the forest justbelow. It was a sight of fear. Overhead, the clouds flying before thewind were alternately revealing and hiding the starlit and moonlit skybehind, the dark and ragged wisps of storm-scud seeming to fly in panicfrom what they saw below them. The wind moaned as though enchained andforced to blow by some tyrannic power, instead of swaying before thebreeze, the needles of the pines seemed to tremble and shudder in theblast, and dominating the whole,--somber, red, and malevolent,--the fireengulfed the forest floor. In the distance, where some dead timber hadbeen standing, the flames had crept up the trunks of the trees, and nowfanned by the gusts of wind, were beginning to run amid the tops.
"Will it be a crown-fire, Rifle-Eye?" asked Wilbur, remembering what hehad heard of the fearful devastation committed by a fire when once itsecured a violent headway among the pines.
"It's in the tops now," said the old hunter, pointing with his finger,"but I don't reckon there's enough wind yet to hold it up there. Theworst of it is that it's not long to morning now, an' we shall lose theadvantage o' fightin' it at night. I reckon we'd better get down and seewhat we can do."
In a few minutes the hunter and Wilbur had fastened their horses andpresently were beside the fire. To the boy's surprise the old huntermade no attack upon the fire itself, but, going in advance of it somehundred feet, with the boy's hoe, which he dragged after him like aplow, made a furrow in the earth almost as rapidly as a man could walk.This, Wilbur, with ax and shovel, widened. The old hunter never seemedto stop once, but, however curving and twisting his course might be, theboy noted that the furrow invariably occurred at the end of a stretchwhere few needles had fallen on the ground and the debris was veryscant.
After about a mile of this, the hunter curved his furrow sharply intoward the burned-out portion, ending his line behind the line of fire.He then sent Wilbur back along the line he had just traversed to insurethat none of the fire had crossed the guard thus made. Then, startingabout twenty feet from the curve on the fire-guard, he took another widecurve in front of the floor-fire, favoring the place where the needleslay thinnest, until he came to a ridge. Following him, Wilbur noted thatthe old woodsman had made no attempt to stop the fire on the upwardgrade, but had apparently left it to the mercy of the fire, whereas, onthe further side of the ridge, where the fire would have to burn down,the old hunter had made but a very scanty fire-guard. Then Wilburremembered that he had been told it was easy to stop a fire when it wasrunning down a hill, and he realized that if, in the beginning, insteadof actually endeavoring to put out the fire, he had made a wide circuitaround it, and by utilizing those ridges, he could have held the fire tothe spot where it began. For a moment this nearly broke him all up,until he remembered that he had seen another fire, and that Rifle-Eyehad told him of a third one yet.
Wilbur was working doggedly, yet in a spiritless, tired fashion, beatingout the fire with a wet gunnysack as it reached the fire-guard of theold hunter's making, and very carefully putting out any spark that thewind drove across it, working almost without thought. But as he toppedthe ridge and came within full view of the fire that had started amongthe tops, his listlessness fell from him. Against the glow he could seethe outline of the figure of the hunter, and he ran up to him.
"It's all out, back there," he panted. "What shall we do here?"
For the first time the Ranger seemed to have no answer ready. Then hesaid slowly:
"I reckon we can hold this bit of it, up yonder on the mountain, butthere's a line of fire runnin' around by the gully, and the wind'sbeginnin' a-howlin' through there. I don't reckon we can stop that. Wemay have to fall back beyond the river. We'll need axmen, now. You'vegot a good mare; ride down to Pete's mine and bring all hands. Thegovernment will pay them, an' they'll come. There's the dawn; it'll belight in half an hour. You'd better move, too."
Wilbur started off at a shambling run, half wondering, as he did so, howit was he was able to keep up at all. But as he looked back he saw theold hunter, ax on shoulder, going quietly up the hill into the veryteeth of the fire to head it off on the mountain top, if he could. Hereached Kit and climbed into the saddle. But he was not sleepy, thoughalmost too weary to sit upright. One moment the forest would be light asa glare from the fire reached him, the next moment it would be all thedarker for the contrast. For a mile he rode over the blackened andburned forest floor, some trees still ablaze and smoking. Every step hetook, for all he knew, might be leading him on into a fire-encircledplace from which he would have difficulty in escaping, but on he went.There was no trail, he only had a vague sense of direction, and on bothsides of him was fire. Probably fire was also in front, and if so he wasriding into it, but he had his orders and on he must go. The mine, heknew, was lower down on the gully, and so roughly he followed it. Twicehe had to force Kit to cross, but it was growing light now, so thelittle mare took the water quietly and followed the further bank.Suddenly he heard horses' hoofs, evidently a party, and he shouted. Ananswering shout was the response, and the horses pulled up. He touchedKit and in a minute or two broke through to them.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Merritt," said the boy, "I was just wondering whoit might be."
"The fire's over there," said the Supervisor. "What are you doing here?"
"Rifle-Eye sent me to get the men at Pete's mine," he said.
"They're here," replied the Forest Chief. "How's the fire?"
"Bad," said the boy. "Rifle-Eye said he thought we would have to fallback beyond the river."
"Don't want to," said Merritt, "there's a lot of good timber betweenhere and the river."
"Nothin' to it," said one of the miners. "Unless the wind shifts, it'san easy gamble she goes over the river and don't notice it none."
The Supervisor put his horse to the gallop, followed by the party, allsave one miner, who, familiar with the country, led the way, findingsome trail utterly undistinguishable to the rest. Seeing the vantagepoint, as Rifle-Eye had done, he made for the crest of the hill.
"Any chances?" asked the Supervisor.
"I reckon not," said Rifle-Eye. "You can't hold it here; there's a blazedown over yonder and another below the hill."
"Who set that fire?" said Merritt suddenly. Wilbur jumped. It had notoccurred to him that the fire could have started in any other mannerthan by accident, and indeed he had not thought of its cause at all.
The old Ranger looked quietly at his superior officer.
"It's allers mighty hard to tell where a fire started after it's oncegot a-going," he said, "and it's harder to tell who set it a-going."
"I want to stop it at the river."
The old woodsman shook his head.
"You ain't got much chance," he said; "I reckon at the ridge on theother side of the river you can hold her, but she's cr
ept along thegully an' she'll just go a-whoopin' up the hill. I wouldn't waste anytime at the river."
"But there's the mill!"
"We ain't no ways to blame because Peavey Jo built his mill in front ofa fire. An', anyhow, the mill's in the middle of a clearing."
The Supervisor frowned.
"His mill is on National Forest land, and we ought to try and save it,"he said.
"I'm goin' clear to the ridge," remarked the Ranger, "an' I reckonyou-all had better, too. I ain't achin' none to see the mill burn, butI'd as lieve it was Peavey Jo's as any one else."
"I'd like to know," Merritt repeated, "who set that fire."
The Ranger made no answer, but walked off to where his horse wastethered and rode away. The other party without a moment's delay struckoff to the trail leading to the mill. The distance was not great, butWilbur had lost all count of time. It seemed to him that he had eitherbeen fighting fire or riding at high speed through luridly lightedforest glades for years and years, and that it would never stop.
At the mill they found a wild turmoil of excitement. All the hands wereat work, most of them wetting down the lumber, while other large pileswhich were close to the edge of the forest were being moved out ofdanger. The horses all had been taken from the stables, and the varioussheds and buildings were being thoroughly soaked. The big mill enginewas throbbing, lines of hose playing in every direction, for althoughthe timber around the mill had been cleared as much as possible,negligence had been shown in permitting some undergrowth to spring upunchecked. Owing to the conformation of the land, too, the bottom onwhich the mill stood was smaller than customary.
In the early morning light the great form of Peavey Jo seemed to assumegiant proportions. He was here, there, and everywhere at the moment, andhis blustering voice could be heard bellowing out orders, which, to dohim justice, were the best possible. As soon as the Supervisor and hisparty appeared he broke out into a violent tirade against them for notkeeping a fit watch over the forest and allowing a fire to get such aheadway on a night when in the evening there had been so little wind,whereas now a gale was rising fast. But Merritt did not waste breath inreply; he simply ordered his men to get in and do all they could toinsure the safety of the mill.
Wilbur, who had been set at cutting out the underbrush, found that hisstrength was about played out. Once, indeed, he shouldered his ax andstarted to walk back to say that he could do no more, but before hereached the place where his chief was working his determinationreturned, and he decided to go back and work till he dropped rightthere. He had given up bothering about his hands and feet being soblistered and sore, for all such local pain was dulled by the uttercollapse of nerve-sensation. He couldn't think clearly enough to thinkthat he was feeling pain; he could not think at all. He had been told tocut brush and he did so as a machine, working automatically, but seeingnothing and hearing nothing of what was going on around him.
Presently an animal premonition of fear struck him as he becameconscious of a terrific wave of heat, and he could hear in the distancethe roar of the flames coming closer. Raging through the resinous pinebranches the blaze had swept fiercely around the side of the hill. Asthe boy looked up he could see it suddenly break into greater vigor asthe up-draft on the hill fanned it to a wilder fury and made a furnaceof the place where he had been standing with Merritt and Rifle-Eyescarcely more than an hour before.
Meanwhile the wind drove the flames steadily onward toward thethreatened mill. It was becoming too hot for any human being to staywhere Wilbur was, but the boy seemed to have lost the power of thought.He chopped and chopped like a machine, not noticing, indeed, not beingable to notice that he was toiling there alone. It grew hotter andhotter, his breath came in quick, short gasps, and each breath hurt hislungs cruelly as he breathed the heat into them, but he worked on as ina dream. Suddenly he felt his shoulder seized. It was the Supervisor,who twisted him round and, pointing to the little bridge across theriver which spanned the stream just above the mill, he shouted:
"Run!"
But the boy's spirit was too exhausted to respond, though he got into adog trot and started for the bridge. Perilous though every second'sdelay was, Merritt would not go ahead of the boy, though he could haveoutdistanced his shambling and footsore pace two to one, but kept besidehim urging and threatening him alternately. The fire was on their heels,but they were in the clearing. On the bridge one of the miners wasstanding, riding the fastest horse in the party, holding, and with greatdifficulty holding, in hand the horse of the Supervisor and the boy'smare, Kit. Their very clothes were smoking as they reached the bridge.
Suddenly, a huge, twisted tree, full of sap, which stood on the edge ofthe clearing, exploded with a crash like a cannon, and a flaming branch,twenty feet in length, hurtled itself over their heads and fell full onthe further side of the bridge, barring their way. Upon the narrowbridge the horses reared in a sudden panic and tried to bolt, but theminer was an old-time cowboy, and he held them in hand. Merritt helpedthe lad into the saddle before mounting himself. But even in that momentthe bridge began to smoke, and in less than a minute the whole structurewould be ablaze. The miner dug his heels, spurred, into the sides of hishorse, and the animal in fear and desperation leaped over the hissingbranch that lay upon the bridge. The Supervisor's horse and Kit followedsuit. As they landed on the other side, however, the head of the forestreined in for a moment, and looking round, shouted suddenly:
"The mill!"
Wilbur pulled in Kit. So far as could be seen, none of the forest firehad reached the mill; the sparks which had fallen upon the roof had goneout harmlessly, so thoroughly had the place been soaked, yet through thedoor of the mill the flames could be seen on the inside. At first Wilburthought it must be some kind of a reflection. But as they watched,Peavey Jo rode up. He had crossed the bridge earlier, and was on thesafe side of the river watching his mill.
Suddenly, from out the door of the mill, outlined clearly against thefire within, came an ungainly, shambling figure. The features could notbe seen, but the gait was unmistakable. He came running in an odd,loose-jointed fashion toward the bridge. But just before he reached itthe now blazing timbers burned through and the bridge crashed into thestream.
"It's Ben," muttered Wilbur confusedly; "I guess I've got to go back,"and he headed Kit for the trail.
But the Supervisor leaned over and almost crushed the bones of the boy'shand in his restraining grip.
"No need," he said, "he's all right now."
For as he spoke Wilbur saw Ben leap from the bank on the portion of theburned bridge which had collapsed on his side of the stream. A few quickstrokes with the ax the boy was carrying and the timbers were free, andcrouched down upon them the boy was being carried down the stream. Hisperil was extreme, for below as well as above the fire was sweeping downon either side of the mill, and it was a question of minutes, almost ofseconds, whether the bridge-raft would pass down the river before thefire struck or whether it would be caught.
"If the wind would only lull!" ejaculated the boy.
"I'll stay here till I see him burn," replied Peavey Jo grimly.
But Wilbur's wish met its fulfillment, for just for the space that onecould count ten the wind slackened, and every second meant a few yardsof safety to the half-witted lad. Though they were risking their livesby staying, the three men waited, waited as still as they could for thefear of their horses, until the boy disappeared round a curve of theriver. A muttered execration from Peavey Jo announced the lad's safety.It angered the usually calm Supervisor.
"That ends you," he said. "You're licked, and you know it. Your mill'sgone, your timber's gone, and your credit's gone. Don't let me see youon this forest again."
"You think I do no more, eh? Me, I forget? Non! By and by you rememberPeavey Jo. Now I ride down river. That boy, you see him? He see the sunrise this morning. He no see the sun set. No. Nor ever any more. Ifollow the river trail. I do not say good-by, like the old song," headded, scowling his fury; "you wish yes!
Non! I say _au revoir_, andperhaps sooner than you t'ink."
He wheeled and turned down the river. The Supervisor turned to theminer.
"It's not my business to stop him," he said, "and the boy's got thestart. He can't reach there before the fire does, now."
Then, as though regretting the lull, the wind shrieked with a new andmore vindictive fury, as though it saw its vengeance before it. Almostat a breath it seemed the whole body of flame appeared to lift itself tothe skies and then fall like a devouring fury upon the forest on thehither side of the river below, whither Peavey Jo had ridden.
In the distance the two men heard a horse scream, and they knew. ButWilbur did not hear.
They had waited almost too long, for the wind, rising to its greatestheight, had carried the fire above them almost to the edge of the river,and now there was no question about its crossing. Further delay meant tobe hemmed in by a ring of fire. With a shout the miner slackened thereins and his horse leaped into a gallop, after him Merritt, and the boyclose behind. Wilbur had ridden fast before, but never had he knownsuch speed as now. The trail was clear before them to the top of theridge, the fire was behind, and the wind was hurling masses of flamesabout them on every side. The horses fled with the speed of fear, andthe Supervisor drew a breath of relief as they crossed a small ridgebelow the greater ridge whither they were bound.
Once a curl of flame licked clear over their heads and ignited a tree infront of them, but they were past it again before it caught fair hold.The boy could feel Kit's flanks heaving as she drew her breath hard, andwith the last instinct of safety he threw away everything that hecarried, even the fire-fighting tools being released. Only another mile,but the grade was fearfully steep, the steeper the harder for the horsesbut the better for the fire. Kit stumbled. A little less than a mileleft! He knew she could not do it. The mare had been kept astretch allnight, and her heart was breaking under the strain. Any second she mightfall.
The trail curved. And round the curve, with three horses saddled andwaiting, sat the old Ranger, facing the onrush of the fire asimperturbably as though his own life were in no way involved. Theminer's horse was freshest and he reached the group first. As he did so,he swung out of his saddle, was on one of the three and off. Theriderless horse, freed from the burden, followed up the trail. Merrittand Wilbur reached almost at the same time.
"I reckon," drawled Rifle-Eye, "that's a pretty close call."
"He's done," said the Supervisor, ignoring the remark. "Toss him up."
With a speed that seemed almost incredible to any one accustomed to hisleisurely movements, the old Ranger dismounted, picked Wilbur bodily outof the saddle, set him on one of the fresh animals, freed Kit, mountedhimself, and was off in less than thirty seconds. For the first halfmile it was touch and go, for the trail was steep and even the threefresh horses found the pace terrific. But little by little the timberthinned and the fire gained less hold. Then, with a burst they came intoa clearing along the top of the ridge. The crest was black with workers,over two hundred men were there, and on every side was to be heard thesound of trees crashing to the ground, most of them by dynamite.
Where the head of the trail reached the crest stood the doctor and hiswife, the "little white lady" trembling with excitement as she watchedthe fearful race from the jaws of a fiery death. The doctor pluckedWilbur from his saddle as the horse rushed by him. The boy's senses werereeling, but before he sank into insensibility from fatigue he heardMerritt say:
"Loyle, when you're a Ranger next year, I want you on my forest."
THE END
"KEEP IT FROM SPREADING BOYS!"
_Photography by U. S. Forest Service._]
"GET BUSY NOW, WHEN IT BREAKS INTO THE OPEN!"
_Photography by U. S. Forest Service._]