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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Forester, by Zane Grey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Young Forester
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Posting Date: November 25, 2008 [EBook #1882]
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG FORESTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bill Brewer
+
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG FORESTER
+
+By Zane Grey
+
+
+
+
+I. CHOOSING A PROFESSION
+
+I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in
+when I tried to explain forestry to my brother.
+
+“Hunting grizzlies!” he cried. “Why, Ken, father says you've been
+reading dime novels.”
+
+“Just wait, Hal, till he comes out here. I'll show him that forestry
+isn't just bear-hunting.”
+
+My brother Hal and I were camping a few days on the Susquehanna River,
+and we had divided the time between fishing and tramping. Our camp was
+on the edge of a forest some eight miles from Harrisburg. The property
+belonged to our father, and he had promised to drive out to see us. But
+he did not come that day, and I had to content myself with winning Hal
+over to my side.
+
+“Ken, if the governor lets you go to Arizona can't you ring me in?”
+
+“Not this summer. I'd be afraid to ask him. But in another year I'll do
+it.”
+
+“Won't it be great? But what a long time to wait! It makes me sick to
+think of you out there riding mustangs and hunting bears and lions.”
+
+“You'll have to stand it. You're pretty much of a kid, Hal--not yet
+fourteen. Besides, I've graduated.”
+
+“Kid!” exclaimed Hal, hotly. “You're not such a Methuselah yourself! I'm
+nearly as big as you. I can ride as well and play ball as well, and I
+can beat you all--”
+
+“Hold on, Hal! I want you to help me to persuade father, and if you get
+your temper up you'll like as not go against me. If he lets me go I'll
+bring you in as soon as I dare. That's a promise. I guess I know how
+much I'd like to have you.”
+
+“All right,” replied Hal, resignedly. “I'll have to hold in, I suppose.
+But I'm crazy to go. And, Ken, the cowboys and lions are not all that
+interest me. I like what you tell me about forestry. But who ever heard
+of forestry as a profession?”
+
+“It's just this way, Hal. The natural resources have got to be
+conserved, and the Government is trying to enlist intelligent young
+men in the work--particularly in the department of forestry. I'm not
+exaggerating when I say the prosperity of this country depends upon
+forestry.”
+
+I have to admit that I was repeating what I had read.
+
+“Why does it? Tell me how,” demanded Hal.
+
+“Because the lumbermen are wiping out all the timber and never thinking
+of the future. They are in such a hurry to get rich that they'll
+leave their grandchildren only a desert. They cut and slash in every
+direction, and then fires come and the country is ruined. Our rivers
+depend upon the forests for water. The trees draw the rain; the leaves
+break it up and let it fall in mists and drippings; it seeps into the
+ground, and is held by the roots. If the trees are destroyed the rain
+rushes off on the surface and floods the rivers. The forests store up
+water, and they do good in other ways.”
+
+“We've got to have wood and lumber,” said Hal.
+
+“Of course we have. But there won't be any unless we go in for forestry.
+It's been practiced in Germany for three hundred years.”
+
+We spent another hour talking about it, and if Hal's practical sense,
+which he inherited from father, had not been offset by his real love for
+the forests I should have been discouraged. Hal was of an industrious
+turn of mind; he meant to make money, and anything that was good
+business appealed strongly to him. But, finally, he began to see what I
+was driving at; he admitted that there was something in the argument.
+
+The late afternoon was the best time for fishing. For the next two hours
+our thoughts were of quivering rods and leaping bass.
+
+“You'll miss the big bass this August,” remarked Hal, laughing. “Guess
+you won't have all the sport.”
+
+“That's so, Hal,” I replied, regretfully. “But we're talking as if it
+were a dead sure thing that I'm going West. Well, I only hope so.”
+
+What Hal and I liked best about camping--of course after the
+fishing--was to sit around the campfire. Tonight it was more pleasant
+than ever, and when darkness fully settled down it was even thrilling.
+We talked about bears. Then Hal told of mountain-lions and the habit
+they have of creeping stealthily after hunters. There was a hoot-owl
+crying dismally up in the woods, and down by the edge of the river
+bright-green eyes peered at us from the darkness. When the wind came up
+and moaned through the trees it was not hard to imagine we were out
+in the wilderness. This had been a favorite game for Hal and me; only
+tonight there seemed some reality about it. From the way Hal whispered,
+and listened, and looked, he might very well have been expecting a visit
+from lions or, for that matter, even from Indians. Finally we went to
+bed. But our slumbers were broken. Hal often had nightmares even on
+ordinary nights, and on this one he moaned so much and thrashed about
+the tent so desperately that I knew the lions were after him.
+
+I dreamed of forest lands with snow-capped peaks rising in the
+background; I dreamed of elk standing on the open ridges, of
+white-tailed deer trooping out of the hollows, of antelope browsing
+on the sage at the edge of the forests. Here was the broad track of a
+grizzly in the snow; there on a sunny crag lay a tawny mountain-lion
+asleep. The bronzed cowboy came in for his share, and the lone bandit
+played his part in a way to make me shiver. The great pines, the shady,
+brown trails, the sunlit glades, were as real to me as if I had been
+among them. Most vivid of all was the lonely forest at night and the
+campfire. I heard the sputter of the red embers and smelled the wood
+smoke; I peered into the dark shadows watching and listening for I knew
+not what.
+
+On the next day early in the afternoon father appeared on the river
+road.
+
+“There he is,” cried Hal. “He's driving Billy. How he's coming.”
+
+Billy was father's fastest horse. It pleased me immensely to see the
+pace, for father would not have been driving fast unless he were in a
+particularly good humor. And when he stopped on the bank above camp
+I could have shouted. He wore his corduroys as if he were ready for
+outdoor life. There was a smile on his face as he tied Billy, and,
+coming down, he poked into everything in camp and asked innumerable
+questions. Hal talked about the bass until I was afraid he would want to
+go fishing and postpone our forestry tramp in the woods. But presently
+he spoke directly to me.
+
+“Well, Kenneth, are you going to come out with the truth about that
+Wild-West scheme of yours? Now that you've graduated you want a fling.
+You want to ride mustangs, to see cowboys, to hunt and shoot--all that
+sort of thing.”
+
+When father spoke in such a way it usually meant the defeat of my
+schemes. I grew cold all over.
+
+“Yes, father, I'd like all that--But I mean business. I want to be
+a forest ranger. Let me go to Arizona this summer. And in the fall
+I'd--I'd like to go to a school of forestry.”
+
+There! the truth was out, and my feelings were divided between relief
+and fear. Before father could reply I launched into a set speech upon
+forestry, and talked till I was out of breath.
+
+“There's something in what you say,” replied my father. “You've been
+reading up on the subject?”
+
+“Everything I could get, and I've been trying to apply my knowledge
+in the woods. I love the trees. I'd love an outdoor life. But forestry
+won't be any picnic. A ranger must be able to ride and pack, make trail
+and camp, live alone in the woods, fight fire and wild beasts. Oh! It'd
+be great!”
+
+“I dare say,” said father, dryly; “particularly the riding and shooting.
+Well, I guess you'll make a good-enough doctor to suit me.”
+
+“Give me a square deal,” I cried, jumping up. “Mayn't I have one word to
+say about my future? Wouldn't you rather have me happy and successful as
+a forester, even if there is danger, than just an ordinary, poor doctor?
+Let's go over our woodland. I'll prove that you are letting your forest
+run down. You've got sixty acres of hard woods that ought to be bringing
+a regular income. If I can't prove it, if I can't interest you, I'll
+agree to study medicine. But if I do you're to let me try forestry.”
+
+“Well, Kenneth, that's a fair proposition,” returned father, evidently
+surprised at my earnestness “Come on. We'll go up in the woods. Hal, I
+suppose he's won you over?”
+
+“Ken's got a big thing in mind,” replied Hal, loyally “It's just
+splendid.”
+
+I never saw the long, black-fringed line of trees without joy in the
+possession of them and a desire to be among them. The sixty acres of
+timber land covered the whole of a swampy valley, spread over a rolling
+hill sloping down to the glistening river.
+
+“Now, son, go ahead,” said my father, as we clambered over a rail fence
+and stepped into the edge of shade..
+
+“Well, father--” I began, haltingly, and could not collect my thoughts.
+Then we were in the cool woods. It was very still, there being only a
+faint rustling of leaves and the mellow note of a hermit-thrush. The
+deep shadows were lightened by shafts of sunshine which, here and there,
+managed to pierce the canopy of foliage. Somehow, the feeling roused by
+these things loosened my tongue.
+
+“This is an old hard-wood forest,” I began. “Much of the white oak,
+hickory, ash, maple, is virgin timber. These trees have reached
+maturity; many are dead at the tops; all of them should have been cut
+long ago. They make too dense a shade for the seedlings to survive. Look
+at that bunch of sapling maples. See how they reach up, trying to get
+to the light. They haven't a branch low down and the tops are thin. Yet
+maple is one of our hardiest trees. Growth has been suppressed. Do you
+notice there are no small oaks or hickories just here? They can't live
+in deep shade. Here's the stump of a white oak cut last fall. It was
+about two feet in diameter. Let's count the rings to find its age--about
+ninety years. It flourished in its youth and grew rapidly, but it had a
+hard time after about fifty years. At that time it was either burned, or
+mutilated by a falling tree, or struck by lightning.”
+
+“Now, how do you make that out?” asked father, intensely interested.
+
+“See the free, wide rings from the pith out to about number forty-five.
+The tree was healthy up to that time. Then it met with an injury of
+some kind, as is indicated by this black scar. After that the rings grew
+narrower. The tree struggled to live.”
+
+We walked on with me talking as fast as I could get the words out. I
+showed father a giant, bushy chestnut which was dominating all the trees
+around it, and told him how it retarded their growth. On the other hand,
+the other trees were absorbing nutrition from the ground that would have
+benefited the chestnut.
+
+“There's a sinful waste of wood here,” I said, as we climbed over and
+around the windfalls and rotting tree-trunks. “The old trees die and are
+blown down. The amount of rotting wood equals the yearly growth. Now, I
+want to show you the worst enemies of the trees. Here's a big white oak,
+a hundred and fifty years old. It's almost dead. See the little holes
+bored in the bark. They were made by a beetle. Look!”
+
+I swung my hatchet and split off a section of bark. Everywhere in the
+bark and round the tree ran little dust-filled grooves. I pried out a
+number of tiny brown beetles, somewhat the shape of a pinching-bug, only
+very much smaller.
+
+“There! You'd hardly think that that great tree was killed by a lot of
+little bugs, would you? They girdle the trees and prevent the sap from
+flowing.”
+
+I found an old chestnut which contained nests of the deadly white moths,
+and explained how it laid its eggs, and how the caterpillars that came
+from them killed the trees by eating the leaves. I showed how mice and
+squirrels injured the forest by eating the seeds.
+
+“First I'd cut and sell all the matured and dead timber. Then I'd thin
+out the spreading trees that want all the light, and the saplings that
+grow too close together. I'd get rid of the beetles, and try to check
+the spread of caterpillars. For trees grow twice as fast if they are not
+choked or diseased. Then I'd keep planting seeds and shoots in the open
+places, taking care to favor the species best adapted to the soil, and
+cutting those that don't grow well. In this way we'll be keeping our
+forest while doubling its growth and value, and having a yearly income
+from it.”
+
+“Kenneth, I see you're in dead earnest about this business,” said my
+father, slowly. “Before I came out here today I had been looking up
+the subject, and I believe, with you, that forestry really means the
+salvation of our country. I think you are really interested, and I've a
+mind not to oppose you.”
+
+“You'll never regret it. I'll learn; I'll work up. Then it's an outdoor
+life--healthy, free--why! all the boys I've told take to the idea.
+There's something fine about it.” “Forestry it is, then,” replied he. “I
+like the promise of it, and I like your attitude. If you have learned so
+much while you were camping out here the past few summers it speaks well
+for you. But why do you want to go to Arizona?”
+
+“Because the best chances are out West. I'd like to get a line on
+the National Forests there before I go to college. The work will be
+different; those Western forests are all pine. I've a friend, Dick
+Leslie, a fellow I used to fish with, who went West and is now a fire
+ranger in the new National Forest in Arizona--Penetier is the name of
+it. He has written me several times to come out and spend a while with
+him in the woods.”
+
+“Penetier? Where is that--near what town?”
+
+“Holston. It's a pretty rough country, Dick says; plenty of deer, bears,
+and lions on his range. So I could hunt some while studying the forests.
+I think I'd be safe with Dick, even if it is wild out there.”
+
+“All right, I'll let you go. When you return we'll see about the
+college.” Then he surprised me by drawing a letter from his pocket
+and handing it to me. “My friend, Mr. White, got this letter from the
+department at Washington. It may be of use to you out there.”
+
+So it was settled, and when father drove off homeward Hal and I went
+back to camp. It would have been hard to say which of us was the more
+excited. Hal did a war dance round the campfire. I was glad, however,
+that he did not have the little twinge of remorse which I experienced,
+for I had not told him or father all that Dick had written about the
+wilderness of Penetier. I am afraid my mind was as much occupied with
+rifles and mustangs as with the study of forestry. But, though the
+adventure called most strongly to me, I knew I was sincere about
+the forestry end of it, and I resolved that I would never slight my
+opportunities. So, smothering conscience, I fell to the delight of
+making plans. I was for breaking camp at once, but Hal persuaded me to
+stay one more day. We talked for hours. Only one thing bothered me. Hal
+was jolly and glum by turns. He reveled in the plans for my outfit, but
+he wanted his own chance. A thousand times I had to repeat my promise,
+and the last thing he said before we slept was: “Ken, you're going to
+ring me in next summer!”
+
+
+
+
+II. THE MAN ON THE TRAIN
+
+Travelling was a new experience to me, and on the first night after I
+left home I lay awake until we reached Altoona. We rolled out of smoky
+Pittsburg at dawn, and from then on the only bitter drop in my cup of
+bliss was that the train went so fast I could not see everything out of
+my window.
+
+Four days to ride! The great Mississippi to cross, the plains, the Rocky
+Mountains, then the Arizona plateaus-a long, long journey with a wild
+pine forest at the end! I wondered what more any young fellow could have
+wished. With my face glued to the car window I watched the level country
+speed by.
+
+There appeared to be one continuous procession of well-cultivated
+farms, little hamlets, and prosperous towns. What interested me most, of
+course, were the farms, for all of them had some kind of wood. We passed
+a zone of maple forests which looked to be more carefully kept than the
+others. Then I recognized that they were maple-sugar trees. The farmers
+had cleaned out the other species, and this primitive method of forestry
+had produced the finest maples it had ever been my good-fortune to see.
+Indiana was flatter than Ohio, not so well watered, and therefore less
+heavily timbered. I saw, with regret, that the woodland was being cut
+regularly, tree after tree, and stacked in cords for firewood.
+
+At Chicago I was to change for Santa Fe, and finding my train in
+the station I climbed aboard. My car was a tourist coach. Father had
+insisted on buying a ticket for the California Limited, but I had argued
+that a luxurious Pullman was not exactly the thing for a prospective
+forester. Still I pocketed the extra money which I had assured him he
+need not spend for the first-class ticket.
+
+The huge station, with its glaring lights and clanging bells, and the
+outspreading city, soon gave place to prairie land.
+
+That night I slept little, but the very time I wanted to be awake--when
+we crossed the Mississippi--I was slumbering soundly, and so missed it.
+
+“I'll bet I don't miss it coming back,” I vowed.
+
+The sight of the Missouri, however, somewhat repaid me for the loss.
+What a muddy, wide river! And I thought of the thousands of miles of
+country it drained, and of the forests there must be at its source. Then
+came the never-ending Kansas corn-fields. I do not know whether it was
+their length or their treeless monotony, but I grew tired looking at
+them.
+
+From then on I began to take some notice of my fellow-travelers. The
+conductor proved to be an agreeable old fellow; and the train-boy,
+though I mistrusted his advances because he tried to sell me everything
+from chewing-gum to mining stock, turned out to be pretty good company.
+The Negro porter had such a jolly voice and laugh that I talked to him
+whenever I got the chance. Then occasional passengers occupied the seat
+opposite me from town to town. They were much alike, all sunburned and
+loud-voiced, and it looked as though they had all bought their high
+boots and wide hats at the same shop.
+
+The last traveller to face me was a very heavy man with a great bullet
+head and a shock of light hair. His blue eyes had a bold flash, his long
+mustache drooped, and there was something about him that I did not like.
+He wore a huge diamond in the bosom of his flannel shirt, and a
+leather watch-chain that was thick and strong enough to have held up a
+town-clock.
+
+“Hot,” he said, as he mopped his moist brow.
+
+“Not so hot as it was,” I replied.
+
+“Sure not. We're climbin' a little. He's whistlin' for Dodge City now.”
+
+“Dodge City?” I echoed, with interest. The name brought back vivid
+scenes from certain yellow-backed volumes, and certain uncomfortable
+memories of my father's displeasure. “Isn't this the old cattle town
+where there used to be so many fights?”
+
+“Sure. An' not so very long ago. Here, look out the window.” He clapped
+his big hand on my knee; then pointed. “See that hill there. Dead Man's
+Hill it was once, where they buried the fellers as died with their boots
+on.”
+
+I stared, and even stretched my neck out of the window.
+
+“Yes, old Dodge was sure lively,” he continued, as our train passed
+on. “I seen a little mix-up there myself in the early eighties. Five
+cow-punchers, friends they was, had been visitin' town. One feller,
+playful-like, takes another feller's quirt--that's a whip. An' the other
+feller, playful-like, says, 'Give it back.' Then they tussles for
+it, an' rolls on the ground. I was laughin', as was everybody, when,
+suddenly, the owner of the quirt thumps his friend. Both cowboys got up,
+slow, an' watchin' of each other. Then the first feller, who had started
+the play, pulls his gun. He'd hardly flashed it when they all pulls
+guns, an' it was some noisy an' smoky. In about five seconds there was
+five dead cowpunchers. Killed themselves, as you might say, just for
+fun. That's what life was worth in old Dodge.” After this story I felt
+more kindly disposed ward my travelling companion, and would have
+asked for more romances but the conductor came along and engaged him in
+conversation. Then my neighbor across the aisle, a young fellow not much
+older than myself, asked me to talk to him.
+
+“Why, yes, if you like,” I replied, in surprise. He was pale; there were
+red spots in his cheeks, and dark lines under his weary eyes.
+
+“You look so strong and eager that it's done me good to watch you,” he
+explained, with a sad smile. “You see--I'm sick.”
+
+I told him I was very sorry, and hoped he would get well soon.
+
+“I ought to have come West sooner,” he replied, “but I couldn't get the
+money.”
+
+He looked up at me and then out of the window at the sun setting
+red across the plains. I tried to make him think of something beside
+himself, but I made a mess of it. The meeting with him was a shock to
+me. Long after dark, when I had stretched out for the night, I kept
+thinking of him and contrasting what I had to look forward to with his
+dismal future. Somehow it did not seem fair, and I could not get rid of
+the idea that I was selfish.
+
+Next day I had my first sight of real mountains. And the Pennsylvania
+hills, that all my life had appeared so high, dwindled to nothing. At
+Trinidad, where we stopped for breakfast, I walked out on the platform
+sniffing at the keen thin air. When we crossed the Raton Mountains
+into New Mexico the sick boy got off at the first station, and I waved
+good-bye to him as the train pulled out. Then the mountains and the
+funny little adobe huts and the Pueblo Indians along the line made me
+forget everything else.
+
+The big man with the heavy watch-chain was still on the train, and after
+he had read his newspaper he began to talk to me.
+
+“This road follows the old trail that the goldseekers took in
+forty-nine,” he said. “We're comin' soon to a place, Apache Pass, where
+the Apaches used to ambush the wagon-trains, It's somewheres along
+here.”
+
+Presently the train wound into a narrow yellow ravine, the walls of
+which grew higher and higher.
+
+“Them Apaches was the worst redskins ever in the West. They used to hide
+on top of this pass an' shoot down on the wagon-trains.”
+
+Later in the day he drew my attention to a mountain standing all by
+itself. It was shaped like a cone, green with trees almost to the
+summit, and ending in a bare stone peak that had a flat top.
+
+“Starvation Peak,” he said. “That name's three hundred years old, dates
+back to the time the Spaniards owned this land. There's a story about it
+that's likely true enough. Some Spaniards were attacked by Indians an'
+climbed to the peak, expectin' to be better able to defend themselves
+up there. The Indians camped below the peak an' starved the Spaniards.
+Stuck there till they starved to death! That's where it got its name.”
+
+“Those times you tell of must have been great,” I said, regretfully.
+“I'd like to have been here then. But isn't the country all settled now?
+Aren't the Indians dead? There's no more fighting?”
+
+“It's not like it used to be, but there's still warm places in the West.
+Not that the Indians break out often any more. But bad men are almost as
+bad, if not so plentiful, as when Billy the Kid run these parts. I saw
+two men shot an' another knifed jest before I went East to St. Louis.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“In Arizona. Holston is the station where I get off, an' it happened
+near there.”
+
+“Holston is where I'm going.”
+
+“You don't say. Well, I'm glad to meet you, young man. My name's Buell,
+an' I'm some known in Holston. What's your name?”
+
+He eyed me in a sharp but not unfriendly manner, and seemed pleased to
+learn of my destination.
+
+“Ward. Kenneth Ward. I'm from Pennsylvania.”
+
+“You haven't got the bugs. Any one can see that,” he said, and as I
+looked puzzled he went on with a smile, and a sounding rap on his chest:
+“Most young fellers as come out here have consumption. They call it
+bugs. I reckon you're seekin' your fortune.”'
+
+“Yes, in a way.”
+
+“There's opportunities for husky youngsters out here. What're you goin'
+to rustle for, if I may ask?”
+
+“I'm going in for forestry.”
+
+“Forestry? Do you mean lumberin'?”
+
+“No. Forestry is rather the opposite of lumbering. I'm going in for
+Government forestry--to save the timber, not cut it.”
+
+It seemed to me he gave a little start of surprise; he certainly
+straightened up and looked at me hard.
+
+“What's Government forestry?”
+
+I told him to the best of my ability. He listened attentively enough,
+but thereafter he had not another word for me, and presently he went
+into the next car. I took his manner to be the Western abruptness that I
+had heard of, and presently forgot him in the scenery along the line.
+At Albuquerque I got off for a trip to a lunch-counter, and happened to
+take a seat next to him.
+
+“Know anybody in Holston?” he asked.
+
+As I could not speak because of a mouthful of sandwich I shook my head.
+For the moment I had forgotten about Dick Leslie, and when it did occur
+to me some Indians offering to sell me beads straightway drove it out of
+my mind again.
+
+When I awoke the next day, it was to see the sage ridges and red buttes
+of Arizona. We were due at Holston at eight o'clock, but owing to a
+crippled engine the train was hours late. At last I fell asleep to be
+awakened by a vigorous shake.
+
+“Holston. Your stop. Holston,” the conductor was saying.
+
+“All right,” I said, sitting up and then making a grab for my grip.
+“We're pretty late, aren't we?”
+
+“Six hours. It's two o'clock.”
+
+“Hope I can get a room,” I said, as I followed him out on the platform.
+He held up his lantern so that the light would shine in my face.
+“There's a hotel down the street a block or so. Better hurry and look
+sharp. Holston's not a safe place for a stranger at night.”
+
+I stepped off into a windy darkness. A lamp glimmered in the station
+window. By its light I made out several men, the foremost of whom had
+a dark, pointed face and glittering eyes. He wore a strange hat, and I
+knew from pictures I had seen that he was a Mexican. Then the bulky form
+of Buell loomed up. I called, but evidently he did not hear me. The men
+took his grips, and they moved away to disappear in the darkness. While
+I paused, hoping to see some one to direct me, the train puffed out,
+leaving me alone on the platform.
+
+When I turned the corner I saw two dim lights, one far to the left,
+the other to the right, and the black outline of buildings under what
+appeared to be the shadow of a mountain. It was the quietest and darkest
+town I had ever struck.
+
+I decided to turn toward the right-hand light, for the conductor had
+said “down the street.” I set forth at a brisk pace, but the loneliness
+and strangeness of the place were rather depressing.
+
+Before I had gone many steps, however, the sound of running water halted
+me, and just in the nick of time, for I was walking straight into a
+ditch. By peering hard into the darkness and feeling my way I found
+a bridge. Then it did not take long to reach the light. But it was a
+saloon, and not the hotel. One peep into it served to make me face about
+in double-quick time, and hurry in the opposite direction.
+
+Hearing a soft footfall, I glanced over my shoulder, to see the Mexican
+that I had noticed at the station. He was coming from across the street.
+I wondered if he were watching me. He might be. My heart began to beat
+violently. Turning once again, I discovered that the fellow could not be
+seen in the pitchy blackness. Then I broke into a run.
+
+
+
+
+III. THE TRAIL
+
+A short dash brought me to the end of the block; the side street was not
+so dark, and after I had crossed this open space I glanced backward.
+
+Soon I sped into a wan circle of light, and, reaching a door upon which
+was a hotel sign, I burst in. Chairs were scattered about a bare office;
+a man stirred on a couch, and then sat up, blinking.
+
+“I'm afraid--I believe some one's chasing me,” I said.
+
+He sat there eying me, and then drawled, sleepily:
+
+“Thet ain't no call to wake a feller, is it?”
+
+The man settled himself comfortably again, and closed his eyes.
+
+“Say, isn't this a hotel? I want a room!” I cried.
+
+“Up-stairs; first door.” And with that the porter went to sleep in good
+earnest.
+
+I made for the stairs, and, after a backward look into the street, I ran
+up. A smelly lamp shed a yellowish glare along a hall. I pushed open
+the first door, and, entering the room, bolted myself in. Then all the
+strength went out of my legs. When I sat down on the bed I was in a cold
+sweat and shaking like a leaf. Soon the weakness passed, and I moved
+about the room, trying to find a lamp or candle. Evidently the hotel,
+and, for that matter, the town of Holston, did not concern itself
+with such trifles as lights. On the instant I got a bad impression of
+Holston. I had to undress in the dark. When I pulled the window open a
+little at the top the upper sash slid all the way down. I managed to
+get it back, and tried raising the lower sash. It was very loose, but it
+stayed up. Then I crawled into bed.
+
+Though I was tired and sleepy, my mind whirled so that I could not get
+to sleep. If I had been honest with myself I should have wished myself
+back home. Pennsylvania seemed a long way off, and the adventures that I
+had dreamed of did not seem so alluring, now that I was in a lonely room
+in a lonely, dark town. Buell had seemed friendly and kind--at least,
+in the beginning. Why had he not answered my call? The incident did
+not look well to me. Then I fell to wondering if the Mexican had really
+followed me. The first thing for me in the morning would be to buy a
+revolver. Then if any Mexicans--
+
+A step on the tin roof outside frightened me stiff. I had noticed a
+porch, or shed, under my window. Some one must have climbed upon it. I
+stopped breathing to listen. For what seemed moments there was no sound.
+I wanted to think that the noise might have been made by a cat, but I
+couldn't. I was scared--frightened half to death.
+
+If there had been a bolt on the window the matter would not have been so
+disturbing. I lay there a-quiver, eyes upon the gray window space of my
+room. Dead silence once more intervened. All I heard was the pound of my
+heart against my ribs.
+
+Suddenly I froze at the sight of a black figure against the light of
+my window. I recognized the strange hat, the grotesque outlines. I was
+about to shout for help when the fellow reached down and softly began to
+raise the sash.
+
+That made me angry. Jerking up in bed, I caught the heavy pitcher from
+the wash-stand and flung it with all my might.
+
+Crash!
+
+Had I smashed out the whole side of the room it could scarcely have made
+more noise. Accompanied by the clinking of glass and the creaking of
+tin, my visitor rolled off the roof. I waited, expecting an uproar from
+the other inmates of the hotel. No footstep, no call sounded within
+hearing. Once again the stillness settled down.
+
+Then, to my relief, the gray gloom lightened, and dawn broke. Never
+had I been so glad to see the morning. While dressing I cast gratified
+glances at the ragged hole in the window. With the daylight my courage
+had returned, and I began to have a sort of pride in my achievement.
+
+“If that fellow had known how I can throw a baseball he'd have been
+careful,” I thought, a little cockily.
+
+I went down-stairs into the office. The sleepy porter was mopping the
+floor. Behind the desk stood a man so large that he made Buell seem
+small. He was all shoulders and beard.
+
+“Can I get breakfast?”
+
+“Nobody's got a half-hitch on you, has they?” he replied, jerking a
+monstrous thumb over his shoulder toward a door.
+
+I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I was
+rather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room was
+more attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linen
+was clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served to
+several rugged men gave forth a savory odor. But either the waiter was
+blind or he could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention to
+me. I waited, while trying to figure out the situation. Something was
+wrong, and, whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. After
+about an hour I got my breakfast. Then I went into the office, intending
+to be brisk, businesslike, and careful about asking questions.
+
+“I'd like to pay my bill, and also for a little damage,” I said, telling
+what had happened.
+
+“Somebody'll kill thet Greaser yet,” was all the comment the man made.
+
+I went outside, not knowing whether to be angry or amused with these
+queer people. In the broad light of day Holston looked as bad as it
+had made me feel by night. All I could see were the station and
+freight-sheds, several stores with high, wide signs, glaringly painted,
+and a long block of saloons. When I had turned a street corner,
+however, a number of stores came into view with some three-storied brick
+buildings, and, farther out, many frame houses.
+
+Moreover, this street led my eye to great snowcapped mountains, and I
+stopped short in my tracks, for I realized they were the Arizona peaks.
+Up the swelling slopes swept a black fringe that I knew to be timber.
+The mountains appeared to be close, but I knew that even the foot-bills
+were miles away. Penetier, I remembered from one of Dick's letters, was
+on the extreme northern slope, and it must be anywhere from forty to
+sixty miles off. The sharp, white peaks glistened in the morning sun;
+the air had a cool touch of snow and a tang of pine. I drew in a full
+breath, with a sense on being among the pines.
+
+Now I must buy my outfit and take the trail for Penetier. This I
+resolved to do with as few questions as possible. I never before was
+troubled by sensitiveness, but the fact had dawned upon me that I did
+not like being taken for a tenderfoot. So, with this in mind, I entered
+a general merchandise store.
+
+It was very large, and full of hardware, harness, saddles,
+blankets--everything that cowboys and ranchmen use. Several men, two
+in shirt-sleeves, were chatting near the door. They saw me come in, and
+then, for all that it meant to them, I might as well not have been in
+existence at all. So I sat down to wait, determined to take Western ways
+and things as I found them. I sat there fifteen minutes by my watch.
+This was not so bad; but when a lanky, red-faced, leather-legged
+individual came in too he at once supplied with his wants, I began to get
+angry. I waited another five minutes, and still the friendly chatting
+went on. Finally I could stand it no longer.
+
+“Will somebody wait on me?” I demanded.
+
+One of the shirt-sleeved men leisurely got up and surveyed me.
+
+“Do you want to buy something?” he drawled.
+
+“Yes, I do.”
+
+“Why didn't you say so?”
+
+The reply trembling on my lips was cut short by the entrance of Buell.
+
+“Hello!” he said in a loud voice, shaking hands with me. “You've trailed
+into the right place. Smith, treat this lad right. It's guns an' knives
+an' lassoes he wants, I'll bet a hoss.”
+
+“Yes, I want an outfit,” I said, much embarrassed. “I'm going to meet a
+friend out in Penetier, a ranger--Dick Leslie.”
+
+Buell started violently, and his eyes flashed. “Dick--Dick Leslie!” he
+said, and coughed loudly. “I know Dick.... So you're a friend of his'n?
+... Now, let me help you with the outfit.”
+
+Anything strange in Buell's manner was forgotten, in the absorbing
+interest of my outfit. Father had given me plenty of money, so that I
+had but to choose. I had had sense enough to bring my old corduroys and
+boots, and I had donned them that morning. One after another I made my
+purchases--Winchester, revolver, holsters, ammunition, saddle, bridle,
+lasso, blanket. When I got so far, Buell said: “You'll need a mustang
+an' a pack-pony. I know a feller who's got jest what you want.” And with
+that he led me out of the store.
+
+“Now you take it from me,” he went on, in a fatherly voice, “Holston
+people haven't got any use for Easterners. An' if you mention your
+business--forestry an' that--why, you wouldn't be safe. There's many in
+the lumberin' business here as don't take kindly to the Government. See!
+That's why I'm givin' you advice. Keep it to yourself an' hit the trail
+today, soon as you can. I'll steer you right.”
+
+I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him.
+However, he scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about the
+townspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at a
+kind of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies. The sight of them drove
+every other thought out of my head.
+
+“Mustangs!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Sure. Can you ride?”
+
+“Oh yes. I have a horse at home.... What wiry little fellows! They're so
+wild-looking.”
+
+“You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here.
+He's the man who owns this bunch.”
+
+It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye.
+When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I was
+trying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man.
+
+“Thet your pick?” he asked, as I pointed. “Well, now, you're not so much
+of a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much for
+him, an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?”
+
+“I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square,” replied the owner.
+
+This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about seventy-five
+dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy the
+mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.
+
+“Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for him
+at once.” Then he turned to me. “Now some grub, an' a pan or two.”
+
+Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies. Buell, however, cut
+out much that I wanted, saying the thing to think of was a light pack
+for the pony.
+
+“I'll hurry to the hotel and get my things,” I said, “and meet you here.
+I'll not be a moment.”
+
+But Buell said it would be better for him to go with me, though he did
+not explain. He kept with me, still he remained in the office while I
+went up-stairs. Somehow this suited me, for I did not want him to see
+the broken window. I took a few things from my grip and rolled them in a
+bundle. Then I took a little leather case of odds and ends I had always
+carried when camping and slipped it into my pocket. Hurrying down-stairs
+I left my grip with the porter, wrote and mailed a postal card to my
+father, and followed the impatient Buell.
+
+“You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to get
+there before dark,” he explained, kindly.
+
+I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang saddled
+and bridled.
+
+“He's well broke,” said Cless. “Keep his bridle down when you ain't
+in the saddle. An' find a patch of grass fer him at night. The pony'll
+stick to him.”
+
+Cless fell to packing a lean pack-pony.
+
+“Watch me do this,” said he; “you'll hev trouble if you don't git the
+hang of the diamondhitch.”
+
+I watched him set the little wooden criss-cross on the pony's back,
+throw the balance of my outfit (which he had tied up in a canvas) over
+the saddle, and then pass a long rope in remarkable turns and wonderful
+loops round pony and pack.
+
+“What's the mustang's name?” I inquired.
+
+“Never had any,” replied the former owner.
+
+“Then it's Hal.” I thought how that name would please my brother at
+home.
+
+“Climb up. Let's see if you fit the stirrups,” said Cless. “Couldn't be
+better.”
+
+“Now, young feller, you can hit the trail,” put in Buell, with his big
+voice. “An' remember what I told you. This country ain't got much use
+for a feller as can't look out for himself.”
+
+He opened the gate, and led my mustang into the road and quite some
+distance. The pony jogged along after us. Then Buell stopped with a
+finger outstretched.
+
+“There, at the end of this street, you'll find a trail. Hit it an' stick
+to it. All the little trail's leadin' into it needn't bother you.”
+
+He swept his hand round to the west of the mountain. The direction did
+not tally with the idea I had gotten from Dick's letter.
+
+“I thought Penetier was on the north side of the mountains.”
+
+“Who said so?” he asked, staring. “Don't I know this country? Take it
+from me.”
+
+I thanked him, and, turning, with a light heart I faced the black
+mountain and my journey.
+
+It was about ten o'clock when Hal jogged into a broad trail on the
+outskirts of Holston. A gray flat lay before me, on the other side of
+which began the slow rise of the slope. I could hardly contain myself.
+I wanted to run the mustang, but did not for the sake of the burdened
+pony. That sage-flat was miles wide, though it seemed so narrow. The
+back of the lower slope began to change to a dark green, which told me I
+was surely getting closer to the mountains, even if it did not seem so.
+The trail began to rise, and at last I reached the first pine-trees.
+They were a disappointment to me, being no larger than many of the white
+oaks at home, and stunted, with ragged dead tops. They proved to me that
+trees isolated from their fellows fare as poorly as trees overcrowded.
+Where pines grow closely, but not too closely, they rise straight and
+true, cleaning themselves of the low branches, and making good lumber,
+free of knots. Where they grow far apart, at the mercy of wind and heat
+and free to spread many branches, they make only gnarled and knotty
+lumber.
+
+As I rode on the pines became slowly more numerous and loftier. Then,
+when I had surmounted what I took to be the first foot-hill, I came upon
+a magnificent forest. A little farther on the trail walled me in with
+great seamed trunks, six feet in diameter, rising a hundred feet before
+spreading a single branch.
+
+Meanwhile my mustang kept steadily up the slow-rising trail, and the
+time passed. Either the grand old forest had completely bewitched me or
+the sweet smell of pine had intoxicated me, for as I rode along utterly
+content I entirely forgot about Dick and the trail and where I was
+heading. Nor did I come to my senses until Hal snorted and stopped
+before a tangled windfall.
+
+Then I glanced down to see only the clean, brown pine-needles. There was
+no trail. Perplexed and somewhat anxious, I rode back a piece, expecting
+surely to cross the trail. But I did not. I went to the left and to
+the right, then circled in a wide curve. No trail! The forest about me
+seemed at once familiar and strange.
+
+It was only when the long shadows began to creep under the trees that I
+awoke fully to the truth.
+
+I had missed the trail! I was lost in the forest!
+
+
+
+
+IV. LOST IN THE FOREST
+
+For a moment I was dazed. And then came panic. I ran up this ridge and
+that one, I rushed to and fro over ground which looked, whatever way I
+turned, exactly the same. And I kept saying, “I'm lost! I'm lost!” Not
+until I dropped exhausted against a pine-tree did any other thought come
+to me.
+
+The moment that I stopped running about so aimlessly the panicky feeling
+left me. I remembered that for a ranger to be lost in the forest was an
+every-day affair, and the sooner I began that part of my education the
+better. Then it came to me how foolish I had been to get alarmed, when I
+knew that the general slope of the forest led down to the open country.
+
+This put an entirely different light upon the matter. I still had some
+fears that I might not soon find Dick Leslie, but these I dismissed for
+the present, at least. A suitable place to camp for the night must be
+found. I led the mustang down into the hollows, keeping my eye sharp for
+grass. Presently I came to a place that was wet and soggy at the bottom,
+and, following this up for quite a way, I found plenty of grass and a
+pool of clear water.
+
+Often as I had made camp back in the woods of Pennsylvania, the doing
+of it now was new. For this was not play; it was the real thing, and it
+made the old camping seem tame. I took the saddle off Hal and tied him
+with my lasso, making as long a halter as possible. Slipping the pack
+from the pony was an easier task than the getting it back again was
+likely to prove. Next I broke open a box of cartridges and loaded
+the Winchester. My revolver was already loaded, and hung on my belt.
+Remembering Dick's letters about the bears and mountain-lions in
+Penetier Forest, I got a good deal of comfort out of my weapons. Then
+I built a fire, and while my supper was cooking I scraped up a mass of
+pine-needles for a bed. Never had I sat down to a meal with such a sense
+of strange enjoyment.
+
+But when I had finished and had everything packed away and covered,
+my mind began to wander in unexpected directions. Why was it that the
+twilight seemed to move under the giant pines and creep down the
+hollow? While I gazed the gray shadows deepened to black, and night came
+suddenly. My campfire seemed to give almost no light, yet close at hand
+the flickering gleams played hide-and-seek among the pines and chased up
+the straight tree trunks. The crackling of my fire and the light steps
+of the grazing mustangs only emphasized the silence of the forest. Then
+a low moaning from a distance gave me a chill. At first I had no idea
+what it was, but presently I thought it must be the wind in the pines.
+It bore no resemblance to any sound I had ever before heard in the
+woods. It would murmur from different parts of the forest; sometimes it
+would cease for a little, and then travel and swell toward me, only to
+die away again. But it rose steadily, with shorter intervals of silence,
+until the intermittent gusts swept through the tree-tops with a rushing
+roar. I had listened to the crash of the ocean surf, and the resemblance
+was a striking one.
+
+Listening to this mournful wind with all my ears I was the better
+prepared for any lonesome cries of the forest; nevertheless, a sudden,
+sharp “Ki-yi-i!” seemingly right at my back, gave me a fright that sent
+my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
+
+Fumbling at the hammer of my rifle, I peered into the black-streaked
+gloom of the forest. The crackling of dry twigs brought me to my feet.
+At the same moment the mustangs snorted. Something was prowling about
+just beyond the light. I thought of a panther. That was the only beast I
+could think of which had such an unearthly cry.
+
+Then another howl, resembling that of a dog, and followed by yelps and
+barks, told me that I was being visited by a pack of coyotes. I spent
+the good part of an hour listening to their serenade. The wild, mournful
+notes sent quivers up my back. By-and-by they went away, and as my fire
+had burned down to a red glow and the night wind had grown cold I began
+to think of sleep.
+
+But I was not sleepy. When I had stretched out on the soft bed of
+pine-needles with my rifle close by, and was all snug and warm under the
+heavy blanket, it seemed that nothing was so far away from me as sleep.
+The wonder of my situation kept me wide awake, my eyes on the dim huge
+pines and the glimmer of stars, and my ears open to the rush and roar
+of the wind, every sense alert. Hours must have passed as I lay there
+living over the things that had happened and trying to think out what
+was to come. At last, however, I rolled over on my side, and with my
+hand on the rifle and my cheek close to the sweet-smelling pine-needles
+I dropped asleep.
+
+When I awoke the forest was bright and sunny.
+
+“You'll make a fine forester,” I said aloud, in disgust at my tardiness.
+Then began the stern business of the day. While getting breakfast I
+turned over in my mind the proper thing for me to do. Evidently I must
+pack and find the trail. The pony had wandered off into the woods,
+but was easily caught--a fact which lightened my worry, for I knew how
+dependent I was upon my mustangs. When I had tried for I do not know how
+long to get my pack to stay on the pony's back I saw where Mr. Cless
+had played a joke on me. All memory of the diamond-hitch had faded into
+utter confusion. First the pack fell over the off-side; next, on top of
+me; then the saddle slipped awry, and when I did get the pack to remain
+stationary upon the patient pony, how on earth to tie it there became
+more and more of a mystery. Finally, in sheer desperation, I ran round
+the pony, pulled, tugged, and knotted the lasso; more by luck than
+through sense I had accomplished something in the nature of the
+diamond-hitch.
+
+I headed Hal up the gentle forest slope, and began the day's journey
+wherever chance might lead me. As confidence came, my enjoyment
+increased. I began to believe I could take care of myself. I reasoned
+out that, as the peaks were snow-capped, I should find water, and very
+likely game, up higher. Moreover, I might climb a foothill or bluff from
+which I could get my bearings.
+
+It seemed to me that I passed more pine-trees than I could have imagined
+there were in the whole world. Miles and miles of pines! And in every
+mile they grew larger and ruggeder and farther apart, and so high that
+I could hardly see the tips. After a time I got out of the almost level
+forest into ground ridged and hollowed, and found it advisable to turn
+more to the right. On the sunny southern slopes I saw trees that dwarfed
+the ones on the colder and shady north sides. I also found many small
+pines and seedlings growing in warm, protected places. This showed me
+the value of the sun to a forest. Though I kept a lookout for deer or
+game of any kind, I saw nothing except some black squirrels with white
+tails. They were beautiful and very tame, and one was nibbling at what I
+concluded must have been a seed from a pine-cone.
+
+Presently I fancied that I espied a moving speck far down through the
+forest glades. I stopped Hal, and, watching closely, soon made certain
+of it. Then it became lost for a time, but reappeared again somewhat
+closer. It was like a brown blur and scarcely moved. I reined Hal more
+to the right. Not for quite a while did I see the thing again, and when
+I did it looked so big and brown that I took up my Winchester. Then it
+disappeared once more.
+
+I descended into a hollow, and tying Hal, I stole forward on foot,
+hoping by that means to get close to the strange object without being
+seen myself.
+
+I waited behind a pine, and suddenly three horsemen rode across a glade
+not two hundred yards away. The foremost rider was no other than the
+Mexican whom I had reason to remember.
+
+The huge trunk amply concealed me, but, nevertheless, I crouched down.
+How strange that I should run into that Mexican again! Where was he
+going? Had he followed me? Was there a trail?
+
+As long as the three men were in sight I watched them. When the last
+brown speck had flitted and disappeared far away in the forest I
+retraced my steps to my mustang, pondering upon this new turn in my
+affairs.
+
+“Things are bound to happen to me,” I concluded, “and I may as well make
+up my mind to that.”
+
+While standing beside Hal, undecided as to my next move, I heard a
+whistle. It was faint, perhaps miles away, yet unmistakably it was the
+whistle of an engine. I wondered if the railroad turned round this side
+of the peaks. Mounting Hal, I rode down the forest to the point where I
+had seen the men, and there came upon a trail. I proceeded along this
+in the direction the men had taken. I had come again to the slow-rising
+level that I had noted earlier in my morning's journey. After several
+miles a light or opening in the forest ahead caused me to use more
+caution. As I rode forward I saw a vast area of tree-tops far below, and
+then I found myself on the edge of a foot-hill.
+
+Right under me was a wide, yellow, bare spot, miles across, a horrible
+slash in the green forest, and in the middle of it, surrounded by stacks
+on stacks of lumber, was a great sawmill.
+
+I stared in utter amazement. A sawmill on Penetier! Even as I gazed a
+train of fresh-cut lumber trailed away into the forest.
+
+
+
+
+V. THE SAWMILL
+
+In my surprise I almost forgot the Mexican. Then I thought that if Dick
+were there the Mexican would be likely to have troubles of his own. I
+remembered Dick's reputation as a fighter. But suppose I did not find
+Dick at the sawmill? This part of the forest was probably owned by
+private individuals, for I couldn't imagine Government timber being
+cut in this fashion. So I tied Hal and the pony amidst a thick clump of
+young pines, and, leaving all my outfit except my revolver, I struck out
+across the slash.
+
+No second glance was needed to tell that the lumbering here was careless
+and without thought for the future. It had been a clean cut, and what
+small saplings had escaped the saw had been crushed by the dropping and
+hauling of the large pines. The stumps were all about three feet high,
+and that meant the waste of many thousands of feet of good lumber. Only
+the straight, unbranched trunks had been used. The tops of the pines had
+not been lopped, and lay where they had fallen. It was a wilderness of
+yellow brush, a dry jungle. The smell of pine was so powerful that I
+could hardly breathe. Fire must inevitably complete this work of ruin;
+already I was forester enough to see that.
+
+Presently the trail crossed a railroad track which appeared to have been
+hastily constructed. Swinging along at a rapid step on the ties I soon
+reached the outskirts of the huge stacks of lumber; I must have walked
+half a mile between two yellow walls. Then I entered the lumber camp.
+
+It was even worse-looking than the slash. Rows of dirty tents, lines
+of squatty log-cabins, and many flat-board houses clustered around an
+immense sawmill. Evidently I had arrived at the noon hour, for the mill
+was not running, and many rough men were lounging about smoking pipes.
+At the door of the first shack stood a fat, round-faced Negro wearing a
+long, dirty apron.
+
+“Is Dick Leslie here?” I asked.
+
+“I dunno if Dick's come in yet, but I 'specks him,” he replied. “Be you
+the young gent Dick's lookin' fer from down East?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Come right in, sonny, come right in an' eat. Dick allus eats with me,
+an' he has spoke often 'bout you.” He led me in, and seated me at a
+bench where several men were eating. They were brawny fellows, clad
+in overalls and undershirts, and one, who spoke pleasantly to me, had
+sawdust on his bare arms and even in his hair. The cook set before me
+a bowl of soup, a plate of beans, potroast, and coffee, all of which I
+attacked with a good appetite. Presently the men finished their meat and
+went outside, leaving me alone with the cook.
+
+“Many men on this job?” I asked.
+
+“More'n a thousand. Buell's runnin' two shifts, day an' night.”
+
+“Buell? Does he own this land?”
+
+“No. He's only the agent of a 'Frisco lumber company, an' the land
+belongs to the Government. Buell's sure slashin' the lumber off, though.
+Two freight-trains of lumber out every day.”
+
+“Is this Penetier Forest?” I queried, carelessly, but I had begun to
+think hard.
+
+“Sure.”
+
+I wanted to ask questions, but thought it wiser to wait. I knew enough
+already to make out that I had come upon the scene of a gigantic lumber
+steal. Buell's strange manner on the train, at the station, and his
+eagerness to hurry me out of Holston now needed no more explanation. I
+began to think the worst of him.
+
+“Did you see a Mexican come into camp?” I inquired of the Negro.
+
+“Sure. Greaser got here this mornin'.”
+
+“He tried to rob me in Holston.”
+
+“'Tain't nothin' new fer Greaser. He's a thief, but I never heerd of him
+holdin' anybody up. No nerve 'cept to knife a feller in the back.”
+
+“What'll I do if I meet him here?”
+
+“Slam him one! You're a strappin' big lad. Slam him one, an' flash your
+gun on him. Greaser's a coward. I seen a young feller he'd cheated make
+him crawl. Anyway, it'll be all day with him when Dick finds out he
+tried to rob you. An' say, stranger, if a feller stays sober, this
+camp's safe enough in daytime, but at night, drunk or sober, it's a
+tough place.”
+
+Before I had finished eating a shrill whistle from the sawmill called
+the hands to work; soon it was followed by the rumble of machinery and
+the sharp singing of a saw.
+
+I set out to see the lumber-camp, and although I stepped forth boldly,
+the truth was that with all my love for the Wild West I would have liked
+to be at home. But here I was, and I determined not to show the white
+feather.
+
+I passed a row of cook-shacks like the one I had been in, and several
+stores and saloons. The lumber-camp was a little town. A rambling log
+cabin attracted me by reason of the shaggy mustangs standing before it
+and the sounds of mirth within. A peep showed me a room with a long bar,
+where men and boys were drinking. I heard the rattle of dice and the
+clink of silver. Seeing the place was crowded, I thought I might find
+Dick there, so I stepped inside. My entrance was unnoticed, so far as I
+could tell; in fact, there seemed no reason why it should be otherwise,
+for, being roughly dressed, I did not look very different from the many
+young fellows there. I scanned all the faces, but did not see Dick's,
+nor, for that matter, the Mexican's. Both disappointed and relieved, I
+turned away, for the picture of low dissipation was not attractive.
+
+The hum of the great sawmill drew me like a magnet. I went out to the
+lumber-yard at the back of the mill, where a trestle slanted down to
+a pond full of logs. A train loaded with pines had just pulled in,
+and dozens of men were rolling logs off the flat-cars into a canal. At
+stations along the canal stood others pike-poling the logs toward the
+trestle, where an endless chain caught them with sharp claws and hauled
+them up. Half-way from, the ground they were washed clean by a circle of
+water-spouts.
+
+I walked up the trestle and into the mill. The noise almost deafened me.
+High above all other sounds rose the piercing song of the saw, and the
+short intervals when it was not cutting were filled with a thunderous
+crash that jarred the whole building. After a few confused glances I got
+the working order into my head, and found myself in the most interesting
+place I had ever seen.
+
+As the stream of logs came up into the mill the first log was shunted
+off the chain upon a carriage. Two men operated this carriage by levers,
+one to take the log up to the saw, and the other to run it back for
+another cut. The run back was very swift. Then a huge black iron head
+butted up from below and turned the log over as easily as if it had been
+a straw. This was what made the jar and crash. On the first cut the long
+strip of bark went to the left and up against five little circular saws.
+Then the five pieces slipped out of sight down chutes. When the log was
+trimmed a man stationed near the huge band-saw made signs to those on
+the carriage, and I saw that they got from him directions whether to
+cut the log into timbers, planks, or boards. The heavy timbers, after
+leaving the saw, went straight down the middle of the mill, the planks
+went to the right, the boards in another direction. Men and boys were
+everywhere, each with a lever in hand. There was not the slightest
+cessation of the work. And a log forty feet long and six feet thick,
+which had taken hundreds of years to grow, was cut up in just four
+minutes.
+
+The place fascinated me. I had not dreamed that a sawmill could be
+brought to such a pitch of mechanical perfection, and I wondered how
+long the timber would last at that rate of cutting. The movement and din
+tired me, and I went outside upon a long platform. Here workmen caught
+the planks and boards as they came out, and loaded them upon trucks
+which were wheeled away. This platform was a world in itself. It sent
+arms everywhere among the piles of lumber, and once or twice I was as
+much lost as I had been up in the forest.
+
+While turning into one of these byways I came suddenly upon Buell and
+another man. They were standing near a little house of weather-strips,
+evidently an office, and were in their shirt-sleeves. They had not seen
+or heard me. I dodged behind a pile of planks, intending to slip back
+the way I had come. Before I could move Buell's voice rooted me to the
+spot.
+
+“His name's Ward. Tall, well-set lad. I put Greaser after him the other
+night, hopin' to scare him back East. But nix!”
+
+“Well, he's here now--to study forestry! Ha! ha!” said the other.
+
+“You're sure the boy you mean is the one I mean?”
+
+“Greaser told me so. And this boy is Leslie's friend.”
+
+“That's the worst of it,” replied Buell, impatiently. “I've got Leslie
+fixed as far as this lumber deal is concerned, but he won't stand for
+any more. He was harder to fix than the other rangers, an' I'm afraid of
+him.” he's grouchy now.
+
+“You shouldn't have let the boy get here.”
+
+“Stockton, I tried to prevent it. I put Greaser with Bud an' Bill on his
+trail. They didn't find him, an' now here he turns up.”
+
+“Maybe he can be fixed.”
+
+“Not if I know my business, he can't; take that from me. This kid is
+straight. He'll queer my deal in a minute if he gets wise. Mind you, I'm
+gettin' leary of Washington. We've seen about the last of these lumber
+deals. If I can pull this one off I'll quit; all I want is a little more
+time. Then I'll fire the slash, an' that'll cover tracks.”
+
+“Buell, I wouldn't want to be near Penetier when you light that fire.
+This forest will burn like tinder.”
+
+“It's a whole lot I care then. Let her burn. Let the Government put out
+the fire. Now, what's to be done about this boy?”
+
+“I think I'd try to feel him out. Maybe he can be fixed. Boys who want
+to be foresters can't be rich. Failing that--you say he's a kid who
+wants to hunt and shoot--get some one to take him up on the mountain.”
+
+“See here, Stockton. This young Ward will see the timber is bein' cut
+clean. If it was only a little patch I wouldn't mind. But this slash an'
+this mill! He'll know. More'n that, he'll tell Leslie about the Mexican.
+Dick's no fool. We're up against it.”
+
+“It's risky, Buell. You remember the ranger up in Oregon.”
+
+“Then we are to fall down on this deal all because of a fresh tenderfoot
+kid?” demanded Buell.
+
+“Not so loud.... We'll not fall down. But caution--use caution. You made
+a mistake in trusting so much to the Greaser.”
+
+“I know, an' I'm afraid of Leslie. An' that other fire-ranger, Jim
+Williams, he's a Texan, an' a bad man. The two of them could about trim
+up this camp. They'll both fight for the boy; take that from me.”
+
+“We are sure up against it. Think now, and think quick.”
+
+“First, I'll try to fix the boy. If that won't work... we'll kidnap him.
+Then we'll take no chances with Leslie. There's a cool two hundred an'
+fifty thousand in this deal for us, an' we're goin' to get it.”
+
+With that Buell went into his office and closed the door; the other man,
+Stockton, walked briskly down the platform. I could not resist peeping
+from my hiding-place as he passed. He was tall and had a red beard,
+which would enable me to recognize him if we met.
+
+I waited there for some little time. Then I saw that by squeezing
+between two piles of lumber could reach the other side of the platform.
+When I reached the railing I climbed over, and, with the help of braces
+and posts, soon got to where I could drop down. Once on the ground I ran
+along under the platform until I saw a lane that led to the street. My
+one thought was to reach the cabin where the Negro cook stayed and
+ask him if Dick Leslie had come to camp. If he had not arrived, then I
+intended to make a bee-line for my mustang.
+
+
+
+
+VI. DICK LESLIE, RANGER
+
+Which end of the street I entered I had no idea. The cabins were all
+alike, and in my hurry I would have passed the cook's shack had it not
+been for the sight of a man standing in the door. That stalwart figure I
+would have known anywhere.
+
+“Dick!” I cried, rushing at him.
+
+What Dick's welcome was I did not hear, but judging from the grip he put
+on my shoulders and then on my hands, he was glad to see me.
+
+“Ken, blessed if I'd have known you,” he said, shoving me back at
+arm's-length. “Let's have a look at you.... Grown I say, but you're a
+husky lad!”
+
+While he was looking at me I returned the scrutiny with interest. Dick
+had always been big, but now he seemed wider and heavier. Among these
+bronzed Westerners he appeared pale, but that was only on account of his
+fair skin.
+
+“Ken, didn't you get my letter--the one telling you not to come West yet
+a while?”
+
+“No,” I replied, blankly. “The last one I got was in May--about the
+middle. I have it with me. You certainly asked me to come then. Dick,
+don't you want me--now?”
+
+Plain it was that my friend felt uncomfortable; he shifted from one foot
+to another, and a cloud darkened his brow. But his blue eyes burned with
+a warm light as he put his hand on my shoulder.
+
+“Ken, I'm glad to see you,” he said, earnestly. “It's like getting
+a glimpse of home. But I wrote you not to come. Conditions have
+changed--there's something doing here--I'll--”
+
+“You needn't explain, Dick,” I replied, gravely. “I know. Buell and--” I
+waved my hand from the sawmill to the encircling slash.
+
+Dick's face turned a fiery red. I believed that was the only time Dick
+Leslie ever failed to look a fellow in the eye.
+
+“Ken!... You're on,” he said, recovering his composure. “Well, wait till
+you hear--Hello! here's Jim Williams, my pardner.”
+
+A clinking of spurs accompanied a soft step.
+
+“Jim, here's Ken Ward, the kid pardner I used to have back in the
+States,” said Dick. “Ken, you know Jim.”
+
+If ever I knew anything by heart it was what Dick had written me about
+this Texan, Jim Williams.
+
+“Ken, I shore am glad to see you,” drawled Jim, giving my hand a squeeze
+that I thought must break every bone in it.
+
+Though Jim Williams had never been described to me, my first sight of
+him fitted my own ideas. He was tall and spare; his weather-beaten
+face seemed set like a dark mask; only his eyes moved, and they had a
+quivering alertness and a brilliancy that made them hard to look into.
+He wore a wide sombrero, a blue flannel shirt with a double row of big
+buttons, overalls, top-boots with very high heels, and long spurs. A
+heavy revolver swung at his hip, and if I had not already known that Jim
+Williams had fought Indians and killed bad men, I should still have seen
+something that awed me in the look of him.
+
+I certainly felt proud to be standing with those two rangers, and for
+the moment Buell and all his crew could not have daunted me.
+
+“Hello! what's this?” inquired Dick, throwing back my coat; and,
+catching sight of my revolver, he ejaculated: “Ken Ward!”
+
+“Wal, Ken, if you-all ain't packin' a gun!” said Jim, in his slow,
+careless drawl. “Dick, he shore is!”
+
+It was now my turn to blush.
+
+“Yes, I've got a gun,” I replied, “and I ought to have had it the other
+night.”
+
+“How so?” inquired Dick, quickly.
+
+It did not take me long to relate the incident of the Mexican.
+
+Dick looked like a thunder-cloud, but Jim swayed and shook with
+laughter.
+
+“You knocked him off the roof? Wal, thet shore is dee-lightful. It shore
+is!”
+
+“Yes; and, Dick,” I went on, breathlessly, “the Greaser followed me,
+and if I hadn't missed the trail, I don't know what would have happened.
+Anyway, he got here first.”
+
+“The Greaser trailed you?” interrupted Dick, sharply.
+
+When I replied he glanced keenly at me. “How do you know?”
+
+“I suspected it when I saw him with two men in the forest. But now I
+know it.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“I heard Buell tell Stockton he had put the Greaser on my trail.”
+
+“Buell--Stockton!” exclaimed Dick. “What'd they have to do with the
+Greaser?”
+
+“I met Buell on the train. I told him I had come West to study forestry.
+Buell's afraid I'll find out about this lumber steal, and he wants to
+shut my mouth.”
+
+Dick looked from me to Jim, and Jim slowly straitened his tall form. For
+a moment neither spoke. Dick's white face caused me to look away from
+him. Jim put a hand on my arm.
+
+“Ken, you shore was lucky; you shore was.”
+
+“I guess he doesn't know how lucky,” added Dick, somewhat huskily. “Come
+on, we'll look up the Mexican.”
+
+“It shore is funny how bad I want to see thet Greaser.”
+
+Dick's hard look and tone were threatening enough, yet they did not
+affect me so much as the easy, gay manner of the Texan. Little cold
+quivers ran over me, and my knees knocked together. For the moment my
+animosity toward the Mexican vanished, and with it the old hunger to be
+in the thick of Wild Western life. I was afraid that I was going to see
+a man killed without being able to lift a hand to prevent it.
+
+The rangers marched me between them down the street and into the corner
+saloon. Dick held me half behind him with his left hand while Jim
+sauntered ahead. Strangest of all the things that had happened was the
+sudden silencing of the noisy crowd.
+
+The Mexican was not there. His companions, Bud and Bill, as Buell had
+called them, were sitting at a table, and as Jim Williams walked into
+the center of the room they slowly and gradually rose to their feet. One
+was a swarthy man with evil eyes and a scar on his cheek; the other
+had a brick-red face and a sandy mustache with a vicious curl. Neither
+seemed to be afraid, only cautious.
+
+“We're all lookin' for thet Greaser friend of yourn,” drawled Jim. “I
+shore want to see him bad.”
+
+“He's gone, Williams,” replied one. “Was in somethin' of a rustle, an'
+didn't leave no word.”
+
+“Wal, I reckon he's all we're lookin' for this pertickler minnit.”
+
+Jim spoke in a soft, drawling voice, and his almost expressionless tone
+seemed to indicate pleasant indifference; still, no one could have been
+misled by it, for the long, steady gaze he gave the men and his cool
+presence that held the room quiet meant something vastly different.
+No reply was offered. Bud and Bill sat down, evidently to resume their
+card-playing. The uneasy silence broke to a laugh, then to subdued
+voices, and finally the clatter and hum began again. Dick led me
+outside, where we were soon joined by Jim.
+
+“He's holed up,” suggested Dick.
+
+“Shore. I don't take no stock in his hittin' the trail. He's layin'
+low.”
+
+“Let's look around a bit, anyhow.”
+
+Dick took me back to the cook's cabin and, bidding me remain inside,
+strode away. I heard footsteps so soon after his departure that I made
+certain he had returned, but the burly form which blocked the light in
+the cabin door was not Dick's. I was astounded to recognize Buell.
+
+“Hello!” he said, in his blustering voice. “Heard you had reached camp,
+an' have been huntin' you up.”
+
+I greeted him pleasantly enough--more from surprise than from a desire
+to mislead him. It seemed to me then that a child could have read Buell.
+He'd an air of suppressed excitement; there was a glow on his face and
+a kind of daring flash in his eyes. He seemed too eager, too glad to see
+me.
+
+“I've got a good job for you,” he went on, glibly, “jest what you want,
+an' you're jest what I need. Come into my office an' help me. There'll
+be plenty of outside work--measurin' lumber, markin' trees, an' such.”
+
+“Why, Mr. Buell--I--you see, Dick--he might not--”
+
+I hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. But at my halting speech Buell
+became even more smiling and voluble.
+
+“Dick? Oh, Dick an' I stand all right; take thet from me. Dick'll agree
+to what I want. I need a young feller bad. Money's no object. You're a
+bright youngster. You'll look out for my interests. Here!” He pulled
+out a large wad of greenbacks, and then spoke in a lower voice. “You
+understand that money cuts no ice 'round this camp. We've a big deal.
+We need a smart young feller. There's always some little irregularities
+about these big timber deals out West. But you'll wear blinkers, an'
+make some money while you're studyin' forestry. See?”
+
+“Irregularities? What kind of irregularities?”
+
+For the life of me I could not keep a little scorn out of my question.
+Buell slowly put the bills in his pocket while his eyes searched; I
+could not control my rising temper.
+
+“You mean you want to fix me?”
+
+He made no answer, and his face stiffened.
+
+“You mean you want to buy my silence, shut my mouth about this lumber
+steal?”
+
+He drew in his breath audibly, yet still he did not speak. Either he was
+dull of comprehension or else he was astonished beyond words. I knew I
+was mad to goad him like that, but I could not help it. I grew hot with
+anger, and the more clearly I realized that he had believed he could
+“fix” me with his dirty money the hotter I got.
+
+“You told Stockton you were leary of Washington, and were afraid I'd
+queer your big deal.... Well, Mr. Buell, that's exactly what I'm going
+to do--queer it!”
+
+He went black in the face, and, cursing horribly, grasped me by the arm.
+I struggled, but I could not loose that iron hand. Suddenly I felt a
+violent wrench that freed me. Then I saw Dick swing back his shoulder
+and shoot out his arm. He knocked Buell clear across the room, and
+when the man fell I thought the cabin was coming down in the crash. He
+appeared stunned, for he groped about with his hands, found a chair,
+and, using it as a support, rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily.
+
+“Leslie, I'll get you for this--take it from me,” he muttered.
+
+Dick's lips were tight, and he watched Buell with flaming eyes. The
+lumberman lurched out of the door, and we heard him cursing after he had
+disappeared. Then Dick looked at me with no little disapproval.
+
+“What did you say to make Buell wild like that?”
+
+I told Dick, word for word. First he looked dumfounded, then angry, and
+he ended up with a grim laugh.
+
+“Ken, you're sure bent on starting something, as Jim would say. You've
+started it all right. And Jim'll love you for it. But I'm responsible to
+your mother. Ken, I remember your mother--and you're going back home.”
+
+“Dick!”
+
+“You're going back home as fast as I can get you to Holston and put you
+on a train, that's all.”
+
+“I won't go!” I cried.
+
+Without any more words Dick led me down the street to a rude corral;
+here he rapidly saddled and packed his horses. The only time he spoke
+was when he asked me where I had tied my mustangs. Soon we were hurrying
+out through the slash toward the forest. Dick's troubled face kept
+down my resentment, but my heart grew like lead. What an ending to
+my long-cherished trip to the West! It had lasted two days. The
+disappointment seemed more than I could bear.
+
+We found the mustangs as I had left them, and the sight of Hal and
+the feeling of the saddle made me all the worse. We did not climb the
+foot-hill by the trail which the Mexican had used, but took a long,
+slow ascent far round to the left. Dick glanced back often, and when we
+reached the top he looked again in a way to convince me that he had some
+apprehensions of being followed.
+
+Twilight of that eventful day found us pitching camp in a thickly
+timbered hollow. I could not help dwelling on how different my feelings
+would have been if this night were but the beginning of many nights with
+Dick. It was the last, and the more I thought about it the more wretched
+I grew. Dick rolled in his blanket without saying even good-night, and
+I lay there watching the veils and shadows of firelight flicker on the
+pines, and listening, to the wind. Gradually the bitterness seemed to go
+away; my body relaxed and sank into the soft, fragrant pine-needles; the
+great shadowy trees mixed with the surrounding darkness. When I awoke it
+was broad daylight, and Dick was shaking my arm.
+
+“Hunt up the horses while I get the grub ready,” he said, curtly.
+
+As the hollow was carpeted with thick grass our horses had not strayed.
+I noticed that here the larger trees had been cut, and the forest
+resembled a fine park. In the sunny patches seedlings were sprouting,
+many little bushy pines were growing, and the saplings had sufficient
+room and light to prosper. I commented to Dick upon the difference
+between this part of Penetier and the hideous slash we had left.
+
+“There were a couple of Government markers went through here and marked
+the timber to be cut,” said Dick.
+
+“Was the timber cut in the mill I saw?”
+
+“No. Buell's just run up that mill. The old one is out here a ways,
+nearer Holston.”
+
+“Is it possible, Dick, that any of those loggers back there don't know
+the Government is being defrauded?”
+
+“Ken, hardly any of them know it, and they wouldn't care if they did.
+You see, this forest-preserve business is new out here. Formerly the
+lumbermen bought so much land and cut over it--skinned it. Two years
+ago, when the National Forests were laid out, the lumbering men--that
+is, the loggers, sawmill hands, and so on--found they did not get as
+much employment as formerly. So generally they're sore on the National
+Forest idea.”
+
+“But, Dick, if they understand the idea of forestry they'd never oppose
+it.”
+
+“Maybe. I don't understand it too well myself. I can fight fire--that's
+my business; but this ranger work is new. I doubt if the Westerners
+will take to forestry. There've been some shady deals all over the West
+because of it. Buell, now, he's a timber shark. He bought so much timber
+from the Government, and had the markers come in to mark the cut; then
+after they were gone, he rushed up a mill and clapped on a thousand
+hands.”
+
+“And the rangers stand for it? Where'll their jobs be when the
+Government finds out?”
+
+“I was against it from the start. So was Jim, particularly. But the
+other rangers persuaded us.”
+
+It began to dawn upon me that Dick Leslie might, after all, turn out to
+be good soil in which to plant some seeds of forestry. I said no more
+then, as we were busy packing for the start, but when we had mounted
+I began to talk. I told him all I had learned about trees, how I loved
+them, and how I had determined to devote my life to their study, care,
+and development. As we rode along under the wide-spreading pines I
+illustrated my remarks by every example I could possibly use. The more I
+talked the more interested Dick became, and this spurred me on. Perhaps
+I exaggerated, but my conscience never pricked me. He began to ask
+questions.
+
+We reached a spring at midday, and halted for a rest. I kept on
+pleading, and presently I discovered, to my joy, that I had made a
+strong impression upon Dick. It seemed a strange thing for me to be
+trying to explain forestry to a forest ranger, but so it was.
+
+“Ken, it's all news to me. I've been on Penetier about a year, and I
+never heard a word of what you've been telling me. My duties have
+been the practical ones that any woodsman knows. Jim and the other
+rangers--why, they don't know any more than I. It's a great thing, and
+I've queered my chance with the Government.”
+
+“No, you haven't--neither has Jim--not if you'll be straight from now
+on. You can't keep faith with Buell. He tried to kidnap me. That lets
+you out. We'll spoil Buell's little deal and save Penetier. A letter
+to father will do it. He has friends in the Forestry Department at
+Washington. Dick, what do you say? It's not too late!”
+
+The dark shade lifted from the ranger's face, and he looked at me with
+the smile of the old fishing days.
+
+“Say? I say yes!” he exclaimed, in ringing voice, “Ken, you've made a
+man of me!”
+
+
+
+
+VI. BACK TO HOLSTON
+
+Soon we were out of the forest, and riding across the sage-flat with
+Holston in sight. Both of us avoided the unpleasant subject of my
+enforced home-going. Evidently Dick felt cut up about it, and it caused
+me such a pang that I drove it from my mind. Toward the end of our ride
+Dick began again to talk of forestry.
+
+“Ken, it's mighty interesting--all this you've said about trees. Some of
+the things are so simple that I wonder I didn't hit on them long ago; in
+fact, I knew a lot of what you might call forestry, but the scientific
+ideas--they stump me. Now, what you said about a pine-tree cleaning
+itself--come back at me with that.”
+
+“Why, that's simple enough, Dick,” I answered. “Now, say here we have
+a clump of pine saplings. They stand pretty close--close enough to make
+dense shade, but not too crowded. The shade has prevented the lower
+branches from producing leaves. As a consequence these branches die.
+Then they dry, rot, and fall off, so when the trees mature they
+are clean-shafted. They have fine, clear trunks. They have cleaned
+themselves, and so make the best of lumber, free from knots.”
+
+So our talk went on. Once in town I was impatient to write to my father,
+for we had decided that we would not telegraph. Leaving our horses
+in Cless's corral, we went to the hotel and proceeded to compose the
+letter. This turned out more of a task than we had bargained for. But
+we got it finished at last, not forgetting to put in a word for Jim
+Williams, and then we both signed it.
+
+“There!” I cried. “Dick, something will be doing round Holston before
+many days.”
+
+“That's no joke, you can bet,” replied Dick, wiping his face. “Ken, it's
+made me sweat just to see that letter start East. Buell is a tough sort,
+and he'll make trouble. Well, he wants to steer clear of Jim and me.”
+
+After that we fell silent, and walked slowly back toward Cless's corral.
+Dick's lips were closed tight, and he did not look at me. Evidently
+he did not intend to actually put me aboard a train, and the time for
+parting had come. He watered his horses at the trough, and fussed over
+his pack and fumbled with his saddle-girths. It looked to me as though
+he had not the courage to say goodby.
+
+“Ken, it didn't look so bad--so mean till now,” he said. “I'm all broken
+up.... To get you way out here! Oh! what's the use? I'm mighty sorry
+....Good-bye--maybe--
+
+He broke off suddenly, and, wringing my hand, he vaulted into the
+saddle. He growled at his pack-pony, and drove him out of the corral.
+Then he set off at a steady trot down the street toward the open
+country.
+
+It came to me in a flash, as I saw him riding farther and farther away,
+that the reason my heart was not broken was because I did not intend to
+go home. Dick had taken it for granted that I would board the next train
+for the East. But I was not going to do anything of the sort. To my
+amaze I found my mind made up on that score. I had no definite plan,
+but I was determined to endure almost anything rather than give up my
+mustang and outfit.
+
+“It's shift for myself now,” I thought, soberly. “I guess I can make
+good. ... I'm going back to Penetier.”
+
+Even in the moment of impulse I knew how foolish this would be. But I
+could not help it. That forest had bewitched me. I meant to go back to
+it.
+
+“I'll stay away from the sawmill,” I meditated, growing lighter of heart
+every minute. “I'll keep out of sight of the lumbermen. I'll go higher
+up on the mountain, and hunt, and study the trees.... I'll do it.”
+
+Whereupon I marched off at once to a store and bought the supply of
+provisions that Buell had decided against when he helped me with my
+outfit. This addition made packing the pony more of a problem than ever,
+but I contrived to get it all on to my satisfaction. It was nearing
+sunset when I rode out of Holston this second time. The sage flat was
+bare and gray. Dick had long since reached the pines, and would probably
+make camp at the spring where we had stopped for lunch. I certainly did
+not want to catch up with him, but as there was small chance of that; it
+caused me no concern.
+
+Shortly after sunset twilight fell, and it was night when I reached the
+first pine-trees. Still, as the trail was easily to be seen, I kept on,
+for I did not want to camp without water. The forest was very dark, in
+some places like a huge black tent, and I had not ridden far when the
+old fear of night, the fancy of things out there in the darkness, once
+more possessed me. It made me angry. Why could I not have the same
+confidence that I had in the daytime? It was impossible. The forest was
+full of moving shadows. When the wind came up to roar in the pine-tips
+it was a relief because it broke the silence.
+
+I began to doubt whether I could be sure of locating the spring, and I
+finally decided to make camp at once. I stopped Hal, and had swung my
+leg over the pommel when I saw a faint glimmer of light far ahead. It
+twinkled like a star, but was not white and cold enough for a star.
+
+“That's Dick's campfire,” I said. “I'll have to stop here. Maybe I'm too
+close now.”
+
+I pondered the question. The blaze was a long way off, and I concluded
+I could risk camping on the spot, provided I did not make a fire.
+Accordingly I dismounted, and was searching for a suitable place when
+I happened to think that the campfire might not be Dick's, after all.
+Perhaps Buell had sent the Mexican with Bud and Bill on my trail again.
+This would not do. But I did not want to go back or turn off the trail.
+
+“I'll slip up and see who it is,” I decided.
+
+The idea pleased me; however, I did not yield to it without further
+consideration. I had a clear sense of responsibility. I knew that from
+now on I should be called upon to reason out many perplexing things. I
+did not want to make any mistakes. So I tied Hal and the pack-pony to a
+bush fringing the trail, and set off through the forest.
+
+It dawned upon me presently that the campfire was much farther away than
+it appeared. Often it went out of sight behind trees. By degrees it grew
+larger and larger. Then I slowed down and approached more cautiously.
+Once when the trees obscured it I traveled some distance without getting
+a good view of it. Passing down into a little hollow I lost it again.
+When I climbed out I hauled up short with a sharp catch of my breath.
+There were several figures moving around the campfire. I had stumbled on
+a camp that surely was not Dick Leslie's.
+
+The ground was as soft as velvet, and my footsteps gave forth no sound.
+When the wind lulled I paused behind a tree and waited for another gusty
+roar. I kept very close to the trail, for that was the only means by
+which I could return to my horses. I felt the skin tighten on my face.
+Suddenly, as I paused, I heard angry voices, pitched high. But I could
+not make out the words.
+
+Curiosity got the better of me. If the men were hired by Buell I wanted
+to know what they were quarrelling about. I stole stealthily from tree
+to tree, and another hollow opened beneath me. It was so wide and the
+pines so overshadowed it that I could not tell how close the opposite
+side might be to the campfire. I slipped down along the edge of the
+trail. The blaze disappeared. Only a faint arc of light showed through
+the gloom.
+
+I peered keenly into the blackness. At length I reached the slope. Here
+I dropped to my hands and knees.
+
+It was a long crawl to the top. Reaching it, I cautiously peeped over.
+There were trees hiding the fire. But it was close. I heard the voices
+of men. I backed down the slope, crossed the trail, and came up on the
+other side. Pines grew thick on this level, and I stole silently from
+one to another. Finally I reached the black trunk of a tree close to the
+campfire.
+
+For a moment I lay low. I did not seem exactly afraid, but I was all
+tense and hard, and my heart drummed in my ears. There was something
+ticklish about this scouting. Then I peeped out.
+
+It added little to my excitement to recognize the Mexican. He sat near
+the fire smoking a cigarette. Near him were several men, one of whom
+was Bill. Facing them sat a man with his back to a small sapling. He was
+tied with a lasso.
+
+One glance at his white face made me drop behind the tree, where I lay
+stunned and bewildered--for that man was Dick Leslie.
+
+
+
+
+VIII. THE LUMBERMEN
+
+For a full moment I just lay still, hugging the ground, and I did not
+seem to think at all. Voices loud in anger roused me. Raising myself, I
+guardedly looked from behind the tree.
+
+One of the lumbermen threw brush on the fire, making it blaze brightly.
+He was tall and had a red beard. I recognized Stockton, Buell's right
+hand in the lumber deal.
+
+“Leslie, you're a liar!” he said.
+
+Dick's eyes glinted from his pale face.
+
+“Yes, that's your speed, Stockton,” he retorted. “You bring your thugs
+into my camp pretending to be friendly. You grab a fellow behind his
+back, tie him up, and then call him a liar. Wait, you timber shark!”
+
+“You're lying about that kid, Ward,” declared the other. “You sent him
+back East, that's what. He'll have the whole forest service down here.
+Buell will be wild. Oh, he won't do a thing when he learns Ward has
+given us the slip!”
+
+“I tell you, Ken Ward gave me the slip,” replied Dick. “I'll admit I
+meant to see him safe in Holston. But he wouldn't go. He ran off from me
+right here in this forest.”
+
+What could have been Dick's object in telling such a lie? It made me
+wonder. Perhaps these lumbermen were more dangerous than I had supposed,
+and Dick did not wish them to believe I had left Penetier. Maybe he was
+playing for time, and did not want them to get alarmed and escape before
+the officers came.
+
+“Why did he run off?” asked Stockton.
+
+“Because I meant to send him home, and he didn't want to go. He's crazy
+to camp out, to hunt and ride.”
+
+“If that's true, Leslie, there's been no word sent to Washington.”
+
+“How could there be?”
+
+“Well, I've got to hold you anyway till we see Buell. His orders were to
+keep you and Ward prisoners till this lumber deal is pulled off. We're
+not going to be stopped now.”
+
+Leslie turned crimson, and strained on the lasso that bound him to the
+sapling. “Somebody is going to pay for this business!” he declared,
+savagely. “You forget I'm an officer in this forest.”
+
+“I'll hold you, Leslie, whatever comes of it,” answered the lumberman.
+“I'd advise you to cool down.”
+
+“You and Buell have barked up the wrong tree, mind that, Stockton. Jim
+Williams, my pardner, is wise. He expects me back tomorrow.”
+
+“See hyar, Stockton,” put in Bill, “you're new in Arizona, an' I want to
+give you a hunch. If Jim Williams hits this trail, you ain't goin' to be
+well enough to care about any old lumber steal.”
+
+“Jim hit the trail all right,” went on Dick. “He's after Greaser. It'd
+go hard with you if Jim happened to walk in now.”
+
+“I don't want to buck against Williams, that's certain,” replied
+Stockton. “I know his record. But I'll take a chance--anyway, till Buell
+knows. It's his game.”
+
+Dick made no answer, and sat there eyeing his captors. There was little
+talk after this. Bud threw a log on the fire. Stockton told the Mexican
+to take a look at the horses. Greaser walked within twenty feet of where
+I lay, and I held my breath while he passed. The others rolled in their
+blankets. It was now so dark that I could not distinguish anything
+outside of the campfire circle. But I heard Greaser's soft, shuffling
+footsteps as he returned. Then his dark, slim figure made a shadow
+between me and the light. He sat down before the fire and began to roll
+a cigarette. He did not seem sleepy.
+
+A daring scheme flashed into my mind. I would crawl into camp and free
+Dick. Not only would I outwit the lumber thieves, but also make Dick
+think well of me. What would Jim Williams say of a trick like that? The
+thought of the Texan banished what little hesitation I felt. Glancing
+round the bright circle, I made my plan; it was to crawl far back into
+the darkness, go around to the other side of the camp, and then slip
+up behind Dick. Already his head was nodding on his breast. It made me
+furious to see him sitting so uncomfortably, sagging in the lasso.
+
+I tried to beat down my excitement, but there was a tingling all over
+me that would not subside. But I soon saw that I might have a long wait.
+The Mexican did not go to sleep, so I had time to cool off.
+
+The campfire gradually burned out, and the white glow changed to red.
+One of the men snored in a way that sounded like a wheezy whistle.
+Coyotes howled in the woods, and the longer I listened to the long,
+strange howls the better I liked them. The roar in the wind had died
+down to a moaning. I thought of myself lying there, with my skin
+prickling and my eyes sharp on the darkening forms. I thought of the
+nights I had spent with Hal in the old woods at home. How full the
+present seemed! My breast swelled, my hand gripped my revolver, my eyes
+pierced the darkness, and I would not have been anywhere else for the
+world.
+
+Greaser smoked out his cigarette, and began to nod. That was the signal
+for me. I crawled noiselessly from the tree. When I found myself going
+down into the hollow, I stopped and rose to my feet. The forest was so
+pitchy black that I could not tell the trees from the darkness. I groped
+to the left, trying to circle. Once I snapped a twig; it cracked like
+a pistol-shot, and my heart stopped beating, then began to thump. But
+Greaser never stirred as he sat in the waning light. At last I had half
+circled the camp.
+
+After a short rest I started forward, slow and stealthy as a creeping
+cat. When within fifty feet of the fire I went down on all-fours and
+began to crawl. Twice I got out of line. But at last Dick's burly
+shoulders loomed up between me and the light.
+
+Then I halted. My breast seemed bursting, and I panted so hard that I
+was in a terror lest I should awaken some one. Again I thought of what I
+was doing, and fought desperately to gain my coolness.
+
+Now the only cover I had was Dick's broad back, for the sapling to which
+he was tied was small. I drew my hunting-knife. One more wriggle brought
+me close to Dick, with my face near his hands, which were bound behind
+him. I slipped the blade under the lasso, and cut it through.
+
+Dick started as if he had received an electric shock. He threw back his
+head and uttered a sudden exclamation.
+
+Although I was almost paralyzed with fright I put my hand on his
+shoulder and whispered: “S-s-s-h! It's Ken!”
+
+Greaser uttered a shrill cry. Dick leaped to his feet. Then I grew
+dizzy, and my sight blurred. I heard hoarse shouts and saw dark forms
+rising as if out of the earth. All was confusion. I wanted to run, but
+could not get up. There was a wrestling, whirling mass in front of me.
+
+But this dimness of sight and weakness of body did not last. I saw two
+men on the ground, with Dick standing over them. Stockton was closing
+in. Greaser ran around them with something in his hand that glittered in
+the firelight. Stockton dived for Dick's legs and upset him. They went
+down together, and the Mexican leaped on them, waving the bright thing
+high over his head.
+
+I bounded forward, and, grasping his wrist with both hands, I wrenched
+his arm with all my might. Some one struck me over the head. I saw a
+million darting points of light--then all went black.
+
+When I opened my eyes the sun was shining. I had a queer, numb feeling
+all over, and my head hurt terribly. Everything about me was hazy. I
+did not know where I was. After a little I struggled to sit up, and with
+great difficulty managed it. My hands were tied. Then it all came back
+to me. Stockton stood before me holding a tin cup of water toward my
+lips. My throat was parched, and I drank. Stockton had a great bruise
+on his forehead; his nostrils were crusted with blood, and his shirt was
+half torn off.
+
+“You're all right?” he said.
+
+“Sure,” I replied, which was not true.
+
+I imagined that a look of relief came over his face. Next I saw Bill
+nursing his eye, and bathing it with a wet handkerchief. It was swollen
+shut, puffed out to the size of a goose-egg, and blue as indigo. Dick
+had certainly landed hard on Bill. Then I turned round to see Dick
+sitting against the little sapling, bound fast with a lasso. His clean
+face did not look as if he had been in a fight; he was smiling, yet
+there was anxiety in his eyes.
+
+“Ken, now you've played hob,” he said. It was a reproach, but his look
+made me proud.
+
+“Oh, Dick, if you hadn't called out!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Darned if you're not right! But it was a slick job, and you'll tickle
+Jim to death. I was an old woman. But that cold knife-blade made me
+jump.”
+
+I glanced round the camp for the Mexican and Bud and the fifth man, but
+they were gone. Bill varied his occupation of the moment by kneading
+biscuit dough in a basin. Then there came such a severe pain in my head
+that I went blind for a little while. “What's the matter with my head?
+Who hit me?” I cried.
+
+“Bud slugged you with the butt of his pistol,” said Dick. “And, Ken, I
+think you saved me from being knifed by the Greaser. You twisted his
+arm half off. He cursed all night.... Ha! there he comes now with your
+outfit.”
+
+Sure enough, the Mexican appeared on the trail, leading my horses. I was
+so glad to see Hal that I forgot I was a prisoner. But Greaser's sullen
+face and glittering eyes reminded me of it quickly enough. I read
+treachery in his glance.
+
+Bud rode into camp from the other direction, and he brought a bunch of
+horses, two of which I recognized as Dick's. The lumbermen set about
+getting breakfast, and Stockton helped me to what little I could eat and
+drink. Now that I was caught he did not appear at all mean or harsh. I
+did not shrink from him, and had the feeling that he meant well by me.
+
+The horses were saddled and bridled, and Dick and I, still tied, were
+bundled astride our mounts. The pack-ponies led the way, with Bill
+following; I came next, Greaser rode behind me, and Dick was between Bud
+and Stockton. So we traveled, and no time was wasted. I noticed that the
+men kept a sharp lookout both to the fore and the rear. We branched off
+the main trail and took a steeper one leading up the slope. We rode
+for hours. There were moments when I reeled in my saddle, but for the
+greater while I stood my pain and weariness well enough. Some time in
+the afternoon a shrill whistle ahead attracted my attention. I made out
+two horsemen waiting on the trail.
+
+“Huh! about time!” growled Bill. “Hyar's Buell an' Herky-Jerky.”
+
+As we approached I saw Buell, and the fellow with the queer name turned
+out to be no other than the absent man I had been wondering about. He
+had been dispatched to fetch the lumberman.
+
+Buell was superbly mounted on a sleek bay, and he looked very much the
+same jovial fellow I had met on the train. He grinned at the disfigured
+men.
+
+“Take it from me, you fellers wouldn't look any worse bunged up if you'd
+been jolted by the sawlogs in my mill.”
+
+“We can't stand here to crack jokes,” said Stockton, sharply. “Some
+ranger might see us. Now what?”
+
+“You ketched the kid in time. That's all I wanted. Take him an' Leslie
+up in one of the canyons an' keep them there till further orders. You
+needn't stay, Stockton, after you get them in a safe place. An' you can
+send up grub.”
+
+Then he turned to me.
+
+“You'll not be hurt if--”
+
+“Don't you speak to me!” I burst out. It was on my lips to tell him of
+the letter to Washington, but somehow I kept silent.
+
+“Leslie,” went on Buell, “I'll overlook your hittin' me an' let you go
+if you'll give me your word to keep mum about this.”
+
+Dick did not speak, but looked at the lumberman with a dark gleam in his
+eyes.
+
+“There's one thing, Buell,” said Stockton. “Jim Williams is wise. You've
+got to look out for him.”
+
+Buell's ruddy face blanched. Then, without another word, he waved his
+hand toward the slope, and, wheeling his horse, galloped down the trail.
+
+
+
+
+IX. TAKEN INTO THE MOUNTAINS
+
+We climbed to another level bench where we branched off the trail. The
+forest still kept its open, park-like character. Under the great pines
+the ground was bare and brown with a thick covering of pine-needles, but
+in the glades were green grass and blue flowers.
+
+Once across this level we encountered a steeper ascent than any I had
+yet climbed. Here the character of the forest began to change. There
+were other trees than pines, and particularly one kind, cone-shaped,
+symmetrical, and bright, which Dick called a silver spruce. I was glad
+it belonged to the conifers, or pine-tree family, because it was the
+most beautiful tree I had ever seen. We climbed ridges and threaded
+through aspen thickets in hollows till near sunset. Then Stockton
+ordered a halt for camp.
+
+It came none too soon for me, and I was so exhausted that I had to be
+helped off my mustang. Stockton arranged my blankets, fed me, and bathed
+the bruise on my head, but I was too weary and sick to be grateful or
+to care about anything except sleep. Even the fact that my hands were
+uncomfortably bound did not keep me awake.
+
+When some one called me next morning my eyes did not want to stay open.
+I had a lazy feeling and a dull ache in my bones, but the pain had gone
+from my head. That made everything else seem all right.
+
+Soon we were climbing again, and my interest in my surroundings grew as
+we went up. For a while we brushed through thickets of scrub oak. The
+whole slope of the mountain was ridged and hollowed, so that we were
+always going down and climbing up. The pines and spruces grew smaller,
+and were more rugged and gnarled.
+
+“Hyar's the canyon!” sang out Bill, presently.
+
+We came out on the edge of a deep hollow. It was half a mile wide. I
+looked down a long incline of sharp tree-tips. The roar of water rose
+from below, and in places a white rushing torrent showed. Above loomed
+the snow-clad peak, glistening in the morning sun. How wonderfully far
+off and high it still was!
+
+To my regret it was shut off from my sight as we descended into the
+canyon. However, I soon forgot that. I saw a troop of coyotes, and many
+black and white squirrels. From time to time huge birds, almost as big
+as turkeys, crashed out of the thickets and whirred away. They flew
+swift as pheasants, and I asked Dick what they were.
+
+“Blue grouse,” he replied. “Look sharp now, Ken, there are deer ahead of
+us. See the tracks?”
+
+Looking down I saw little, sharp-pointed, oval tracks. Presently two
+foxes crossed an open patch not fifty yards from us, but I did not get
+a glimpse of the deer. Soon we reached the bottom of the canyon, and
+struck into another trail. The air was full of the low roar of tumbling
+water. This mountain-torrent was about twenty feet wide, but its
+swiftness and foam made it impossible to tell its depth. The trail led
+up-stream, and turned so constantly that half the time Bill, the leader,
+was not in sight. Once the sharp crack of his rifle halted the train. I
+heard crashings in the thicket. Dick yelled for me to look up the slope,
+and there I saw three gray deer with white tails raised. I heard a
+strange, whistling sound.
+
+On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it
+on his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower,
+and soon we entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was
+exceedingly rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was
+amazed to see the gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several
+hundred feet across. The walls were steep, and one side shelved out,
+making a long, shallow cave, In the center of this amphitheatre was a
+deep hole from which the mountain stream boiled and bubbled.
+
+“Hyar we are,” said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men
+followed suit, and helped Dick and me down. Stockton untied our hands,
+saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we
+were. My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the
+Mexican to keep guard over us.
+
+“Ken, I've heard of this place,” said Dick. “How's that for a spring?
+Twenty yards wide, and no telling how deep! This is snow-water straight
+from the peaks. We're not a thousand feet below the snow-line.”
+
+“I can tell that. Look at those Jwari pines,” I replied, pointing up
+over the wall. A rugged slope rose above our camp-site, and it was
+covered with a tangled mass of stunted pines. Many of them were twisted
+and misshapen; some were half dead and bleached white at the tops. “It's
+my first sight of such trees,” I went on, “but I've studied about them.
+Up here it's not lack of moisture that stunts and retards their growth.
+It's fighting the elements--cold, storm-winds, snowslides. I suppose
+not one in a thousand seedlings takes root and survives. But the forest
+fights hard to live.”
+
+“Well, Ken, we may as well sit back now and talk forestry till Buell
+skins all he wants of Penetier,” said Dick. “It's really a fine
+camping-spot. Plenty of deer up here and bear, too.”
+
+“Dick, couldn't we escape?” I whispered.
+
+“We're not likely to have a chance. But I say, Ken, how did you happen
+to turn up? I thought you were going to hop on the first train for
+home.”
+
+“Dick, you had another think coming. I couldn't go home. I'll have a
+great time yet--I'm having it now.”
+
+“Yes, that lump on your head looks like it,” replied Dick, with a laugh.
+“If Bud hadn't put you out we'd have come closer to licking this bunch.
+Ken, keep your eye on Greaser. He's treacherous. His arm's lame yet.”
+
+“We've had two run-ins already,” I said. “The third time is the worst,
+they say. I hope it won't come.... But, Dick, I'm as big--I'm bigger
+than he is.”
+
+“Hear the kid talk! I certainly ought to have put you on that train--”
+
+“What train?” asked Stockton, sharply, from our rear. He took us in with
+suspicious eyes.
+
+“I was telling Ken I ought to have put him on a train for home,”
+ answered Dick.
+
+Stockton let the remark pass without further comment; still, he appeared
+to be doing some hard thinking. He put Dick at one end of the long cave,
+me at the other. Our bedding was unpacked and placed at our disposal. We
+made our beds. After that I kept my eyes open and did not miss anything.
+
+“Leslie, I'm going to treat you and Ward white,” said Stockton. “You'll
+have good grub. Herky-Jerky's the best cook this side of Holston, and
+you'll be left untied in the daytime. But if either of you attempts to
+get away it means a leg shot off. Do you get that?”
+
+“All right, Stockton; that's pretty square of you, considering,” replied
+Dick. “You're a decent sort of chap to be mixed up with a thief like
+Buell. I'm sorry.”
+
+Stockton turned away at this rather abruptly. Then Bill appeared on
+the wall above, and began to throw down firewood. Bud returned from the
+canyon, where he had driven the horses. Greaser sat on a stone puffing a
+cigarette. It was the first time I had taken a good look at him. He was
+smaller than I had fancied; his feet and hands and features resembled
+those of a woman, but his eyes were live coals of black fire. In the
+daylight I was not in the least afraid of him.
+
+Herky-Jerky was the most interesting one of our captors. He had a short,
+stocky figure, and was the most bow-legged man I ever saw. Never on
+earth could he have stopped a pig in a lane. A stubby beard covered
+the lower half of his brick-red face. The most striking thing about
+Herky-Jerky, however, was his perpetual grin. He looked very jolly, yet
+every time he opened his mouth it was to utter bad language. He cursed
+the fire, the pans, the coffee, the biscuits, all of which he handled
+most skillfully. It was disgusting, and yet aside from this I rather
+liked him.
+
+It grew dark very quickly while we were eating, and the wind that dipped
+down into the gorge was cold. I kept edging closer and closer to the
+blazing campfire. I had never tasted venison before, and rather disliked
+it at first. But I soon cultivated a liking for it.
+
+That night Stockton tied me securely, but in a way which made it easy
+for me to turn. I slept soundly and awoke late. When I sat up Stockton
+stood by his saddled horse, and was giving orders to the men. He
+spoke sharply. He made it clear that they were not to be lax in their
+vigilance. Then, without a word to Dick or me, he rode down the gorge
+and disappeared behind a corner of yellow wall.
+
+Bill untied the rope that held Dick's arms, but left his feet bound. I
+was freed entirely, and it felt so good to have the use of all my limbs
+once more that I pranced round in a rather lively way. Either my antics
+annoyed Herky-Jerky or he thought it a good opportunity to show his
+skill with a lasso, for he shot the loop over me so hard that it stung
+my back.
+
+“I'm all there as a roper!” he said, pulling the lasso tight round my
+middle. The men all laughed as I tumbled over in the gravel.
+
+“Better keep a half-hitch on the colt,” remarked Bud.
+
+So they left the lasso fast about my waist, and it trailed after me as
+I walked. Herky-Jerky put me to carrying Dick's breakfast from the
+campfire up into the cave. This I did with alacrity. Dick and I
+exchanged commonplace remarks aloud, but we had several little whispers.
+
+“Ken, we may get the drop on them or give them the slip yet,” whispered
+Dick, in one of these interludes.
+
+This put ideas into my head. There might be a chance for me to escape,
+if not for Dick. I made up my mind to try if a good chance offered, but
+I did not want to go alone down that canyon without a gun. Stockton had
+taken my revolver and hunting-knife, but I still had the little leather
+case which Hal and I had used so often back on the Susquehanna. Besides
+a pen-knife this case contained salt and pepper, fishing hooks and
+lines, matches--a host of little things that a boy who had never been
+lost might imagine he would need in an emergency. While thinking and
+planning I sat on the edge of the great hole where the spring was.
+Suddenly I saw a swirl in the water, and then a splendid spotted fish.
+It broke water twice. It was two feet long.
+
+“Dick, there's fish in this hole!” I yelled, eagerly.
+
+“Shouldn't wonder,” replied he. “Sure, kid, thet hole's full of
+trout--speckled trout,” said Herky-Jerky. “But they can't be ketched.”
+
+“Why not?” I demanded. I had not caught little trout in the Pennsylvania
+hills for nothing. “They eat, don't they? That fish I saw was a whale,
+and he broke water for a bug. Get me a pole and some bugs or worms!”
+
+When I took out my little case and showed the fishing-line, Herky-Jerky
+said he would find me some bait.
+
+While he was absent I studied that spring with new and awakened eyes.
+It was round and very deep, and the water bulged up in great greenish
+swirls. The outlet was a narrow little cleft through which the water
+flowed slowly, as though it did not want to take its freedom. The rush
+and roar came from the gorge below.
+
+Herky-Jerky returned with a long, slender pole. It was as pliant as a
+buggy-whip, and once trimmed and rigged it was far from being a poor
+tackle. Herky-Jerky watched me with extreme attention, all the time
+grinning. Then he held out a handful of grubs.
+
+“If you ketch a trout on thet I'll swaller the pole!” he exclaimed.
+
+I stooped low and approached the spring, being careful to keep out of
+sight.
+
+“You forgot to spit on yer bait, kid,” said Bill.
+
+They all laughed in a way to rouse my ire. But despite it I flipped the
+bait into the water with the same old thrilling expectancy.
+
+The bait dropped with a little spat. An arrowy shadow, black and gold,
+flashed up. Splash! The line hissed. Then I jerked hard. The pole bent
+double, wobbled, and swayed this way and that. The fish was a powerful
+one; his rushes were like those of a heavy bass. But never had a bass
+given me such a struggle. Every instant I made sure the tackle would be
+wrecked. Then, just at the breaking-point, the fish would turn. At last
+he began to tire. I felt that he was rising to the surface, and I put on
+more strain. Soon I saw him; then he turned, flashing like a gold bar. I
+led my captive to the outlet of the spring, where I reached down and
+got my fingers in his gills. With that I lifted him. Dick whooped when I
+held up the fish; as for me, I was speechless. The trout was almost two
+feet long, broad and heavy, with shiny sides flecked with color.
+
+Herky-Jerky celebrated my luck with a generous outburst of enthusiasm,
+whereupon his comrades reminded him of his offer to swallow my fishing
+pole.
+
+I put on a fresh bait and instantly hooked another fish, a smaller one,
+which was not so bard to land. The spring hole was full of trout. They
+made the water boil when I cast. Several large ones tore the hook loose;
+I had never dreamed of such fishing. Really it was a strange situation.
+Here I was a prisoner, with Greaser or Bud taking turns at holding the
+other end of the lasso. More than once they tethered me up short for no
+other reason than to torment me. Yet never in my life had I so enjoyed
+fishing.
+
+By-and-by Bill and Herky-Jerky left the camp. I heard Herky tell Greaser
+to keep his eye on the stew-pots, and it occurred to me that Greaser had
+better keep his eye on Ken Ward. When I saw Bud lie down I remembered
+what Dick had whispered. I pretended to be absorbed in my fishing, but
+really I was watching Greaser. As usual, he was smoking, and appeared
+listless, but he still held on to the lasso.
+
+Suddenly I saw a big blue revolver lying on a stone and I could even
+catch the glint of brass shells in the cylinder. It was not close to Bud
+nor so very close to Greaser. If he should drop the lasso! A wild idea
+possessed me--held me in its grip. Just then the stew-pot boiled over.
+There was a sputter and a cloud of steam, Greaser lazily swore in
+Mexican; he got up to move the stew-pot and dropped the lasso.
+
+When he reached the fire I bounded up, jerking the lasso far behind
+me. I ran and grabbed the revolver. Greaser heard me and wheeled with
+a yell. Bud sat up quickly. I pointed the revolver at him, then at
+Greaser, and kept moving it from one side to the other.
+
+“Don't move! I'll shoot!” I cried.
+
+“Good boy!” yelled Dick. “You've got the drop. Keep it, Ken, keep it!
+Don't lose your nerve. Edge round here and cut me loose.... Bud, if you
+move I'll make him shoot. Come on, Ken.”
+
+“Greaser, cut him loose!” I commanded the snarling Mexican.
+
+I trembled so that the revolver wabbled in my hand. Trying to hold it
+steadied, I squeezed it hard. Bang! It went off with a bellow like a
+cannon. The bullet scattered the gravel near Greaser. His yellow face
+turned a dirty white. He jumped straight up in his fright.
+
+“Cut him loose!” I ordered.
+
+Greaser ran toward Dick.
+
+“Look out, Ken! Behind you! Quick!” yelled Dick.
+
+I heard a crunching of gravel. Even as I wheeled I felt a tremendous
+pull on the lasso and I seemed to be sailing in the air. I got a blurred
+glimpse of Herky-Jerky leaning back on the taut lasso. Then I plunged
+down, slid over the rocks, and went souse into the spring.
+
+
+
+
+X. ESCAPE
+
+Down, down I plunged, and the shock of the icy water seemed to petrify
+me. I should have gone straight to the bottom like a piece of lead but
+for the lasso. It tightened around my chest, and began to haul me up.
+
+I felt the air and the light, and opened my eyes to see Herky-Jerky
+hauling away on the rope. When he caught sight of me he looked as if
+ready to dodge behind the bank.
+
+“Whar's my gun?” he yelled.
+
+I had dropped it in the spring. He let the lasso sag, and I had to swim.
+Then, seeing that my hands were empty, he began to swear and to drag me
+round and round in the pool. When he had pulled me across he ran to
+the other side and jerked me back. I was drawn through the water with
+a force that I feared would tear me apart. Greaser chattered like a
+hideous monkey, and ran to and fro in glee. Herky-Jerky soon had me
+sputtering, gasping, choking. When he finally pulled me out of the hole
+I was all but drowned.
+
+“You bow-legged beggar!” shouted Dick, “I'll fix you for that.”
+
+“Whar's my gun?” yelled Herky, as I fell to the ground.
+
+“I lost--it,” I panted.
+
+He began to rave. Then I half swooned, and when sight and hearing fully
+returned I was lying in the cave on my blankets. A great lassitude
+weighted me down. The terrible thrashing about in the icy water had
+quenched my spirit. For a while I was too played out to move, and lay
+there in my wet clothes. Finally I asked leave to take them off. Bud,
+who had come back in the meantime, helped me, or I should never have got
+out of them. Herky brought up my coat, which, fortunately, I had taken
+off before the ducking. I did not have the heart to speak to Dick or
+look at him, so I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
+
+It was another day when I awoke. I felt all right except for a soreness
+under my arms and across my chest where the lasso had chafed and
+bruised me. Still I did not recover my good spirits. Herky-Jerky kept on
+grinning and cracking jokes on my failure to escape. He had appropriated
+my revolver for himself, and he asked me several times if I wanted to
+borrow it to shoot Greaser.
+
+That day passed quietly, and so did the two that followed. The men would
+not let me fish nor move about. They had been expecting Stockton, and
+as he did not come it was decided to send Bud down to the mill; in fact,
+Bud decided the matter himself. He warned Greaser and Herky to keep
+close watch over Dick and me. Then he rode away. Dick and I resumed our
+talk about forestry, and as we were separated by the length of the cave
+it was necessary to speak loud. So our captors heard every word we said.
+
+“Ken, what's the difference between Government forestry out here and,
+say, forestry practiced by a farmer back in Pennsylvania?” asked Dick.
+
+“There's a big difference, I imagine. Forestry is established in some
+parts of the East; it's only an experiment out here.”
+
+Then I went on to tell him about the method of the farmer. He usually
+had a small piece of forest, mostly hard wood. When the snow was on he
+cut firewood, fence-rails, and lumber for his own use in building. Some
+seasons lumber brought high prices; then he would select matured logs
+and haul them to the sawmill. But he would not cut a great deal, and he
+would use care in the selection. It was his aim to keep the land well
+covered with forest. He would sow as well as harvest.
+
+“Now the Government policy is to preserve the National Forests for the
+use of the people. The soil must be kept productive. Agriculture would
+be impossible without water, and the forests hold water. The West wants
+people to come to stay. The lumberman who slashes off the timber may get
+rich himself, but he ruins the land.”
+
+“What's that new law Congress is trying to pass?” queried Dick.
+
+I was puzzled, but presently I caught his meaning. Bill and Herky-Jerky
+were hanging on our words with unconcealed attention. Even the Mexican
+was listening. Dick's cue was to scare them, or at least to have some
+fun at their expense.
+
+“They've passed it,” I replied. “Fellows like Buell will go to the
+penitentiary for life. His men'll get twenty years on bread and water.
+No whiskey! Serves 'em right.”
+
+“What'll the President do when he learns these men kidnapped you?”
+
+“Do? He'll have the whole forest service out here and the National
+Guard. He's a friend of my father's. Why, these kidnappers will be
+hanged!”
+
+“I wish the Guard would come quick. Too bad you couldn't have sent word!
+I'd enjoy seeing Greaser swing. Say, he hasn't a ghost of a chance, with
+the President and Jim Williams after him.”
+
+“Dick, I want the rings in Greaser's ears.”
+
+“What for? They're only brass.”
+
+“Souvenirs. Maybe I'll have watch-charms made of them. Anyway, I can
+show them to my friends back East.”
+
+“It'll be great--what you'll have to tell,” went on Dick. “It'll be
+funny, too.”
+
+Greaser had begun to snarl viciously, and Herky and Bill looked glum and
+thoughtful. The arrival of Bud interrupted the conversation and put an
+end to our playful mood. We heard a little of what he told his comrades,
+and gathered that Jim Williams had met Stockton and had asked questions
+hard to answer. Dick flashed me a significant look, which was as much
+as to say that Jim was growing suspicious. Bud had brought a store of
+whiskey, and his companions now kept closer company with him than ever
+before. But from appearances they did not get all they wanted.
+
+“We've got to move this here camp,” said Bud.
+
+Bud and Bill and Herky walked off down the gorge. Perhaps they really
+went to find another place for the camp, for the present spot was
+certainly a kind of trap. But from the looks of Greaser I guessed that
+they were leaving him to keep guard while they went off to drink by
+themselves. Greaser muttered and snarled. As the moments passed his face
+grew sullen.
+
+All at once he came toward me. He bound my hands and my feet. Dick was
+already securely tied, but Greaser put another lasso on him. Then he
+slouched down the gorge. His high-peaked Mexican sombrero bobbed above
+the rocks, then disappeared.
+
+“Ken, now's the chance,” said Dick, low and quick. “If you can only work
+loose! There's your rifle and mine, too. We could hold this fort for a
+month.”
+
+“What can I do?” I asked, straining on my ropes.
+
+“You're not fast to the rock, as I am. Rollover here and untie me with
+your teeth.”
+
+I raised my head to get the direction, and then, with a violent twist
+of my body, I started toward him; but being bound fast I could not guide
+myself, and I rolled off the ledge. The bank there was pretty steep,
+and, unable to stop, I kept on like a barrel going down-hill. The
+thought of rolling into the spring filled me with horror. Suddenly I
+bumped hard into something that checked me. It was a log of firewood,
+and in one end stuck the big knife which Herky-Jerky used to cut meat.
+
+Instantly I conceived the idea of cutting my bonds with this knife. But
+how was I to set about it?
+
+“Dick, here's a knife. How'll I get to it so as to free myself?”
+
+“Easy as pie,” replied he, eagerly. “The sharp edge points down. You
+hitch yourself this way--That's it---good!”
+
+What Dick called easy as pie was the hardest work I ever did. I lay flat
+on my back, bound hand and foot, and it was necessary to jerk my body
+along the log till my hands should be under the knife. I lifted my legs
+and edged along inch by inch.
+
+“Fine work, Ken! Now you're right! Turn on your side! Be careful you
+don't loosen the knife!”
+
+Not only were my wrists bound, but the lasso had been wrapped round my
+elbows, holding them close to my body. Turning on my side, I found that
+I could not reach the knife--not by several inches. This was a bitter
+disappointment. I strained and heaved. In my effort to lift my body
+sidewise I pressed my face into the gravel. “Hurry, Ken, hurry!” cried
+Dick. “Somebody's coming!”
+
+Thus urged, I grew desperate. In my struggle I discovered that it was
+possible to edge up on the log and stick there. I glued myself to that
+log. By dint of great exertion I brought the tight cord against the
+blade. It parted with a little snap, my elbows dropped free. Raising
+my wrists, I sawed quickly through the bonds. I cut myself, the blood
+flowed, but that was no matter. Jerking the knife from the log, I
+severed the ropes round my ankles and leaped up.
+
+“Hurry, boy!” cried Dick, with a sharp note of alarm.
+
+I ran to where he lay, and attacked the heavy halter with which he
+had been secured. I had cut half through the knots when a shrill cry
+arrested me. It was the Mexican's voice.
+
+“Head him off! He's after your gun!” yelled Dick.
+
+The sight of Greaser running toward the cave put me into a frenzy.
+Dropping the knife, I darted to where my rifle leaned across my saddle.
+But I saw the Mexican would beat me to it. Checking my speed, I grabbed
+up a round stone and let fly. That was where my ball-playing stood me
+in good stead, for the stone hit Greaser on the shoulder, knocking him
+flat. But he got up, and lunged for the rifle just as I reached him.
+
+I kicked the rifle out of his band, grappled with him, and down we went
+together. We wrestled and thrashed off the ledge, and when we landed in
+the gravel I was on top.
+
+“Slug him, Ken!” yelled Dick, wildly. “Oh, that's fine! Give it to him!
+Punch him! Get his wind!”
+
+Either it was a mortal dread of Greaser's knife or some kind of a
+new-born fury that lent me such strength. He screeched, he snapped
+like a wolf, he clawed me, he struck me, but he could not shake me off.
+Several times he had me turning, but a hard rap on his head knocked him
+back again. Then I began to bang him in the ribs.
+
+“That's the place!” shouted Dick. “Ken, you're going to do him up! Soak
+him! Oh-h, but this is great!”
+
+I kept the advantage over Greaser, but still he punished me cruelly.
+Suddenly he got his snaky hands on my throat and began to choke me. With
+all my might I swung my fist into his stomach.
+
+His hands dropped, his mouth opened in a gasp, his face turned green.
+The blow had made him horribly sick, and he sank back utterly helpless.
+I jumped up with a shout of triumph.
+
+“Run! Run for it!” yelled Dick, in piercing tones. “They're coming!
+Never mind me! Run, I tell you! Not down the gorge! Climb out!”
+
+For a moment I could not move out of my tracks. Then I saw Bill and
+Herky running up the gorge, and, farther down, Bud staggering and
+lurching.
+
+This lent me wings. In two jumps I had grabbed my rifle; then, turning,
+I ran round the pool, and started up the one place in the steep wall
+where climbing was possible. Above the yells of the men I heard Dick's
+piercing cry:
+
+“Go-go-go, Ken!”
+
+I sent the loose rocks down in my flight. Here I leaped up; there I ran
+along a little ledge; in another place I climbed hand and foot. The last
+few yards was a gravelly incline. I seemed to slide back as much as I
+gained.
+
+“Come back hyar!” bawled Bill.
+
+Crack! Crack! Crack... The reports rang out in quick succession. A
+bullet whistled over me, another struck the gravel and sent a shower of
+dust into my face. I pitched my rifle up over the bank and began to dig
+my fingers and toes into the loose ground. As I gained the top two more
+bullets sang past my head so close that I knew Bill was aiming to more
+than scare me. I dragged myself over the edge and was safe.
+
+The canyon, with its dense thickets and scrubby clumps of trees, lay
+below in plain sight. Once hidden there, I would be hard to find.
+Picking up my rifle, I ran swiftly along the base of the slope and soon
+gained the cover of the woods.
+
+
+
+
+XI. THE OLD HUNTER
+
+I ran till I got a stitch in my side, and then slowed down to a
+dog-trot. The one thing to do was to get a long way ahead of my
+pursuers, for surely at the outset they would stick like hounds to my
+trail.
+
+A mile or more below the gorge I took to the stream and waded. It
+was slippery, dangerous work, for the current tore about my legs and
+threatened to upset me. After a little I crossed to the left bank. Here
+the slope of the canyon was thick with grass that hid my tracks. It was
+a long climb up to the level. Upon reaching it I dropped, exhausted.
+
+“I've--given them--the slip,” I panted, exultantly.... “But--now what?”
+
+It struck me that now I was free, I had only jumped out of the
+frying-pan into the fire. Hurriedly I examined my Winchester. The
+magazine contained ten cartridges. What luck that Stockton had neglected
+to unload it! This made things look better. I had salt and pepper, a
+knife, and matches--thanks to the little leather case--and so I could
+live in the woods.
+
+It was too late for regrets. I might have freed Dick somehow or even
+held the men at bay, but I had thought only of escape. The lack of nerve
+and judgment stung me. Then I was bitter over losing my mustang and
+outfit.
+
+But on thinking it all over, I concluded that I ought to be thankful for
+things as they were. I was free, with a whole skin. That climb out of
+the gorge had been no small risk. How those bullets had whistled and
+hissed!
+
+“I'm pretty lucky,” I muttered. “Now to get good and clear of this
+vicinity. They'll ride down the trail after me. Better go over this
+ridge into the next canyon and strike down that. I must go down. But how
+far? What must I strike for?”
+
+I took a long look at the canyon. In places the stream showed, also the
+trail; then there were open patches, but I saw no horses or men. With
+a grim certainty that I should be lost in a very little while, I turned
+into the cool, dark forest.
+
+Every stone and log, every bit of hard ground in my path, served to help
+hide my trail. Herky-Jerky very likely had the cowboy's skill at finding
+tracks, but I left few traces of my presence on that long slope. Only an
+Indian or a hound could have trailed me. The timber was small and rough
+brush grew everywhere. Presently I saw light ahead, and I came to an
+open space. It was a wide swath in the forest. At once I recognized the
+path of an avalanche. It sloped up clean and bare to the gray cliffs far
+above. Below was a great mass of trees and rocks, all tangled in black
+splintered ruin. I pushed on across the path, into the forest, and up
+and down the hollows. The sun had gone down behind the mountain, and the
+shadows were gathering when I came to another large canyon. It looked so
+much like the first that I feared I had been travelling in a circle. But
+this one seemed wider, deeper, and there was no roar of rushing water.
+
+It was time to think of making camp, and so I hurried down the slope.
+At the bottom I found a small brook winding among boulders and ledges
+of rock. The far side of this canyon was steep and craggy. Soon I
+discovered a place where I thought it would be safe to build a fire. My
+clothes were wet, and the air had grown keen and cold. Gathering a store
+of wood, I made my fire in a niche. For a bed I cut some sweet-scented
+pine boughs (I thought they must be from a balsam-tree), and these I
+laid close up in a rocky corner. Thus I had the fire between me and
+the opening, and with plenty of wood to burn I did not fear visits from
+bears or lions. At last I lay down, dry and warm indeed, but very tired
+and hungry.
+
+Darkness closed in upon me. I saw a few stars, heard the cheery crackle
+of my fire, and then I fell asleep. Twice in the night I awakened cold,
+but by putting on more firewood I was soon comfortable again.
+
+When I awoke the sun was shining brightly into my rocky bedchamber. The
+fire had died out completely, there was frost on the stones. To build up
+another fire and to bathe my face in the ice-water of the brook were my
+first tasks. The air was sweet; it seemed to freeze as I breathed, and
+was a bracing tonic. I was tingling all over, and as hungry as a starved
+wolf.
+
+I set forth on a hunt for game. Even if the sound of a shot betrayed
+my whereabouts I should have to abide by it, for I had to eat. Stepping
+softly along, I glanced about me with sharp eyes. Deer trails were
+thick. The bottom of this canyon was very wide, and grew wider as I
+proceeded. Then the pines once more became large and thrifty. I judged I
+had come down the mountain, perhaps a couple of thousand feet below
+the camp in the gorge. I flushed many of the big blue grouse, and I saw
+numerous coyotes, a fox, and a large brown beast which moved swiftly
+into a thicket. It was enough to make my heart rise in my throat. To
+dream of hunting bears was something vastly different from meeting one
+in a lonely canyon.
+
+Just after this I saw a herd of deer. They were a good way off. I began
+to slip from tree to tree, and drew closer. Presently I came to a little
+hollow with a thick, short patch of underbrush growing on the opposite
+side. Something crashed in the thicket. Then two beautiful deer ran out.
+One bounded leisurely up the slope; the other, with long ears erect,
+stopped to look at me. It was no more than fifty yards away. Trembling
+with eagerness, I leveled my rifle. I could not get the sight to stay
+steady on the deer. Even then, with the rifle wobbling in my intense
+excitement, I thought of how beautiful that wild creature was. Straining
+every nerve, I drew the sight till it was in line with the gray shape,
+then fired. The deer leaped down the slope, staggered, and crumpled down
+in a heap.
+
+I tore through the bushes, and had almost reached the bottom of the
+hollow when I remembered that a wounded deer was dangerous. So I halted.
+The gray form was as still as stone. I ventured closer. The deer was
+dead. My bullet had entered high above the shoulder at the juncture of
+the neck. Though I had only aimed at him generally, I took a good deal
+of pride in my first shot at a deer.
+
+Fortunately my pen-knife had a fair-sized blade. With it I decided to
+cut out part of the deer and carry it back to my camp. Then it occurred
+to me that I might as well camp where I was. There were several jumbles
+of rock and a cliff within a stone's-throw of where I stood. Besides, I
+must get used to making camp wherever I happened to be. Accordingly, I
+took hold of the deer, and dragged him down the hollow till I came to a
+leaning slab of rock.
+
+Skinning a deer was, of course, new to me. I haggled the flesh somewhat
+and cut through the skin often, my knife-blade being much too small for
+such work. Finally I thought it would be enough for me to cut out the
+haunches, and then I got down to one haunch. It had bothered me how I
+was going to sever the joint, but to my great surprise I found there
+did not seem to be any connection between the bones. The haunch came out
+easily, and I hung it up on a branch while making a fire.
+
+Herky-Jerky's method of broiling a piece of venison at the end of a
+stick solved the problem of cooking. Then it was that the little flat
+flask, full of mixed salt and pepper, rewarded me for the long carrying
+of it. I was hungry, and I feasted.
+
+By this time the sun shone warm, and the canyon was delightful. I roamed
+around, sat on sunny stones, and lay in the shade of pines. Deer browsed
+in the glades. When they winded or saw me they would stand erect, shoot
+up their long cars, and then leisurely lope away. Coyotes trotted out
+of thickets and watched me suspiciously. I could have shot several,
+but deemed it wise to be saving of my ammunition. Once I heard a low
+drumming. I could not imagine what made it. Then a big blue grouse
+strutted out of a patch of bushes. He spread his wings and tail and neck
+feathers, after the fashion of a turkey-gobbler. It was a flap or shake
+of his wings that produced the drumming. I wondered if he intended, by
+his actions, to frighten me away from his mate's nest. So I went toward
+him, and got very close before he flew. I caught sight of his mate in
+the bushes, and, as I had supposed, she was on a nest. Though wanting to
+see her eggs or young ones, I resisted the temptation, for I was afraid
+if I went nearer she might abandon her nest, as some mother birds do.
+
+It did not seem to me that I was lost, yet lost I was. The peaks were
+not in sight. The canyon widened down the slope, and I was pretty sure
+that it opened out flat into the great pine forest of Penetier. The only
+thing that bothered me was the loss of my mustang and outfit; I could
+not reconcile myself to that. So I wandered about with a strange, full
+sense of freedom such as I had never before known. What was to be the
+end of my adventure I could not guess, and I wasted no time worrying
+over it.
+
+The knowledge I had of forestry I tried to apply. I studied the north
+and south slopes of the canyon, observing how the trees prospered on the
+sunny side. Certain saplings of a species unknown to me had been gnawed
+fully ten feet from the ground. This puzzled me. Squirrels could not
+have done it, nor rabbits, nor birds. Presently I hit upon the solution.
+The bark and boughs of this particular sapling were food for deer, and
+to gnaw so high the deer must have stood upon six or seven feet of snow.
+
+I dug into the soft duff under the pines. This covering of the roots
+was very thick and deep. I made it out to be composed of pine-needles,
+leaves, and earth. It was like a sponge. No wonder such covering held
+the water! I pried bark off dead trees and dug into decayed logs to find
+the insect enemies of the trees. The open places, where little colonies
+of pine sprouts grew, seemed generally to be down-slope from the parent
+trees. It was easy to tell the places where the wind had blown the
+seeds.
+
+The hours sped by. The shadows of the pines lengthened, the sun set,
+and the shade deepened in the hollows. Returning to my camp, I cooked
+my supper and made my bed. When I had laid up a store of firewood it was
+nearly dark.
+
+With night came the coyotes. The carcass of the deer attracted them, and
+they approached from all directions. At first it was fascinating to hear
+one howl far off in the forest, and then to notice the difference in the
+sound as he came nearer and nearer. The way they barked and snapped out
+there in the darkness was as wild a thing to hear as any boy could have
+wished for. It began to be a little too much for me. I kept up a bright
+fire, and, though not exactly afraid, I had a perch picked out in the
+nearest tree. Suddenly the coyotes became silent. Then a low, continuous
+growling, a snapping of twigs, and the unmistakable drag of a heavy
+body over the ground made my hair stand on end. Gripping my rifle, I
+listened. I heard the crunch of teeth on bones, then more sounds of
+something being dragged down the hollow. The coyotes began to bark
+again, but now far back in the forest.
+
+Some beast had frightened them. What was it? I did not know whether a
+bear would eat deer flesh, but I thought not. Perhaps timber-wolves
+had disturbed the coyotes. But would they run from wolves? It came to me
+suddenly--a mountain-lion!
+
+I hugged my fire, and sat there, listening with all my ears, imagining
+every rustle of leaf to be the step of a lion. It was long before the
+thrills and shivers stopped chasing over me, longer before I could
+decide to lie down. But after a while the dead quiet of the forest
+persuaded me that the night was far advanced, and I fell asleep.
+
+The first thing in the morning I took my rifle and went out to where I
+had left the carcass of the deer. It was gone. It had been dragged away.
+A dark path on the pine-needles and grass, and small bushes pressed to
+the ground, plainly marked the trail. But search as I might, I could
+not find the track of the animal that had dragged off the deer. After
+following the trail for a few rods, I decided to return to camp and cook
+breakfast before going any farther. While I was at it I cut many thin
+slices of venison, and, after roasting them, I stored them away in the
+capacious pocket of my coat.
+
+My breakfast finished, I again set out to see what had become of the
+remains of the deer. In two or three places the sharp hoofs had cut
+lines in the soft earth, and there were tufts of whitish-gray hair
+elsewhere. A hundred yards or more down the hollow I came to a bare spot
+where recently there had been a pool of water. Here I found cat tracks
+as large as my two hands. I had never seen the track of a mountain-lion,
+but, all the same, I knew that this was the real thing. What an enormous
+brute he must have been! I cast fearful glances into the surrounding
+thickets.
+
+It was not needful to travel much farther. Under a bush well hidden in a
+clump of trees lay what now remained of my deer. A patch of gray hair, a
+few long bones, a split skull, and two long ears--no more! Even the hide
+was gone. Perhaps the coyotes had finished the job after the lion had
+gorged himself, but I did not think so. It seemed to me that coyotes
+would have scattered the remains. Those two long ears somehow seemed
+pathetic. I wished for a second that the lion were in range of my rifle.
+
+The lion was driven from my mind when I saw a troop of deer cross a
+glade below me. I had to fight myself to keep from shooting. The wind
+blew rather strong in my face, which probably accounted for the deer not
+winding me.
+
+Then the whip-like crack of a rifle riveted me where I stood. One of the
+deer fell, and the others bounded away. I saw a tall man stride down
+the slope and into the glade. He was not like any of the loggers or
+lumbermen. They were mostly brawny and round-shouldered. This man was
+lithe, erect; he walked like athletes I had seen. Surely I should find a
+friend in him, and I lost no time in running down into the glade. He saw
+me as soon as I was clear of the trees, and stood leaning on his rifle.
+
+“Wal, dog-gone my buttons!” he ejaculated. “Who're you?”
+
+I blurted out all about myself, at the same time taking stock of him.
+He was not young, but I had never seen a young man so splendid. Hair,
+beard, and skin were all of a dark gray. His eyes, too, were gray--the
+keenest and clearest I had ever looked into. They shone with a kindly
+light, otherwise I might have thought his face hard and stern. His
+shoulders were very wide, his arms long, his hands enormous. His
+buckskin shirt attracted my attention to his other clothes, which looked
+like leather overalls or heavy canvas. A belt carried a huge knife and a
+number of shells of large caliber; the Winchester he had was exceedingly
+long and heavy, and of an old pattern. The look of him brought back my
+old fancy of Wetzel or Kit Carson.
+
+“So I'm lost,” I concluded, “and don't know what to do. I daren't try to
+find the sawmill. I won't go back to Holston just yet.”
+
+“An' why not, youngster? 'Pears to me you'd better make tracks from
+Penetier.”
+
+I told him why, at which he laughed.
+
+“Wal, I reckon you can stay with me fer a spell. My camp's in the head
+of this canyon.”
+
+“Oh, thank you, that'll be fine!” I exclaimed. My great good luck filled
+me with joy. “Do you stay on the mountain?”
+
+“Be'n here goin' on eighteen years, youngster. Mebbe you've heerd my
+name. Hiram Bent.”
+
+“Are you a hunter?”
+
+“Wal, I reckon so, though I'm more a trapper. Here, you pack my gun.”
+
+With that he drew his knife and set to work on the deer. It was
+wonderful to see his skill. In a few cuts and strokes, a ripping of the
+hide and a powerful slash, he had cut out a haunch. It took even less
+work for the second. Then he hung the rest of the deer on a snag, and
+wiped his knife and hands on the grass.
+
+“Come on, youngster,” he said, starting up the canyon.
+
+I showed him where the carcass of my deer had been devoured.
+
+“Cougar. Thar's a big feller has the run of this canyon.”
+
+“Cougar? I thought it was a mountain-lion.”
+
+“Cougar, painter, panther, lion--all the same critter. An' if you leave
+him alone he'll not bother you, but he's bad in a corner.”
+
+“He scared away the coyotes.”
+
+“Youngster, even a silver-tip--thet's a grizzly bear--will make tracks
+away from a cougar. I lent my pack of hounds to a pard over near
+Springer. If I had them we'd put thet cougar up a tree in no time.”
+
+“Are there many lions--cougars here?”
+
+“Only a few. Thet's why there's plenty of deer. Other game is plentiful,
+too. Foxes, wolves, an', up in the mountains, bears are thick.”
+
+“Then I may get to see one--get a shot at one?”
+
+“Wal, I reckon.”
+
+From that time I trod on air. I found myself wishing for my brother Hal.
+I became reconciled to the loss of mustang and outfit. For a moment
+I almost forgot Dick and Buell. Forestry seemed less important than
+hunting. I had read a thousand books about old hunters and trappers,
+and here I was in a wild mountain canyon with a hunter who might have
+stepped out of one of my dreams. So I trudged along beside him, asking
+a question now and then, and listening always. He certainly knew what
+would interest me. There was scarcely a thing he said that I would ever
+forget. After a while, however, the trail became so steep and rough that
+I, at least, had no breath to spare for talking. We climbed and climbed.
+The canyon had become a narrow, rocky cleft. Huge stones blocked the
+way. A ragged growth of underbrush fringed the stream. Dead pines, with
+branches like spears, lay along the trail.
+
+We came upon a little clearing, where there was a rude log-cabin with
+a stone chimney. Skins of animals were tacked upon logs. Under the bank
+was a spring. The mountain overshadowed this wild nook.
+
+“Wal, youngster, here's my shack. Make yourself to home,” said Hiram
+Bent.
+
+I was all eyes as we entered the cabin. Skins, large and small, and of
+many colors, hung upon the walls. A fire burned in a wide stone grate. A
+rough table and some pans and cooking utensils showed evidence of recent
+scouring. A bunch of steel traps lay in a corner. Upon a shelf were
+tin cans and cloth bags, and against the wall stood a bed of glossy
+bearskins. To me the cabin was altogether a most satisfactory place.
+
+“I reckon ye're tired?” asked the hunter. “Thet's some pumpkins of a
+climb unless you're used to it.”
+
+I admitted I was pretty tired.
+
+“Wal, rest awhile. You look like you hadn't slept much.”
+
+He asked me about my people and home, and was so interested in forestry
+that he left off his task of the moment to talk about it. I was not long
+in discovering that what he did not know about trees and forests was
+hardly worth learning. He called it plain woodcraft. He had never heard
+of forestry. All the same I hungered for his knowledge. How lucky for me
+to fall in with him! The things that had puzzled me about the pines he
+answered easily. Then he volunteered information. From talking of the
+forest, he drifted to the lumbermen.
+
+“Wal, the lumber-sharks are rippin' holes in Penetier. I reckon they
+wouldn't stop at nothin'. I've heered some tough stories about thet
+sawmill gang. I ain't acquainted with Leslie, or any of them fellers you
+named except Jim Williams. I knowed Jim. He was in Springer fer a while.
+If Jim's your friend, there'll be somethin' happenin, when he rounds up
+them kidnappers. I reckon you'd better hang up with me fer a while. You
+don't want to get ketched again. Your life wasn't much to them fellers.
+I think they'd held on to you fer money. It's too bad you didn't send
+word home to your people.”
+
+“I sent word home about the big steal of timber. That was before I got
+kidnapped. By this time the Government knows.”
+
+“Wal, you don't say! Thet was pert of you, youngster. An' will the
+Government round up these sharks?”
+
+“Indeed it will. The Government is in dead earnest about protecting the
+National Forests.”
+
+“So it ought to be. Next to a forest fire, I hate these skinned timber
+tracts. Wal, old Penetier's going to see somethin' lively before long.
+Youngster, them lumbermen--leastways, them fellers you call Bud an'
+Bill, an' such--they're goin' to fight.”
+
+The old hunter left me presently, and went outside. I waited awhile for
+him, but as he did not return I lay down upon the bearskins and dropped
+to sleep. It seemed I had hardly closed my eyes when I felt a hand on my
+arm and heard a voice.
+
+“Wake up, youngster. Thar's two old bears an' a cub been foolin' with
+one of my traps.”
+
+In a flash I was wide awake.
+
+“Let's see your gun. Humph! pretty small--38 caliber, ain't it? Wal,
+it'll do the work if you hold straight. Can you shoot?”
+
+“Fairly well.”
+
+He took his heavy Winchester, and threw a coil of thin rope over his
+shoulder.
+
+“Come on. Stay close to me, an' keep your eyes peeled.”
+
+
+
+
+XII. BEARS
+
+The old hunter walked so swiftly that I had to run to keep up with him.
+The trail led up the creek, now on one side, again on the other, and
+I was constantly skipping from stone to stone. The grassy slopes grew
+fewer, and finally gave way altogether to cracked cliffs and weathered
+rocks. A fringe of pine-trees leaned over the top with here and there a
+blasted spear standing out white.
+
+“I had my trap set up thet draw,” said Hiram Bent, as he pointed toward
+an intersecting canyon. “Just before I waked you I was comin' along
+here, an' I heered an all-fired racket up thar, an' so I watched. Soon
+three black bears come paddlin' down, an' the biggest was draggin' the
+trap with the chain an' log. Then I hurried to tell you. They can't be
+far.”
+
+“Are they grizzlies?” I asked, trying to speak naturally.
+
+“Nope. Jest plain black bears. But the one with the trap is a whopper.
+He'll go over four hundred. See the tracks? Looks like somebody'd been
+plowin' up the stones.”
+
+There were deep tracks in the sand, and broad furrows, and stones
+overturned, and places where a heavy object had crushed the gravel even
+and smooth.
+
+The old hunter kept striding on, and I wondered how he could go so fast
+without running. Presently we came to where the canyon forked. Hiram
+started up the right-hand fork, then suddenly stopped, and, turning,
+began to go back, carefully examining the ground.
+
+“They've split on us,” he explained. “The ole feller with the trap went
+up the right-hand draw, an' the mother an' cub took to the left. Now,
+youngster, can you keep your nerve?”
+
+“I think so.”
+
+“Wal, you go after the ole feller. You can't miss him, an' he won't be
+far. You'll hear him bellerin' long before you git to him, though he
+might lay low, so you steer clear of big boulders an' thickets. Kill
+him, an' then run back an' take up this draw. The she bear is cute an'
+may give me the slip, but if she doesn't climb out soon I'll head her
+off. Hurry on, now. Keep your eye peeled, an' you'll be safe as if you
+were to home.”
+
+With that he disappeared round the corner of stone wall where the
+canyon divided. I wheeled and went to the right. This wing of the canyon
+twisted and turned and was full of stones. A shallow sheet of water
+gleamed over its colored bed of gravel. The walls were straight up, and,
+in places, bulged outward. I flinched at every turn in the canyon;
+but, with rifle cocked and thrust forward, I went on. The cracks in the
+walls, the boulders and pieces of cliff that obstructed my path, and the
+occasional thickets--all made me halt with careful step and finger on
+the trigger. I followed the splashes on the stones, which told me
+that the bear had passed that way. As I went cautiously on I felt a
+tightening at my throat. The light above grew dimmer. When I stopped to
+listen it was so silent that I heard only the pounding of my heart and
+my own quick breathing. I pressed on and on, going faster all the time
+not that I felt braver, but I longed to end the suspense. Suddenly the
+silence was broken by a threatening roar. It swept down on me, swelling
+as it continued, and it seemed to fill the canyon. It shook my pulses,
+it urged me to flight, but I could not move. Then as suddenly it ceased.
+
+For a long moment I stood still, with no idea of advancing farther.
+The clinking of a chain seemed to release my cramped muscles. Very
+cautiously I peered around a projecting corner of wall. There sat a huge
+black bear on his haunches holding up a great steel trap which clutched
+one of his paws. It was such a strange sight that my fear was forgotten.
+There was something almost human in the way the bear looked at that
+trap. He touched it gingerly with his free paw, and nosed it. I crept up
+close to the corner of stone and looked around again. The bear was now
+close to me. I saw the heavy chain and the log to which it was attached.
+He looked at trap and log in a grave, pathetic way, as if trying to
+reason about them. Then he roused into furious action, swinging the
+trap, dragging the log, and bellowing in such a frightful manner that I
+dodged back behind the wall.
+
+But this sudden change in the bear, this appalling roar with its note of
+pain, awakened me to his suffering. When the noise stopped and I looked
+again, the bear was a sight not to be forgotten. He showed a helpless,
+terrible fear of the steel-jawed thing on his foot. He dropped down on
+the sand with a groan, and there was a despairing look in his eyes.
+
+This made me forget my fear, and I had only one thought--to put him
+out of his misery. When I leveled my rifle it was as steady as the rock
+beside me. Aiming just below his ear, I pressed the trigger. The dull
+report re-echoed from wall to wall. The bear lurched slightly, and his
+head fell upon his outstretched paws. I waited, ready to shoot again
+upon the slightest movement, but there was none.
+
+With rifle ready I cautiously approached the bear. As I came close he
+seemed larger and larger, but he showed no signs of life. I looked at
+the glossy black fur, the flecks of blood on the side of his head where
+my bullet had entered, the murderous saw-teeth of the heavy trap biting
+to the bone, and the cruelty of that trap seemed to drive from me all
+pride of achievement. It was nothing except mercy to kill a trapped
+crippled bear that could not run or fight. Then and there I gained a
+dislike for trapping animals.
+
+The crack of the old hunter's rifle made me remember that I was to hurry
+back up the other canyon, so I began to run. I bounded from stone to
+stone, dashed over the sand-bars, jumped the brook, and went down that
+canyon perhaps in far greater danger of bodily harm than when I had gone
+up.
+
+But when I turned the corner it was another story. The first canyon had
+been easy climbing compared to this one. It was narrow, steep, and full
+of dead pines fallen from above. Running was impossible. I clambered
+upward over the loose stones, under the bridges of pines, round the
+boulders. Presently I heard a shout. I could not tell where it came
+from, but I replied. A second call I identified as coming from high up
+the ragged canyon side, and I started up. It was hard work. Certainly no
+bears or hunter had climbed out just here. At length, sore, spent, and
+torn, I fell out of a tangle of brush upon the edge of the canyon. Above
+me rose the swelling mountain slope thickly covered with dwarf pines.
+
+“This way, youngster!” called the old hunter from my left.
+
+A few more dashes in and out of the brush and trees brought me to a
+fairly open space with not much slope. Hiram Bent stood under a pine,
+and at his feet lay a black furry mass.
+
+“Wal, I heerd you shoot. Reckon you got yourn?”
+
+“Yes, I killed him.... Say, Mr. Bent, I don't like traps.”
+
+“Nary do I--for bears,” replied he, shaking his gray head. “A trapped
+bear is about the pitifulest thing I ever seen. But it's seldom one ever
+gits into trap of mine.”
+
+“This one you shot must be the old mother bear. Where's the cub? Did it
+get away?”
+
+“Not yet. Lookup in the tree.”
+
+I looked up the black trunk through the network of slender branches, and
+saw the bear snuggling in a fork. His sharp ears stood up against the
+sky. He was most anxiously gazing down at us.
+
+“Wal, tumble him out of thar,” said Hiram Bent.
+
+With a natural impulse to shoot I raised my rifle, but the cub looked so
+attractive and so helpless that I hesitated.
+
+“I don't like to do it,” I said. “Oh, I wish we could catch him alive!”
+
+“Wal, I reckon we can.”
+
+“How?” I inquired, eagerly, and lowered my rifle.
+
+“Are you good on the climb?”
+
+“Climb? This tree? Why, with one hand. Back in Pennsylvania I climbed
+shell-bark hickory-trees with the lowest limb fifty feet from the
+ground. .. But there weren't any bears up them.”
+
+“You must keep out of his way if he comes down on you. He's a sassy
+little chap. Now take this rope an' go up an' climb round him.”
+
+“Climb round him?” I queried, as I gazed dubiously upward. “You mean to
+slip out on the branches and go up hand-over-hand till I get above him.
+The branches up there seem pretty close--I might. But suppose he goes
+higher?”
+
+“I'm lookin' fer him to go clean to the top. But you can beat him to
+it--mebbe.”
+
+“Any danger of his attacking me--up there?”
+
+“Wal, not much. If he hugs the trunk he'll have to hold on fer all he's
+worth. But if he stands on the branches an' you come up close he might
+bat you one. Mebbe I'd better go up.”
+
+“Oh, I'm going--I only wanted to know what to expect. Now, in case I get
+above him, what then?”
+
+“Make him back down till he reaches these first branches. When he gets
+so far I'll tell you what to do.” I put my arm through the coil of rope,
+and, slinging it snugly over my shoulder, began to climb the pine. It
+was the work of only a moment to reach the first branch.
+
+“Wal, I reckon you're some relation to a squirrel at thet,” said Hiram
+Bent. “Jest as I thought the little cuss is climbin' higher. Thet's
+goin' to worry us.”
+
+It was like stepping up a ladder from the first branch to the fork.
+The cub had gone up the right-hand trunk some fifteen feet, and was now
+hugging it. At that short distance he looked alarmingly big. But I saw
+he would have all he could do to hold on, and if I could climb the left
+trunk and get above him there would be little to fear. How I did it
+so quickly was a mystery, but amid the cracking of dead branches
+and pattering of falling bark and swaying of the tree-top I gained a
+position above him.
+
+He was so close that I could smell him. His quick little eyes snapped
+fire and fear at once; he uttered a sound that was between a whine and a
+growl.
+
+“Hey, youngster!” yelled Hiram, “thet's high enough--'tain't safe--be
+careful now.”
+
+With the words I looked out below me, to see the old hunter standing in
+the glade waving his arms.
+
+“I'm all right!” I yelled down. “Now, how'll I drive him?”
+
+“Break off a branch an' switch him.”
+
+There was not a branch above me that I could break, but a few feet below
+was a slender, dead limb. I slid down and got it, and, holding on with
+my left arm and legs, I began to thrash the cub. He growled fiercely.
+snapped at the stick, and began to back down.
+
+“He's started!” I cried, in glee. “Go on, Cubby--down with you!”
+
+Clumsy as he was, he made swift time. I was hard put to keep close to
+him. I slipped down the trunk--holding on one instant and sliding down
+the next. But below the fork it was harder for Cubby and easier for
+me. The branches rather hindered his backward progress while they aided
+mine. Growling and whining, with long claws ripping the bark, he went
+down. All of a sudden I became aware of the old hunter threshing about
+under the tree.
+
+“Hold on--not so fast!” he yelled.
+
+Still the cub kept going, and stopped with his haunches on the first
+branch. There, looking down, he saw an enemy below him, and hesitated.
+But he looked up, and, seeing me, began to back down again. Hiram
+pounded the tree with a dead branch. Cubby evidently intended to reach
+the ground, for the noise did not stop him. Then the hunter ran a little
+way to a windfall, and came back with the upper half of a dead sapling.
+With this he began to prod the bear. Thereupon, Cubby lost no time in
+getting up to the first branch again, where he halted.
+
+“Throw the noose on him now--anywhere,” ordered the hunter. “An' we've
+no time to lose. He's gittin' sassier every minnit.”
+
+I dropped the wide loop upon Cubby, expecting to catch him first time.
+The rope went over his head, but with a dexterous flip of his paw he
+sent it flying. Then began a duel between us, in which he continually
+got the better of me. All the while the old hunter prodded Cubby from
+below.
+
+“You ain't quick enough,” said Hiram, impatiently.
+
+Made reckless by this, I stepped down to another branch directly over
+the bear, and tried again to rope him. It was of no use. He slipped out
+of the noose with the sinuous movements of an eel. Once it caught over
+his ears and in his open jaws. He gave a jerk that nearly pulled me from
+my perch. I could tell he was growing angrier every instant, and also
+braver. Suddenly the noose, quite by accident, caught his nose. He
+wagged his head and I pulled. The noose tightened.
+
+“I've got him!” I yelled, and gave the rope a strong pull.
+
+The bear stood up with startling suddenness and reached for me.
+
+“Climb!” shouted Hiram.
+
+I dropped the rope and leaped for the branch above, and, catching it,
+lifted myself just as the sharp claws of the cub scratched hard over my
+boot.
+
+Cubby now hugged the tree trunk and started up again.
+
+“We've got him!” yelled Hiram. “Don't move--step on his nose if he gets
+too close.”
+
+Then I saw the halter had come off the bear and had fallen to the
+ground. Hiram picked it up, arranged the noose, and, holding it in his
+teeth began to limb after the bear. Cubby was now only a few feet under
+me, working steadily up, growling, and his little eyes were like points
+of green fire.
+
+“Stop him! Stand on his head!” mumbled Hiram, with the rope in his
+teeth.
+
+“What!--not on your life!”
+
+But, reaching up, I grasped a branch, and, swinging clear of the lower
+one, I began to kick at the bear. This stopped him. Then he squealed,
+and began to kick on his own account. Hiram was trying to get the noose
+over a hind foot. After several attempts he succeeded, and then threw
+the rope over the lowest branch. I gave a wild Indian yell of triumph.
+The next instant, before I could find a foothold, the branch to which I
+was hanging snapped like a pistol-shot, and I plunged down with a crash.
+I struck the bear and the lower branch, and then the ground. The fall
+half stunned me. I thought every bone in my body was broken. I rose
+unsteadily, and for a moment everything whirled before my eyes. Then I
+discovered that the roar in my ears was the old hunter's yell. I saw him
+hauling on the rope. There was a great ripping of bark and many strange
+sounds, and then the cub was dangling head downward. Hiram had pulled
+him from his perch, and hung him over the lowest branch.
+
+“Thar, youngster, git busy now!” yelled the hunter. “Grab the other
+rope--thar it is--an' rope a front paw while I hold him. Lively now,
+he's mighty heavy, an' if he ever gits down with only one rope on him
+we'll think we're fast to chain lightnin'.”
+
+The bear swung about five feet from the ground. As I ran at him with the
+noose he twisted himself, seemed to double up in a knot, then he dropped
+full-stretched again, and lunged viciously at me. Twice I felt the wind
+of his paws. He spun around so fast that it kept me dancing. I flung the
+noose and caught his right paw. Hiram bawled something that made me all
+the more heedless, and in tightening the noose I ran in too close. The
+bear gave me a slashing cuff on the side of the head, and I went down
+like a tenpin.
+
+“Git a hitch thar--to the saplin'!” roared Hiram, as I staggered to my
+feet. “Rustle now--hurry!”
+
+What with my ringing head, and fingers all thumbs, and Hiram roaring
+at me, I made a mess of tying the knot. Then Hiram let go his rope, and
+when the cub dropped to the ground the rope flew up over the branch.
+Cubby leaped so quickly that he jerked the rope away before Hiram could
+pick it up, and one hard pull loosened my hitch on the sapling.
+
+The cub bounded through the glade, dragging me with him. For a few long
+leaps I kept my feet, then down I sprawled.
+
+“Hang on! Hang on!” Hiram yelled from behind.
+
+If I had not been angry clear through at that cub I might have let go.
+He ploughed my face in the dirt, and almost jerked my arms off. Suddenly
+the strain lessened. I got up, to see that the old hunter had hold of
+the other rope.
+
+“Now, stretch him out!” he yelled.
+
+Between us we stretched the cub out, so that all he could do was
+struggle and paw the air and utter strange cries. Hiram tied his rope
+to a tree, and then ran back to relieve me. It was high time. He took my
+rope and fastened it to a stout bush.
+
+“Thar, youngster, I reckon thet'll hold him! Now tie his paws an' muzzle
+him.”
+
+He drew some buckskin thongs from his pocket and handed them to me. We
+went up to the straining cub, and Hiram, with one pull of his powerful
+hands, brought the hind legs together.
+
+“Tie 'em,” he said.
+
+This done, with the aid of a heavy piece of wood he pressed the cub's
+head down and wound a thong tightly round the sharp nose. Then he tied
+the front legs.
+
+“Thar! Now you loosen the ropes an' wind them up.”
+
+When I had done this he lifted the cub and swung him over his broad
+back.
+
+“Come on, you trail behind, an' keep your eye peeled to see he doesn't
+work thet knot off his jaws.... Say, youngster, now you've got him, what
+in thunder will you do with him?”
+
+I looked at my torn trousers, at the blood on my skinned and burning
+hands, and I felt of the bruise on my head, as I said, grimly: “I'll
+hang to him as long as I can.”
+
+
+
+
+XIII. THE CABIN IN THE FOREST
+
+Hiram Bent packed the cub down the canyon as he would have handled a
+sack of oats. When we reached the cabin he fastened a heavy dog-collar
+round Cubby's neck and snapped a chain to it. Doubling the halter, he
+tied one end to the chain and the other to a sturdy branch of a tree.
+This done, he slipped the thongs off the bear.
+
+“Thar! He'll let you pet him in a few days mebbe,” he said.
+
+Our captive did not yet show any signs of becoming tame. No sooner was
+he free of the buckskin thongs than he leaped away, only to be pulled up
+by the halter. Then he rolled over and over, clawing at the chain, and
+squirming to get his head out of the collar.
+
+“He might choke hisself,” said Hiram, “but mebbe he'll ease up if we
+stay away from him. Now we've got to rustle to skin them two bears.”
+
+So, after giving me a hunting-knife, and telling me to fetch my rifle,
+he set off up the canyon. As I trudged along behind him I spoke of
+Dick Leslie, and asked if there were not some way to get him out of the
+clutches of the lumber thieves.
+
+“I've been thinkin' about thet,” replied the hunter, “an' I reckon we
+can. Tomorrow we'll cross the ridge high up back of thet spring-hole
+canyon, an' sneak down. 'Pears to me them fellers will be trailin' you
+pretty hard, an' mebbe they'll leave only one to guard Leslie. More'n
+thet, the trail up here to my shack is known, an' I'm thinkin' we'd be
+smart to go off an' camp somewhere else.”
+
+“What'll I do about Cubby?” I asked, quickly.
+
+“Cubby? Oh, thet bear cub. Wal, take him along. Youngster, you don't
+want to pack thet pesky cub back to Pennsylvania?”
+
+“Yes, I do.”
+
+“I reckon it ain't likely you can. He's pretty heavy. Weighs nearly a
+hundred. An' he'd make a heap of trouble. Mebbe we'll ketch a little
+cub--one you can carry in your arms.”
+
+“That'd be still better,” I replied. “But if we don't, I'll try to take
+him back home.”
+
+The old hunter said I made a good shot at the big bear, and that he
+would give me the skin for a rug. It delighted me to think of that huge
+glossy bearskin on the floor of my den. I told Hiram how the bear had
+suffered, and I was glad to see that, although he was a hunter and
+trapper, he disliked to catch a bear in a trap. We skinned the animal,
+and cut out a quantity of meat. He told me that bear meat would make me
+forget all about venison. By the time we had climbed up the other canyon
+and skinned the other bear and returned to camp it was dark. As for me,
+I was so tired I could hardly crawl.
+
+In spite of my aches and pains, that was a night for me to remember.
+But there was the thought of Dick Leslie. His rescue was the only thing
+needed to make me happy. Dick was in my mind even when Hiram cooked a
+supper that almost made me forget my manners. Certainly the broiled bear
+meat made me forget venison. Then we talked before the burning logs
+in the stone fire-place. Hiram sat on his home-made chair and smoked
+a strong-smelling pipe while I lay on a bearskin in blissful ease.
+Occasionally we heard the cub outside rattling his chain and growling.
+All of the trappers and Indian fighters I had read of were different
+from Hiram Bent and Jim Williams. Jim's soft drawl and kind, twinkling
+eyes were not what any book-reader would expect to find in a dangerous
+man. And Hiram Bent was so simple and friendly, so glad to have even a
+boy to talk to, that it seemed he would never stop. If it had not been
+for his striking appearance and for the strange, wild tales he told of
+his lonely life, he would have reminded me of the old canal-lock tenders
+at home.
+
+Once, when he was refilling his pipe and I thought it would be a good
+time to profit from his knowledge of the forests, I said to him:
+
+“Now, Mr. Bent, let's suppose I'm the President of the United States,
+and I have just appointed you to the office of Chief Forester of the
+National Forests. You have full power. The object is to conserve our
+national resources. What will you do?”
+
+“Wal, Mr. President,” he began, slowly and seriously, and with great
+dignity, “the Government must own the forests an' deal wisely with them.
+These mountain forests are great sponges to hold the water, an' we
+must stop fire an' reckless cuttin'. The first thing is to overcome
+the opposition of the stockmen, an' show them where the benefit will be
+theirs in the long run. Next the timber must be used, but not all used
+up. We'll need rangers who're used to rustlin' in the West an' know
+Western ways. Cabins must be built, trails made, roads cut. We'll need
+a head forester for every forest. This man must know all that's on his
+preserve, an' have it mapped. He must teach his rangers what he knows
+about trees. Penetier will be given over entirely to the growin' of
+yellow pine. Thet thrives best, an' the parasites must go. All dead an'
+old timber must be cut, an' much of thet where the trees are crowded.
+The north slopes must be cut enough to let in the sun an' light. Brush,
+windfalls rottin' logs must be burned. Thickets of young pine must be
+thinned. Care oughten be taken not to cut on the north an' west edges of
+the forests, as the old guard pines will break the wind.”
+
+“How will you treat miners and prospectors?”
+
+“They must be as free to take up claims as if there wasn't no National
+Forest.”
+
+“How about the settler, the man seeking a home out West?” I went on.
+
+“We'll encourage him. The more men there are, the better the forester
+can fight fire. But those home-seekers must want a home, an' not be
+squattin' for a little, jest to sell out to lumber sharks.”
+
+“What's to become of timber and wood?”
+
+“Wal, it's there to be used, an' must be used. We'll give it free to the
+settler an' prospector. We'll sell it cheap to the lumbermen--big an'
+little. We'll consider the wants of the local men first.”
+
+“Now about the range. Will you keep out the stockmen?”
+
+“Nary. Grazin' for sheep, cattle, an' hosses will go on jest the same.
+But we must look out for overgrazin'. For instance, too many cattle will
+stamp down young growth, an' too many sheep leave no grazin' for other
+stock. The head forester must know his business, an' not let his range
+be overstocked. The small local herders an' sheepmen must be considered
+first, the big stockmen second. Both must be charged a small fee per
+head for grazin'.”
+
+“How will you fight fire?”
+
+“Wal, thet's the hard nut to crack. Fire is the forest's worst enemy.
+In a dry season like this Penetier would burn like tinder blown by a
+bellows. Fire would race through here faster 'n a man could run. I'll
+need special fire rangers, an' all other rangers must be trained to
+fight fire, an' then any men living in or near the forest will be paid
+to help. The thing to do is watch for the small fires an' put them out.
+Campers must be made to put out their fires before leaving camp. Brush
+piles an' slashes mustn't be burned in dry or windy weather.”
+
+Just where we left off talking I could not remember, for I dropped off
+to sleep. I seemed hardly to have closed my eyes when the hunter called
+me in the morning. The breakfast was smoking on the red-hot coals, and
+outside the cabin all was dense gray fog.
+
+When, soon after, we started down the canyon, the fog was lifting and
+the forest growing lighter. Everything was as white with frost as if it
+had snowed. A thin, brittle frost crackled under our feet. When we, had
+gotten below the rocky confines of the canyon we climbed the slope to
+the level ridge. Here it was impossible not to believe it had snowed.
+The forest was as still as night, and looked very strange with the
+white aisles lined by black tree trunks and the gray fog shrouding the
+tree-tops. Soon we were climbing again, and I saw that Hiram meant to
+head the canyon where I had left Dick.
+
+The fog split and blew away, and the brilliant sunlight changed the
+forest. The frost began to melt, and the air was full of mist. We
+climbed and climbed--out of the stately yellow-pine zone, up among the
+gnarled and blasted spruces, over and around strips of weathered stone.
+Once I saw a cold, white snow-peak. It was hard enough for me to carry
+my rifle and keep up with the hunter without talking. Besides, Hiram had
+answered me rather shortly, and I thought it best to keep silent. From
+time to time he stopped to listen. Then when he turned to go down the
+slope be trod carefully, and cautioned me not to loosen stones, and he
+went slower and yet slower. From this I made sure we were not far from
+the springhole.
+
+“Thar's the canyon,” he whispered, stopping to point below, where a
+black, irregular line marked the gorge. “I haven't heerd a thing, an'
+we're close. Mebbe they're asleep. Mebbe most of them are trallin' you,
+an' I hope so. Now, don't you put your hand or foot on anythin' thet'll
+make a noise.”
+
+Then he slipped off, and it was wonderful to see how noiselessly he
+stepped, and how he moved between trees and dead branches without a
+sound. I managed pretty well, yet more than once a rattling stone or a
+broken branch stopped Hiram short and made him lift a warning hand.
+
+At last we got down to the narrow bench which separated the canyon-slope
+from the deep cut. It was level and roughly strewn with boulders. Here
+we took to all fours and crawled. It was easy to move here without
+noise, for the ground was rocky and hard, and there was no brush.
+
+Suddenly I fairly bumped into the hunter. Looking up, I saw that he had
+halted only a few feet from the edge of the gorge where I had climbed
+out in my escape. He was listening. There was not a sound save the dull
+roar of rushing water.
+
+Hiram slid forward a little, and rose cautiously to look over. I did
+the same. When I saw the cave and the spring-hole I felt a catch in my
+throat.
+
+But there was not a man in sight. Dick's captors had broken camp; they
+were gone. The only thing left in the gorge to show they had ever been
+there was a burned-out campfire.
+
+“They're gone,” I whispered.
+
+“Wal, it 'pears so,” replied Hiram. “An' it's a move I don't like.
+Youngster, it's you they want. Leslie's no particular use to them.
+They'll have to let him go sooner or later, if they hain't already.”
+
+“What'll we do now?”
+
+“Make tracks. We'll cut back acrost the ridge an' git some blankets an'
+grub, then light out for the other side of Penetier.”
+
+I thought the old hunter had made rapid time on our way up, but now I
+saw what he really meant by “making tracks.” Fortunately, after a short,
+killing climb, the return was all down-hill. One stride of Hiram's
+equalled two of mine, and he made his faster, so that I had to trot now
+and then to catch up. Very soon I was as hot as fire, and every step was
+an effort. But I kept thinking of Dick, of my mustang and outfit, and I
+vowed I would stick to Hiram Bent's trail till I dropped. For the matter
+of that I did drop more than once before we reached the cabin.
+
+A short rest while Hiram was packing a few things put me right again. I
+strapped my rifle over my shoulder, and then went out to untie my bear
+cub. It would have cost me a great deal to leave him behind. I knew I
+ought to, still I could not bring myself to it. All my life I had wanted
+a bear cub. Here was one that I had helped to lasso and tie up with my
+own hands. I made up my mind to hold to the cub until the last gasp.
+
+So I walked up to Cubby with a manner more bold than sincere. He had not
+eaten anything, but he had drunk the water we had left for him. To my
+surprise he made no fuss when I untied the rope; on the other hand, he
+seemed to look pleased, and I thought I detected a cunning gleam in his
+little eyes. He paddled away down the canyon, and, as this was in the
+direction we wanted to go, I gave him slack rope and followed.
+
+“Wal, you're goin' to have a right pert time, youngster, an' don't you
+forget it,” said Hiram Bent.
+
+The truth of that was very soon in evidence. Cubby would not let well
+enough alone, and he would not have a slack rope. I think he wanted to
+choke himself or pull my arms out. When I realized that Cubby was three
+times as strong as I was I began to see that my work was cut out for
+me. The more, however, that he jerked me and hauled me along, the more I
+determined to hang on. I thought I had a genuine love for him up to the
+time he had almost knocked my head off, but it was funny how easily
+he roused my anger after that. What would have happened had he taken
+a notion to go through the brush? Luckily he kept to the trail, which
+certainly was rough enough. So, with watching the cub and keeping my
+feet free of roots and rocks, I had no chance to look ahead. Still I had
+no concern about this, for the old hunter was at my heels, and I knew he
+would keep a sharp lookout.
+
+Before I was aware of it we had gotten out of the narrow canyon into a
+valley with well-timbered bottom, and open, slow rising slopes. We were
+getting down into Penetier. Cubby swerved from the trail and started up
+the left slope. I did not want to go, but I had to keep with him, and
+that was the only way. The hunter strode behind without speaking, and so
+I gathered that the direction suited him. By leaning back on the rope
+I walked up the slope as easily as if it were a moving stairway. Cubby
+pulled me up; I had only to move my feet. When we reached a level once
+more I discovered that the cub was growing stronger and wanted to go
+faster. We zigzagged across the ridge to the next canyon, which at a
+glance I saw was deep and steep.
+
+“Thet'll be some work goin' down that!” called Hiram. “Let me pack your
+gun.”
+
+I would have been glad to give it to him, but how was I to manage? I
+could not let go of the rope, and Hiram, laden as he was, could not
+catch up with me. Then suddenly it was too late, for Cubby lunged
+forward and down.
+
+This first downward jump was not vicious--only a playful one perhaps,
+by way of initiating me; but it upset me, and I was dragged in the
+pine-needles. I did not leap to my feet; I was jerked up. Then began a
+wild chase down that steep, bushy slope. Cubby got going, and I could no
+more have checked him than I could a steam-engine. Very soon I saw that
+not only was the bear cub running away, but he was running away with me.
+I slid down yellow places where the earth was exposed, I tore through
+thickets, I dodged a thousand trees. In some grassy descents it was as
+if I had seven-league boots. I must have broken all records for jumps.
+All at once I stumbled just as Cubby made a spurt and flew forward,
+alighting face downward. I dug up the pine--needles with my outstretched
+hands, I scraped with my face and ploughed with my nose, I ate the dust;
+and when I brought up with a jolt against a log a more furious boy than
+Ken Ward it would be bard to imagine. Leaping up, I strove with
+every ounce of might to hold in the bear. But though fury lent me new
+strength, he kept the advantage.
+
+Presently I saw the bottom of the canyon, an open glade, and an old
+log-cabin. I looked back to see if the hunter was coming. He was not in
+sight, but I fancied I heard him. Then Cubby, putting on extra steam,
+took the remaining rods of the slope in another spurt. I had to race,
+then fly, and at last lost my footing and plunged down into a thicket.
+
+There farther progress stopped for both of us. Cubby had gone down on
+one side of a sapling and I on the other, with the result that we were
+brought up short. I crashed through some low bushes and bumped squarely
+into the cub. Whether it was his frantic effort to escape, or just
+excitement, or deliberate intention to beat me into a jelly I had no
+means to tell. The fact was he began to dig at me and paw me and maul
+me. Never had I been so angry. I began to fight back, to punch and kick
+him.
+
+Suddenly, with a crashing in the bushes, the cub was hauled away from
+me, and then I saw Hiram at the rope.
+
+“Wal, wal!” he ejaculated, “your own mother wouldn't own you now!” Then
+he laughed heartily and chuckled to himself, and gave the cub a couple
+of jerks that took the mischief out of him. I dragged myself after Hiram
+into the glade. The cabin was large and very old, and part of the roof
+was sunken in.
+
+“We'll hang up here an' camp,” said Hiram. “This is an old hunters'
+cabin, an' kinder out of the way. We'll hitch this little fighter
+inside, where mebbe he won't be so noisy.”
+
+The hunter hauled the cub up short, and half pulled, half lifted him
+into the door. I took off my rifle, emptied my pockets of brush and beat
+out the dust, and combed the pine-needles from my hair. My hands were
+puffed and red, and smarted severely. And altogether I was in no amiable
+frame of mind as regarded my captive bear cub.
+
+When I stepped inside the cabin it was dark, and coming from the bright
+light I could not for a moment see what the interior looked like.
+Presently I made out one large room with no opening except the door.
+There was a tumble-down stone fireplace at one end, and at the other a
+rude ladder led up to a loft. Hiram had thrown his pack aside, and had
+tied Cubby to a peg in the log wall.
+
+“Wal, I'll fetch in some fresh venison,” said the hunter. “You rest
+awhile, an' then gather some wood an' make a fire.”
+
+The rest I certainly needed, for I was so tired I could scarcely
+untie the pack to get out the blankets. The bear cub showed signs or
+weariness, which pleased me. It was not long after Hiram's departure
+that I sank into a doze.
+
+When my eyes opened I knew I had been awakened by something, but I could
+not tell what. I listened. Cubby was as quiet as a mouse, and his very
+quiet and the alert way he held his ears gave me a vague alarm. He had
+heard something. I thought of the old hunter's return, yet this did not
+reassure me.
+
+All at once the voices of men made me sit up with a violent start. Who
+could they be? Had Hiram met a ranger? I began to shake a little, and
+was about to creep to the door when I heard the clink of stirrups and
+soft thud of hoofs. Then followed more voices, and last a loud volley of
+curses.
+
+“Herky-Jerky!” I gasped, and looked about wildly.
+
+I had no time to dash out of the door. I was caught in a trap, and I
+felt cold and sick. Suddenly I caught sight of the ladder leading to
+the loft. Like a monkey I ran up, and crawled as noiselessly as possible
+upon the rickety flooring of dry pine branches. Then I lay there
+quivering.
+
+
+
+
+XIV. A PRISONER
+
+It chanced that as I lay on my side my eye caught a gleam of light
+through a little ragged hole in the matting of pine branches. Part of
+the interior of the cabin, the doorway, and some space outside were
+plainly visible. The thud of horses had given place to snorts, and then
+came a flopping of saddles and packs on the ground. “Any water hyar?”
+ asked a gruff voice I recognized as Bill's. “Spring right thar,” replied
+a voice I knew to be Bud's.
+
+“You onery old cayuse, stand still!”
+
+From that I gathered Herky was taking the saddle off his horse.
+
+“Here, Leslie, I'll untie you--if you'll promise not to bolt.”
+
+That voice was Buell's. I would have known it among a thousand. And Dick
+was still a prisoner.
+
+“Bolt! If you let me loose I'll beat your fat head off!” replied Dick.
+“Ha! A lot you care about my sore wrists. You're weakening, Buell, and
+you know it. You've got a yellow streak.”
+
+“Shet up!” said Herky, in a low, sharp tone. A silence followed. “Buell,
+look hyar in the trail. Tracks! Goin' in an' comin' out.”
+
+“How old are they?”
+
+“I'll bet a hoss they ain't an hour old.”
+
+“Somebody's usin' the cabin, eh?”
+
+The men then fell to whispering, and I could not understand what was
+said, but I fancied they were thinking only of me. My mind worked fast.
+Buell and his fellows had surely not run across Hiram Bent. Had the old
+hunter deserted me? I flouted such a thought. It was next to a certainty
+that he had seen the lumbermen, and for reasons best known to himself
+had not returned to the cabin. But he was out there somewhere among the
+pines, and I did not think any of those ruffians was safe.
+
+Then I heard stealthy footsteps approaching. Soon I saw the Mexican
+slipping cautiously to the door. He peeped within. Probably the interior
+was dark to him, as it had been to me. He was not a coward, for he
+stepped inside.
+
+At that instant there was a clinking sound, a rush and a roar, and a
+black mass appeared to hurl itself upon the Mexican. He went down with
+a piercing shriek. Then began a fearful commotion. Screams and roars
+mingled with the noise of combat. I saw a whirling cloud of dust on
+the cabin floor. The cub had jumped on the Mexican. What an unmerciful
+beating he was giving that Greaser! I could have yelled out in my glee.
+I had to bite my tongue to keep from urging on my docile little pet
+bear. Greaser surely thought he had fallen in with his evil spirit, for
+he howled to the saints to save him.
+
+Herky-Jerky was the only one of his companions brave enough to start to
+help him.
+
+“The cabin's full of b'ars!” he yelled.
+
+At his cry the bear leaped out of the cloud of dust, and shot across
+the threshold like black lightning. In his onslaught upon Greaser he had
+broken his halter. Herky-Jerky stood directly in his path. I caught only
+a glimpse, but it served to show that Herky was badly scared. The cub
+dove at Herky, under him, straight between his legs like a greased pig,
+and, spilling him all over the trail, sped on out of sight. Herky raised
+himself, and then he sat there, red as a lobster, and bawled curses
+while he made his huge revolver spurt flame on flame.
+
+I could not see the other men, but their uproarious mirth could have
+been heard half a mile away. When it dawned upon Herky, he was so
+furious that he spat at them like an angry cat and clicked his empty
+revolver.
+
+Then Greaser lurched out of the door. I got a glimpse of him, and, for a
+wonder, was actually sorry for him. He looked as if he had been through
+a threshing-machine.
+
+“Haw! haw! Ho! ho!” roared the merry lumbermen.
+
+Then they trooped into the cabin. Buell headed the line, and Herky,
+sullenly reloading his revolver, came last. At first they groped around
+in the dim light, stumbling over everything. Part of the time they were
+in the light space near the door, and the rest I could not see them. I
+scarcely dared to breathe. I felt a creepy chill, and my eyesight grew
+dim.
+
+“Who does this stuff belong to, anyhow?” Buell was saying. “An' what was
+thet bear doin' in here?”
+
+“He was roped up--hyar's the hitch,” answered Bud.
+
+“An' hyar's a rifle--Winchester--ain't been used much. Buell, it's thet
+kid's!”
+
+I heard rapid footsteps and smothered exclamations.
+
+“Take it from me, you're right!” ejaculated Buell. “We jest missed him.
+Herky, them tracks out there? Somebody's with this boy--who?”
+
+“It's Jim Williams,” put in Dick Leslie, cool-voiced and threatening.
+
+The little stillness that followed his words was broken by Buell.
+
+“Naw! 'Twasn't Williams. You can't bluff this bunch, Leslie. By your own
+words Williams is lookin' for us, an' if he's lookin' for anybody I know
+he's lookin' for 'em. See!”
+
+“Buell, the kid's fell in with old Bent, the b'ar hunter,” said Bill.
+“Thet accounts fer the cub. Bent's allus got cubs, an' kittens, an'
+sich. An' I'll tell you, he ain't no better friend of ourn than Jim
+Williams.”
+
+“I'd about as soon tackle Williams as Bent,” put in Bud.
+
+Buell shook his fist. “What luck the kid has! But I'll get him, take it
+from me! Now, what's best to do?”
+
+“Buell, the game's going against you,” said Dick Leslie. “The
+penitentiary is where you'll finish. You'd better let me loose. Old
+Bent will find Jim Williams, and then you fellows will be up against it.
+There's going to be somebody killed. The best thing for you to do is to
+let me go and then cut out yourself.”
+
+Buell breathed as heavily as a porpoise, and his footsteps pounded hard.
+
+“Leslie, I'm seein' this out--understand? When Bud rode down to the mill
+an' told me the kid had got away I made up my mind to ketch him an' shet
+his mouth--one way or another. An' I'll do it. Take thet from me!”
+
+“Bah!” sneered Dick. “You're sca'red into the middle of next week right
+now.... Besides, if you do ketch Ken it won't do you any good-now!”
+
+“What?”
+
+But Dick shut up like a clam, and not another word could be gotten from
+him. Buell fumed and stamped.
+
+“Bud, you're the only one in this bunch of loggerheads thet has any
+sense. What d'you say?”
+
+“Quiet down an' wait here,” replied Bud. “Mebbe old Bent didn't hear
+them shots of Herky's. He may come back. Let's wait awhile, an', if he
+doesn't come, put Herky on the trail.”
+
+“Good! Greaser, go out an' hide the hosses--drive them up the canyon.”
+
+The Mexican shuffled out, and all the others settled down to quiet. I
+heard some of them light their pipes. Bud leaned against the left of
+the door, Buell sat on the other side, and beyond them I saw as much of
+Herky as his boots. I knew him by his bow-legs.
+
+The stillness that set in began to be hard on me'. When the men were
+moving about and talking I had been so interested that my predicament
+did not occupy my mind. But now, with those ruffians waiting silently
+below, I was beset with a thousand fears. The very consciousness that I
+must be quiet made it almost impossible. Then I became aware that my one
+position cramped my arm and side. A million prickling needles were at
+my elbow. A band as of steel tightened about my breast. I grew hot and
+cold, and trembled. I knew the slightest move would be fatal, so I bent
+all my mind to lying quiet as a stone.
+
+Greaser came limping back into the cabin, and found a seat without any
+one speaking. It was so still that I heard the silken rustle of paper as
+he rolled a cigarette. Moments that seemed long as years passed, with my
+muscles clamped as in a vise. If only I had lain down upon my back!
+But there I was, half raised on my elbow, in a most awkward and
+uncomfortable position. I tried not to mind the tingling in my arm,
+but to think of Hiram, of Jim, of my mustang. But presently I could not
+think of anything except the certainty that I would soon lose control of
+my muscles and fall over.
+
+The tingling changed to a painful vibration, and perspiration stung my
+face. The strain became unbearable. All of a sudden something seemed
+to break within me, and my muscles began to ripple and shake. I had no
+power to stop it. More than that, the feeling was so terrible that I
+knew I would welcome discovery as a relief.
+
+“Sh-s-s-h!” whispered some one below.
+
+I turned my eyes down to the peep-hole. Bud had moved over squarely into
+the light of the door. He was bending over something. Then he extended
+his hand, back uppermost, toward Buell. On the back of that broad brown
+hand were pieces of leaf and bits of pine-needles. The trembling of
+my body had shaken these from the brush on the rickety loft. More than
+that, in the yellow bar of sunlight which streamed in at the door there
+floated particles of dust.
+
+Bud silently looked upward. There was a gleam in his black eyes, and his
+mouth was agape. Buell's gaze followed Bud's, and his face grew curious,
+intent, then fixed in a cunning, bold smile of satisfaction. He rose to
+his feet.
+
+“Come down out o' thet!” he ordered, harshly. “Come down!”
+
+The sound of his voice stilled my trembling. I did not move nor breathe.
+I saw Buell loom up hugely and Bud slowly rise. Herky-Jerky's boots
+suddenly stood on end, and I knew then he had also risen. The silence
+which followed Buell's order was so dense that it oppressed me.
+
+“Come down!” repeated Buell.
+
+There was no hint of doubt in his deep voice, but a cold certainty and a
+brutal note. I had feared the man before, but that gave me new terror.
+
+“Bud, climb the ladder,” commanded Buell.
+
+“I ain't stuck on thet job,” rejoined Bud.
+
+As his heavy boots thumped on the ladder they jarred the whole cabin. My
+very desperation filled me with the fierceness of a cornered animal.
+I caught sight of a short branch of the thickness of a man's arm,
+and, grasping it, I slowly raised myself. When Bud's black, round head
+appeared above the loft I hit it with all my might.
+
+Bud bawled like a wounded animal, and fell to the ground with the noise
+of a load of bricks. Through my peep-hole I saw him writhing, with both
+hands pressed to his head. Then, lying flat on his back, he whipped out
+his revolver. I saw the red spurt, the puff of smoke. Bang!
+
+A bullet zipped through the brush, and tore a hole through the roof.
+
+Bang! Bang!
+
+I felt a hot, tearing pain in my arm.
+
+“Stop, you black idiot!” yelled Buell. He kicked the revolver out of
+Bud's hand. “What d'you mean by thet?”
+
+In the momentary silence that followed I listened intently, even while
+I held tightly to my arm. From its feeling my arm seemed to be shot off,
+but it was only a flesh-wound. After the first instant of shock I was
+not scared. But blood flowed fast. Warm, oily, slippery, it ran down
+inside my shirt sleeve and dripped off my fingers.
+
+“Bud,” hoarsely spoke up Bill, breaking the stillness, “mebbe you killed
+him!”
+
+Buell coughed, as if choking.
+
+“What's thet?” For once his deep voice was pitched low. “Listen.”
+
+Drip! drip! drip! It was like the sound of water dripping from a leak
+in a roof. It was directly under me, and, quick as thought, I knew the
+sound was made by my own dripping blood.
+
+“Find thet, somebody,” ordered Buell.
+
+Drip! drip! drip!
+
+One of the men stepped noisily.
+
+“Hyar it is--thar,” said Bill. “Look on my hand.... Blood! I knowed it.
+Bud got him, all right.”
+
+There was a sudden rustling such as might come from a quick, strained
+movement.
+
+“Buell,” cried Dick Leslie, in piercing tones, “Heaven help you
+murdering thieves if that boy's killed! I'll see you strung up right in
+this forest. Ken, speak! Speak!”
+
+It seemed then, in my pain and bitterness, that I would rather let Buell
+think me dead. Dick's voice went straight to my heart, but I made no
+answer.
+
+“Leslie, I didn't kill him, an' I didn't order it,” said Buell, in a
+voice strangely shrunk and shaken. “I meant no harm to the lad.... Go
+up, Bud, an' get him.”
+
+Bud made no move, nor did Greaser when he was ordered. “Go up, somebody,
+an' see what's up there!” shouted Buell. “Strikes me you might go
+yourself,” said Bill, coolly.
+
+With a growl Buell mounted the ladder. When his great shock head hove
+in sight I was seized by a mad desire to give him a little of his own
+medicine. With both hands I lifted the piece of pine branch and brought
+it down with every ounce of strength in me.
+
+Like a pistol it cracked on Buell's head and snapped into bits. The
+lumberman gave a smothered groan, then clattered down the ladder and
+rolled on the floor. There he lay quiet.
+
+“All-fired dead--thet kid--now, ain't he?” said Bud, sarcastically.
+“How'd you like thet crack on the knob? You'll need a larger size hat,
+mebbe. Herky-Jerky, you go up an' see what's up there.”
+
+“I've a picture of myself goin',” replied Herky, without moving.
+
+“Whar's the water? Get some water, Greaser,” chimed in Bill.
+
+From the way they worked over Buell, I concluded he had been pretty
+badly stunned. But he came to presently.
+
+“What struck me?” he asked.
+
+“Oh, nothin',” replied Bud, derisively. “The loft up thar's full of air,
+an' it blowed on you, thet's all.”
+
+Buell got up, and began walking around.
+
+“Bill, go out an' fetch in some long poles,” he said.
+
+When Bill returned with a number of sharp, bayonet-like pikes I knew
+the game was all up for me. Several of the men began to prod through the
+thin covering of dry brush. One of them reached me, and struck so hard
+that I lurched violently.
+
+That was too much for the rickety loft floor. It was only a bit of brush
+laid on a netting of slender poles. It creaked, rasped, and went down
+with a crash. I alighted upon somebody, and knocked him to the floor.
+Whoever it was, seized me with iron hands. I was buried, almost
+smothered, in the dusty mass. My captor began to curse cheerfully, and I
+knew then that Herky-Jerky had made me a prisoner.
+
+
+
+
+XV. THE FIGHT
+
+Herky hauled me out of the brush, and held me in the light. The
+others scrambled from under the remains of the loft, and all viewed me
+curiously.
+
+“Kid, you ain't hurt much?” queried Buell, with concern.
+
+I would have snapped out a reply, but I caught sight of Dick's pale face
+and anxious eyes.
+
+“Ken,” he called, with both gladness and doubt in his voice, “you look
+pretty good--but that blood.... Tell me, quick!”
+
+“It's nothing, Dick, only a little cut. The bullet just ticked my arm.”
+
+Whatever Dick's reply was it got drowned in Herky-Jerky's long explosion
+of strange language. Herky was plainly glad I had not been badly hurt. I
+had already heard mirth, anger, disgust, and fear in his outbreaks, and
+now relief was added. He stripped off my coat, cut off the bloody sleeve
+of my shirt, and washed the wound. It was painful and bled freely, but
+it was not much worse than cuts from spikes when playing ball. Herky
+bound it tightly with a strip of my shirt-sleeve, and over that my
+handkerchief.
+
+“Thar, kid, thet'll stiffen up an' be sore fer a day or two, but it
+ain't nothin'. You'll soon be bouncin' clubs offen our heads.”
+
+It was plain that Herky--and the others, for that matter, except
+Buell--thought more of me because I had wielded a club so vigorously.
+
+“Look at thet lump, kid,” said Bud, bending his head. “Now, ain't thet a
+nice way to treat a feller? It made me plumb mad, it did.”
+
+“I'm likely to hurt somebody yet,” I declared.
+
+They looked at me curiously. Buell raised his face with a queer smile.
+Bud broke into a laugh.
+
+“Oh, you're goin' to? Mebbe you think you need an axe,” said he.
+
+They made no offer to tie me up then. Bud went to the door and sat in
+it, and I heard him half whisper to Buell: “What 'd I tell you? Thet's
+a game kid. If he ever wakes up right we'll have a wildcat on our hands.
+He'll do fer one of us yet.” These men all took pleasure in saying
+things like this to Buell. This time Buell had no answer ready, and sat
+nursing his head. “Wal, I hev a little headache myself, an' the crack I
+got wasn't nothin' to yourn,” concluded Bud. Then Bill began packing the
+supplies indoors, and Herky started a fire. Bud kept a sharp eye on me;
+still, he made no objection when I walked over and lay down upon the
+blankets near Dick.
+
+“Dick, I shot a bear and helped to tie up a cub,” I said. And then I
+told him all that had happened from the time I scrambled out of the
+spring-hole till I was discovered up in the loft. Dick shook his head,
+as if he did not know what to make of me, and all he said was that he
+would give a year's pay to have me safe back in Pennsylvania.
+
+Herky-Jerky announced supper in his usual manner--a challenge to find
+as good a cook as he was, and a cheerful call to “grub.” I did not
+know what to think of his kindness to me. Remembering how he had nearly
+drowned me in the spring, I resented his sudden change. He could not do
+enough for me. I asked the reason for my sudden popularity.
+
+Herky scratched his head and grinned. “Yep, kid, you sure hev riz in my
+estimashun.”
+
+“Hey, you rummy cow-puncher,” broke in Bud, scornfully. “Mebbe you'd
+like the kid more'n you do if you'd got one of them wollops.”
+
+“Bud, I ain't sayin',” replied Herky, with his mouth full of meat.
+“Considerin' all points, howsoever, I'm thinkin' them wallops was
+distributed very proper.”
+
+They bandied such talk between them, and occasionally Bill chimed
+in with a joke. Greaser ate in morose silence. There must have been
+something on his mind. Buell took very little dinner, and appeared to be
+in pain. It was dark when the meal ended. Bud bound me up for the night,
+and he made a good job of it. My arm burned and throbbed, but not badly
+enough to prevent sleep. Twice I had nearly dropped off when loud laughs
+or voices roused me. My eyes closed with a picture of those rough, dark
+men sitting before the fire.
+
+A noise like muffled thunder burst into my slumber. I awakened with my
+body cramped and stiff. It was daylight, and something had happened.
+Buell ran in and out of the cabin yelling at his men. All of them except
+Herky were wildly excited. Buell was abusing Bud for something, and Bud
+was blaming Buell.
+
+“Thet's no way to talk to me!” said Bud, angrily. “He didn't break loose
+in my watch!'
+
+“You an' Greaser had the job. Both of you--went to sleep--take thet from
+me!”
+
+“Wal, he's gone, an' he took the kid's gun with him,” said Bill, coolly.
+“Now we'll be dodgin' bullets.”
+
+Dick Leslie had escaped! I could hardly keep down a cry of triumph. I
+did ask if it was true, but none of them paid any attention to me. Buell
+then ordered Herky-Jerky to trail Dick and see where he had gone. Herky
+refused point-blank. “Nope. Not fer me,” he said. “Leslie has a rifle.
+So has Bent, an' we haven't one among us. An', Buell, if Leslie falls in
+with Bent, it's goin' to git hot fer us round here.”
+
+This silenced Buell, but did not stop his restless pacings. His face was
+like a thunder-cloud, and he was plainly worried and harassed. Once Bud
+deliberately asked what he intended to do with me, and Buell snarled a
+reply which no one understood. His gloom extended to the others, except
+Herky, who whistled and sang as he busied himself about the campfire.
+Greaser appeared to be particularly cast down.
+
+“Buell, what are you going to do with me?” I demanded. But he made no
+answer.
+
+“Well, anyway,” I went on, “somebody cut these ropes. I'm mighty sore
+and uncomfortable.”
+
+Herky-Jerky did not wait for permission; he untied me, and helped me to
+my feet. I was rather unsteady on my legs at first, and my injured arm
+felt like a board. It seemed dead; but after I had moved it a little the
+pain came back, and it had apparently come to stay. We ate breakfast,
+and then settled down to do nothing, or to wait for something to turn
+up. Buell sat in the doorway, moodily watching the trail. Once he spoke,
+ordering the Mexican to drive in the horses. I fancied from this that
+Buell might have decided to break camp, but there was no move to pack.
+
+The morning quiet was suddenly split by the stinging crack of a rifle
+and a yell of agony.
+
+Buell leaped to his feet, his ruddy face white.
+
+“Greaser!” he exclaimed.
+
+“Thet was about where Greaser cashed,” relied Bill, coolly knocking the
+ashes from his pipe.
+
+“No, Bill, you're wrong. Here comes Greaser, runnin' like an Indian.”
+
+“Look at the blood! He's been plugged, all right!” exclaimed
+Herky-Jerky.
+
+The sound of running feet drew nearer, and suddenly the group at the
+door broke to admit the Mexican. One side of his terrified face
+was covered with blood. His eyes were staring, his hands raised, he
+staggered as if about to fall.
+
+“Senyor William! Senyor William!” he cried, and then called on Saint
+Somebody.
+
+“Jim Williams! I said so,” muttered Bud.
+
+Bill caught hold of the excited Mexican, and pulled him nearer the
+light.
+
+“Thet ain't a bad hurt. Jest cut his ear off!” aid Bill. “Hyar, stand
+still, you wild man! you're not goin' to die. Git some water, Herky.
+Fellers, Greaser has been oneasy ever since he knew Jim Williams was
+lookin' fer him. He thinks Jim did this. But Jim Williams don't use a
+rifle, an', what's more, when he shoots he don't miss. You all heerd the
+rifle-shot.”
+
+“Then it was old Bent or Leslie?” questioned Buell.
+
+“Leslie it were. Bent uses a 45-90 caliber. Thet shot we heerd was from
+the little 38--the kid's gun.”
+
+“Wal, it was a narrer escape fer Greaser,” said Bud. “Leslie's sore, an'
+he'll shoot fer keeps. Buell, you've started somethin'.”
+
+When Bill had washed the blood off the Mexican it was found that the
+ball had carried away the lower part of the ear, and with it, of
+course, the gold earring. The wound must have been extremely painful;
+it certainly took all the starch out of Greaser. He kept mumbling in his
+own language, and rolling his wicked black eyes and twisting his thin,
+yellow hands.
+
+“What's to be done?” asked Buell, sharply.
+
+“Thet's fer you to say,” replied Bill, with his exasperating calmness.
+
+“Must we hang up here to be shot at? Leslie's takin' a long chance on
+thet kid's life if he comes slingin' lead round this cabin.”
+
+Herky-Jerky spat tobacco-juice across the room and grunted. Then, with
+his beady little eyes as keen and cold as flint, he said: “Buell, Leslie
+knows you daren't harm the kid; an' as fer bullets, he'll take good care
+where he stings 'em. This deal of ours begins to look like a wild-goose
+stunt. It never was safe, an' now it's worse.”
+
+Here was even Herky-Jerky harping on Buell's situation. To me it did not
+appear much more serious than before. But evidently they thought Buell
+seemed on the verge of losing control of himself. He glared at Herky,
+and rammed his fists in his pockets and paced the long room. Presently
+he stepped out of the door.
+
+A rifle cracked clear and sharp, another bellowed out heavy and hollow.
+A bullet struck the door-post, a second hummed through the door and
+budded into the log wall. Buell jumped back into the room. His face
+worked, his breath hissed between his teeth, as with trembling hand
+he examined the front of his coat. A big bullet had torn through both
+lapels.
+
+Bill stuck his pudgy finger in the hole. “The second bullet made thet.
+It was from old Hiram's gun--a 45-90!”
+
+“Bent an' Leslie! My God! They're shootin' to kill!” cried Buell.
+
+“I should smile,” replied Herky-Jerky.
+
+Bud was peeping out through a chink between the logs. “I got their
+smoke,” he said; “look, Bill, up the slope. They're too fur off, but we
+may as well send up respects.” With that he aimed his revolver through
+the narrow crack and deliberately shot six times. The reports clapped
+like thunder, the smoke from burnt powder and the smell of brimstone
+filled the room. By way of reply old Hiram's rifle boomed out twice, and
+two heavy slugs crashed through the roof, sending down a shower of dust
+and bits of decayed wood.
+
+“Thet's jist to show what a 45-90 can do,” remarked Bill.
+
+Bud reloaded his weapon while Bill shot several times. Herky-Jerky
+had his gun in hand, but contented himself with peering from different
+chinks between the logs. I hid behind the wide stone fireplace, and
+though I felt pretty safe from flying bullets, I began to feel the icy
+grip of fear. I had seen too much of these men in excitement, and knew
+if circumstances so brought it about there might come a moment when
+my life would not be worth a pin. They were all sober now, and deadly
+quiet. Buell showed the greatest alarm, though he had begun to settle
+down to what looked like fight. Herky was more fearless than any of
+them, and cooler even than Bill. All at once I missed the Mexican. If
+he had not slipped out of the room he had hidden under the brush of the
+fallen loft or in a pile of blankets. But the room was smoky, and it was
+hard for me to be certain.
+
+Some time passed with no shots and with no movement inside the cabin.
+Slowly the blue smoke wafted out of the door. The sunlight danced in
+gleams through the holes in the ragged roof. There was a pleasant swish
+of pine branches against the cabin.
+
+“Listen,” whispered Bud, hoarsely. “I heerd a pony snort.”
+
+Then the rapid beat of hard hoofs on the trail was followed by several
+shots from the hillside. Soon the clatter of hoofs died away in the
+distance.
+
+“Who was thet?” asked three of Buell's men in unison.
+
+“Take it from me, Greaser's sneaked,” replied Buell.
+
+“How'd he git out?”
+
+With that Bud and Bill began kicking in the piles of brush.
+
+“Aha! Hyar's the place,” sang out Bud.
+
+In one corner of the back wall a rotten log had crumbled, and here it
+was plain to all eyes that Greaser had slipped out. I remembered that
+on this side of the cabin there was quite a thick growth of young
+pine. Greaser had been able to conceal himself as he crawled toward the
+horses, and had probably been seen at the last moment. Herky-Jerky was
+the only one to make comment.
+
+“I ain't wishin' Greaser any hard luck, but hope he carried away a
+couple Of 45-90 slugs somewheres in his yaller carcass.”
+
+“It'd be worth a lot to the feller who can show me a way out of this
+mess,” said Buell, mopping the beads of sweat from his face.
+
+I got up--it seemed to me my mind was made up for me--and walked into
+the light of the room.
+
+“Buell, I can show you the way,” I said, quietly.
+
+“What!” His mouth opened in astonishment. “Speak up, then.”
+
+The other men stepped forward, and I felt their eyes upon me.
+
+“Let me go free. Let me out of here to find Dick Leslie! Then when you
+go to jail in Holston for stealing lumber I'll say a good word for you
+and your men. There won't be any charge of kidnapping or violence.”
+
+After a long pause, during which Buell bored me with gimlet eyes, he
+said, in a queer voice: “Say thet again.”
+
+I repeated it, and added that he could not gain anything now by holding
+me a prisoner. I think he saw what I meant, but hated to believe it.
+
+“It's too late,” I said, as he hesitated.
+
+“You mean Leslie lied an' you fooled me--you did get to Holston?” he
+shouted. He was quivering with rage, and the red flamed in his neck and
+face.
+
+“Buell, I did get to Holston and I did send word to Washington,” I
+went on, hurriedly for I had begun to lose my calmness. “I wrote to
+my father. He knows a friend of the Chief Forester who is close to the
+Department at Washington. By this time Holston is full of officers of
+the forest service. Perhaps they're already at your mill. Anyway, the
+game's up, and you'd better let me go.”
+
+Buell's face lost all its ruddy color, slowly blanched, and changed
+terribly. The boldness fled, leaving it craven, almost ghastly.
+Realizing he had more to fear from the law than conviction of his latest
+lumber steal, he made at me in blind anger.
+
+“Hold on!” Herky-Jerky yelled, as he jumped between Buell and me.
+
+Buell's breath was a hiss, and the words he bit between his clinched
+teeth were unintelligible. In that moment he would have killed me.
+
+Herky-Jerky met his onslaught, and flung him back. Then, with his hand
+on the butt of his revolver, he spoke:
+
+“Buell, hyar's where you an' me split. You've bungled your big deal. The
+kid stacked the deck on you. But I ain't a-goin' to see you do him harm
+fer it.”
+
+“Herky's right, boss,” put in Bill, “thar's no sense in addin' murder to
+this mess. Strikes me you're in bad enough.”
+
+“So thet's your game? You're double-crossin' me now--all on a chance at
+kidnappin' for ransom money. Well, I'm through with the kid an' all of
+you. Take thet from me!”
+
+“You skunk!” exclaimed Herky-Jerky, with the utmost cheerfulness.
+
+“Wal, Buell,” said Bill, in cool disdain, “comsiderin' my fondness fer
+fresh air an' open country, I can't say I'm sorry to dissolve future
+relashuns. I was only in jail onct, an' I couldn't breathe free.”
+
+It was then Buell went beside himself with rage. He raised his huge
+fists, and shook himself, and plunged about the room, cursing. Suddenly
+he picked up an axe, and began chopping at the rotten log above the
+hole where Greaser had slipped out. Bud yelled at him, so did Bill;
+Herky-Jerky said unpleasant things. But Buell did not hear them. He
+hacked and dug away like one possessed. The dull, sodden blows fell
+fast, scattering pieces of wood about the floor. The madness that was
+in Buell was the madness to get out, to escape the consequences of his
+acts. His grunts and pants as he worked showed his desperate energy.
+Then he slammed the axe against the wall, and, going down flat, began to
+crawl through the opening. Buell was a thick man, and the hole appeared
+too small. He stuck in it, but he squeezed and flattened himself,
+finally worked through, and disappeared.
+
+A sudden quiet fell upon his departure.
+
+“Hands up!”
+
+Jim Williams's voice! It was strange to see Herky and Bud flash up their
+arms without turning. But I wheeled quickly. Bill, too, had his hands
+high in the air.
+
+In the sunlight of the doorway stood Jim Williams. Low down, carelessly,
+it seemed, he held two long revolvers. He looked the same easy, slow
+Texan I remembered. But the smile was not now in his eyes, and his lips
+were set in a thin, hard line.
+
+
+
+
+XVI. THE FOREST'S GREATEST FOE
+
+Jim Williams sent out a sharp call. From the canyon-slope came answering
+shouts. There were sounds of heavy bodies breaking through brush,
+followed by the thudding of feet. Then men could be plainly heard
+running up the trail. Jim leaned against the door-post, and the three
+fellows before him stood rigid as stone.
+
+Suddenly a form leaped past Jim. It was Dick Leslie, bareheaded, his
+hair standing like a lion's mane, and he had a cocked rifle in his
+hands. Close behind him came old Hiram Bent, slower, more cautious,
+but no less formidable. As these men glanced around with fiery eyes the
+quick look of relief that shot across their faces told of ungrounded
+fears.
+
+“Where's Buell?” sharply queried Dick.
+
+Jim Williams did not reply, and a momentary silence ensued.
+
+“Buell lit out after the Greaser,” said Bill, finally.
+
+“Cut and run, did he? That's his speed,” grimly said Dick. “Here, Bent,
+find some rope. We've got to tie up these jacks.”
+
+“Hands back, an' be graceful like. Quick!” sang out Jim Williams.
+
+It seemed to me human beings could not have more eagerly and swiftly
+obeyed an order. Herky and Bill and Bud jerked their arms down and
+extended their hands out behind. After that quick action they again
+turned into statues. There was a breathless suspense in every act. And
+there was something about Jim Williams then that I did not like. I was
+in a cold perspiration for fear one of the men would make some kind of
+a move. As the very mention of the Texan had always caused a little
+silence, so his presence changed the atmosphere of that cabin room.
+Before his coming there had been the element of chance--a feeling of
+danger, to be sure, but a healthy spirit of give and take. That had all
+changed with Jim Williams's words “Hands up!” There was now something
+terrible hanging in the balance. I had but to look at Jim's eyes, narrow
+slits of blue fire, at the hard jaw and tight lips, to see a glimpse of
+the man who thought nothing of life. It turned me sick, and I was all in
+a tremor till Dick and Hiram had the men bound fast.
+
+Then Jim dropped the long, blue guns into the holsters on his belt.
+
+“Ken, I shore am glad to see you,” said he.
+
+The soft, drawling voice, the sleepy smile, the careless good-will all
+came back, utterly transforming the man. This was the Jim Williams I had
+come to love. With a wrench I recovered myself.
+
+“Are you all right, Ken?” asked Dick. And old Hiram questioned me with
+a worried look. This anxiety marked the difference between these men and
+Williams. I hastened to assure my friends that I was none the worse for
+my captivity.
+
+“Ken, your little gun doesn't shoot where it points,” said Jim. “I shore
+had a bead on the Greaser an' missed him. First Greaser I ever missed.”
+
+“You shot his ear off,” I replied. “He came running back covered with
+blood. I never saw a man so scared.”
+
+“Wal, I shore am glad,” drawled Jim.
+
+“He made off with your mustang,” said Dick.
+
+This information lessened my gladness at Greaser's escape. Still, I
+would rather have had him get away on my horse than stay to be shot by
+Jim.
+
+Dick called me to go outside with him. My pack was lying under one of
+the pines near the cabin, and examination proved that nothing had been
+disturbed. We found the horses grazing up the canyon. Buell had taken
+the horse of one of his men, and had left his own superb bay. Most
+likely he had jumped astride the first animal he saw. Dick said I could
+have Buell's splendid horse. I had some trouble in catching him, as he
+was restive and spirited, but I succeeded eventually, and we drove the
+other horses and ponies into the glade. My comrades then fell to arguing
+about what to do with the prisoners. Dick was for packing them off to
+Holston. Bent talked against this, saying it was no easy matter to drive
+bound men over rough trails, and Jim sided with him.
+
+Once, while they were talking, I happened to catch Herky-Jerky's eye.
+He was lying on his back in the light from the door. Herky winked at
+me, screwed up his face in the most astonishing manner, all of which I
+presently made out to mean that he wanted to speak to me. So I went over
+to him.
+
+“Kid, you ain't a-goin' to fergit I stalled off Buell?” whispered Herky.
+“He'd hev done fer you, an' thet's no lie. You won't fergit when we're
+rustled down to Holston?”
+
+“I'll remember, Herky,” I promised, and I meant to put in a good word
+for him. Because, whether or not his reasons had to do with kidnapping
+and ransom, he had saved me from terrible violence, perhaps death.
+
+It was decided that we would leave the prisoners in the cabin and ride
+down to the sawmill. Hiram was to return at once with officers. If none
+could be found at the mill he was to guard the prisoners and take care
+of them till Dick could send officers to relieve him. Thereupon we
+cooked a meal, and I was put to feeding Herky and his companions. Dick
+ordered me especially to make them drink water, as it might be a day or
+longer before Hiram could get back. I made Bill drink, and easily filled
+up Herky; but Bud, who never drank anything save whiskey, gave me a
+job. He refused with a growl, and I insisted with what I felt sure was
+Christian patience. Still he would not drink, so I put the cup to his
+lips and tipped it. Bud promptly spat the water all over me. And I as
+promptly got another cupful and dashed it all over him.
+
+“Bud, you'll drink or I'll drown you,” I declared.
+
+So while Bill cracked hoarse jokes and Herky swore his pleasure, I made
+Bud drink all he could hold. Jim got a good deal of fun out of it,
+but Dick and Hiram never cracked a smile. Possibly the latter two saw
+something far from funny in the outlook; at any rate, they were silent,
+almost moody, and in a hurry to be off.
+
+Dick was so anxious to be on the trail that he helped me pack my pony,
+and saddled Buell's horse. It was one thing to admire the big bay from
+the ground, and it was another to be astride him. Target--that was his
+name--had a spirited temper, an iron mouth, and he had been used to a
+sterner hand than mine. He danced all over the glade before he decided
+to behave himself. Riding him, however, was such a great pleasure that
+a more timid boy than I would have taken the risk. He would not let
+any horse stay near him; he pulled on the bridle, and leaped whenever
+a branch brushed him. I had been on some good horses, but never on
+one with a swing like his, and I grew more and more possessed with the
+desire to let him run.
+
+“Like as not he'll bolt with you. Hold him in, Ken!” called Dick, as
+he mounted. Then he shouted a final word to the prisoners, saying they
+would be looked after, and drove the pack-ponies into the trail. As we
+rode out we passed several of the horses that we had decided to leave
+behind, and as they wanted to follow us it was necessary to drive them
+back.
+
+I had my hands full with the big, steel-jawed steed I was trying to hold
+in. It was the hardest work of the kind that I had ever undertaken. I
+had never worn spurs, but now I began to wish for them. We traveled at
+a good clip, as fast as the pack-ponies could go, and covered a long
+distance by camping-time. I was surprised that we did not get out of the
+canyon. The place where we camped was a bare, rocky opening, with a big
+pool in the center. While we were making camp it suddenly came over me
+that I was completely bewildered as to our whereabouts. I could not see
+the mountain peaks and did not know one direction from another. Even
+when Jim struck out of our trail and went off alone toward Holston I
+could not form an idea of where I was. All this, however, added to my
+feeling of the bigness of Penetier.
+
+Dick was taciturn, and old Hiram, when I tried to engage him in
+conversation, cut me off with the remark that I would need my breath on
+the morrow. This somewhat offended me. So I made my bed and rolled into
+it. Not till I had lain quiet for a little did I realize that every bone
+and muscle felt utterly worn out. I seemed to deaden and stiffen more
+each moment. Presently Dick breathed heavily and Hiram snored. The red
+glow of fire paled and died. I heard the clinking of the hobbles on
+Target, and a step, now and then, of the other horses. The sky grew
+ever bluer and colder, the stars brighter and larger, and the night wind
+moaned in the pines. I heard a coyote bark, a trout splash in the pool,
+and the hoot of an owl. Then the sounds and the clear, cold night seemed
+to fade away.
+
+When Dick roused me the forest was shrouded in gray, cold fog. No time
+was lost in getting breakfast, driving in the horses, and packing.
+Hardly any words were exchanged. My comrades appeared even soberer than
+on the day before. The fog lifted quickly that morning, and soon the sun
+was shining.
+
+We got under way at once, and took to the trail at a jog-trot. I knew my
+horse better and he was more used to me, which made it at least bearable
+to both of us. Before long the canyon widened out into the level forest
+land thickly studded with magnificent pines. I had again the feeling of
+awe and littleness. Everything was solemn and still. The morning air was
+cool, and dry as toast; the smell of pitch-pine choked my nostrils. We
+rode briskly down the broad brown aisles, across the sunny glades, under
+the murmuring pines.
+
+The old hunter was leading our train, and evidently knew perfectly
+what he was about. Unexpectedly he halted, bringing us up short. The
+pack-ponies lined up behind us. Hiram looked at Dick.
+
+“I smell smoke,” he said, sniffing at the fragrant air.
+
+Dick stared at the old hunter and likewise sniffed. I followed their
+lead, but all I could smell was the thick, piney odor of the forest.
+
+“I don't catch it,” replied Dick.
+
+We continued on our journey perhaps for a quarter of a mile, and then
+Hiram Bent stopped again. This time he looked significantly at Dick
+without speaking a word.
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed Dick. I thought his tone sounded queer, but it did not
+at the moment strike me forcibly. We rode on. The forest became lighter,
+glimpses of sky showed low down through the trees, we were nearing a
+slope.
+
+For the third time the old hunter brought us to a stop, this time on the
+edge of a slope that led down to the rolling foot-hills. I could only
+stand and gaze. Those open stretches, sloping down, all green and brown
+and beautiful, robbed me of thought.
+
+“Look thar!” cried Hiram Bent.
+
+His tone startled me. I faced about, to see his powerful arm
+outstretched and his finger pointing. His stern face added to my sudden
+concern. Something was wrong with my friends. I glanced in the direction
+he indicated. There were two rolling slopes or steps below us, and they
+were like gigantic swells of a green ocean. Beyond the second one rose a
+long, billowy, bluish cloud. It was smoke. All at once I smelled smoke,
+too. It came on the fresh, strong wind.
+
+“Forest fire!” exclaimed Dick.
+
+“Wal, I reckon,” replied Hiram, tersely. “An' look thar, an' thar!”
+
+Far to the right and far to the left, over the green, swelling
+foot-hills, rose that rounded, changing line of blue cloud.
+
+“The slash! the slash! Buell's fired the slash!” cried Dick, as one
+suddenly awakened. “Penetier will go!”
+
+“Wal, I reckon. But thet's not the worst.”
+
+“You mean--”
+
+“Mebbe we can't get out. The forest's dry as powder, an' thet's the
+worst wind we could have. These canyon-draws suck in the wind, an' fire
+will race up them fast as a hoss can run.”
+
+“Good God, man! What'll we do?”
+
+“Wait. Mebbe it ain't so bad--yet. Now let's all listen.”
+
+The faces of my friends, more than words, terrified me. I listened with
+all my ears while watching with all my eyes. The line of rolling cloud
+expanded, seemed to burst and roll upward, to bulge and mushroom. In a
+few short moments it covered the second slope as far to the right and
+left as we could see. The under surface was a bluish white. It shot
+up swiftly, to spread out into immense, slow-moving clouds of creamy
+yellow.
+
+“Hear thet?” Hiram Bent shook his gray head as one who listened to dire
+tidings.
+
+The wind, sweeping up the slope of Penetier, carried a strong, pungent
+odor of burning pitch. It brought also a low roar, not like the wind in
+the trees or rapid-rushing water. It might have been my imagination, but
+I fancied it was like the sound of flames blowing through the wood of a
+campfire.
+
+“Fire! Fire!” exclaimed Hiram, with another ominous shake of his head.
+“We must be up an' doin'.”
+
+“The forest's greatest foe! Old Penetier is doomed!” cried Dick Leslie.
+“That line of fire is miles long, and is spreading fast. It'll shoot up
+the canyons and crisscross the forest in no time. Bent, what'll we do?”
+
+“Mebbe we can get around the line. We must, or we'll have to make tracks
+for the mountain, an' thet's a long chance. You take to the left an'
+I'll go to the right, an' we'll see how the fire's runnin'.”
+
+“What will Ken do?”
+
+“Wal, let him stay here--no, thet won't do! We might get driven back a
+little an' have to circle. The safest place in this forest is where we
+camped. Thet's not far. Let him drive the ponies back thar an' wait.”
+
+“All right. Ken, you hustle the pack-team back to our last night's camp.
+Wait there for us. We won't be long.”
+
+Dick galloped off through the forest, and Hiram went down the slope in
+almost the opposite direction. Left alone, I turned my horse and drove
+the pack-ponies along our back-trail. Thus engaged, I began to recover
+somewhat from the terror that had stupefied me. Still, I kept looking
+back. I found the mouth of the canyon and the trail, and in what I
+thought a very short time I reached the bare, rocky spot where we had
+last camped. The horses all drank thirstily, and I discovered that I was
+hot and dry.
+
+Then I waited. At every glance I expected to see Dick and Hiram riding
+up the canyon. But moments dragged by, and they did not come. Here there
+was no sign of smoke, nor even the faintest hint of the roar of the
+fire. The wind blew strongly up the canyon, and I kept turning my ear
+to it. In spite of the fact that my friends did not come quickly I had
+begun to calm my fears. They would return presently with knowledge of
+the course of the fire and the way to avoid it. My thoughts were mostly
+occupied with sorrow for beautiful Penetier. What a fiend Buell was! I
+had heard him say he would fire the slash, and he had kept his word.
+
+Half an hour passed. I saw a flash of gray down the canyon, and shouted
+in joy. But what I thought Dick and Hiram was a herd of deer. They were
+running wildly. They clicked on the stones, and scarcely swerved for the
+pack-ponies. It took no second glance to see that they were fleeing
+from the fire. This brought back all my alarms, and every moment that I
+waited thereafter added to them. I watched the trail and under the trees
+for my friends, and I scanned the sky for signs of the blue-white clouds
+of smoke. But I saw neither.
+
+“Dick told me to wait here; but how long shall I wait?” I muttered.
+“Something's happened to him. If only I could see what that fire is
+doing!”
+
+The camping-place was low down between two slopes, one of which was high
+and had a rocky cliff standing bare in the sunlight. I conceived the
+idea of climbing to it. I could not sit quietly waiting any longer. So,
+mounting Target, I put him up the slope. It was not a steep climb, still
+it was long and took considerable time. Before I reached the gray cliff
+I looked down over the forest to see the rolling, smoky clouds. We
+climbed higher and still higher, till Target reached the cliff and could
+go no farther. Leaping off, I tied him securely and bent my efforts to
+getting around on top of the cliff. If I had known what a climb it was
+I should not have attempted it, but I could not back out with the summit
+looming over me. It ran up to a ragged crag. Hot, exhausted, and out of
+breath, I at last got there.
+
+As I looked I shouted in surprise. It seemed that the whole of Penetier
+was under my feet. The green slope disappeared in murky clouds of smoke.
+There were great pillars and huge banks of yellow and long streaks of
+black, and here and there, underneath, moving splashes of red. The thing
+did not stay still one instant. It changed so that I could not tell
+what it did look like. Them were life and movement in it, and something
+terribly sinister. I tried to calculate how far distant the fire was and
+how fast it was coming, but that, in my state of mind, I could not do.
+The whole sweep of forest below me was burning. I felt the strong breeze
+and smelled the burnt wood. Puffs of white smoke ran out ahead of the
+main clouds, and I saw three of them widely separated. What they
+meant puzzled me. But all of a sudden I saw in front of the nearest a
+flickering gleam of red. Then I knew those white streams of smoke rose
+where the fire was being sucked up the canyons. They leaped along with
+amazing speed. It was then that I realized that Dick and Hiram had been
+caught by one of these offshoots of the fire, and had been compelled to
+turn away to save their lives. Perhaps they would both be lost. For a
+moment I felt faint, but I fought it off. I had to think of myself. It
+was every one for himself, and perhaps there was many a man caught on
+Penetier with only a slender chance for life.
+
+“Oh! oh!” I cried, suddenly. “Herky, Bud, and Bill tied helpless in that
+cabin! Dick forgot them. They'll be burned to death!”
+
+As I stood there, trembling at the thought of Herky and his comrades
+bound hand and foot, the first roar of the forest fire reached my ears.
+It threatened, but it roused my courage. I jumped as if I had been
+shot, and clattered down that crag with wings guiding my long leaps. No
+crevice or jumble of loose stones or steep descent daunted me. I reached
+the horse, and, grasping the bridle, I started to lead him. We had
+zigzagged up, we went straight down. Target was too spirited to balk,
+but he did everything else. More than once he reared with his hoofs high
+in the air, and, snorting, crashed down. He pulled me off my feet, he
+pawed at me with his great iron shoes. When we got clear of the roughest
+and most thickly overgrown part of the descent I mounted him. Then
+I needed no longer to urge him. The fire had entered the canyon,
+the hollow roar swept up and filled Target with the same fright that
+possessed me. He plunged down, slid on his haunches, jumped the logs,
+crashed through brush. I had continually to rein him toward the camp. He
+wanted to turn from that hot wind and strange roar.
+
+We reached a level, the open, stony ground, then the pool. The
+pack-ponies were standing patiently with drooping heads. The sun was
+obscured in thin blue haze. Smoke and dust and ashes blew by with the
+wind. I put Target's nose down to the water, so that he would drink.
+Then I cut packs off the ponies, spilled the contents, and filled my
+pockets with whatever I could lay my hands on in the way of eatables.
+I hung a canteen on the pommel, and threw a bag of biscuits over
+the saddle and tied it fast. My fingers worked swiftly. There was a
+fluttering in my throat, and my sight was dim. All the time the roar of
+the forest fire grew louder and more ominous.
+
+The ponies would be safe. I would be safe in the lee of the big rocks
+near the pool. But I did not mean to stay. I could not stay with those
+men lying tied up in the cabin. Herky had saved me. Still it was not
+that which spurred me on.
+
+Target snorted shrilly and started back from the water, ready to
+stampede. Slipping the bridle into place, I snapped the bit between his
+teeth. I had to swing off my feet to pull his head down.
+
+Even as I did this I felt the force of the wind. It was hard to breathe.
+A white tumbling column of smoke hid sky and sun. All about me it was
+like a blue twilight.
+
+The appalling roar held me spellbound with my foot in the stirrup. It
+drew my glance even in that moment of flight.
+
+Under the shifting cloud flashes of red followed by waves of fire
+raced through the tree-tops. That the forest fire traveled through the
+tree-tops was as new to me as it was terrible. The fire seemed to make
+and drive the wind. Lower down along the ground was a dull furnace-glow,
+now dark, now bright. It all brought into my mind a picture I had seen
+of the end of the world.
+
+Target broke the spell by swinging me up into the saddle as he leaped
+forward with a furious snort. I struck him with the bridle, and yelled:
+
+“You iron-jawed brute! You've been crazy to run--now run!”
+
+
+
+
+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 rocks
+I looked back. There was a vast wave of fire rolling up the canyon and
+spreading up the slopes. It was so close that I nearly fainted. With
+both hands knotted and stiff I clung to the pommel in a cold horror, and
+I looked back no more to see the flames reaching out for me. But I could
+not keep the dreadful roar from filling my ears, and it weakened me so
+that I all but dropped from the saddle. Only an unconscious instinct to
+fight for life made me hold on.
+
+Blue and white puffs of smoke swept by me. The trail was a dim, twisting
+line. The slopes and pines, merged in a mass, flew backward in brown
+sheets. Above the roar of the pursuing fire I heard the thunder of
+Target's hoofs. I scarcely felt him or the saddle, only a motion and the
+splitting 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 a
+desperate resolve not to give up.
+
+The great bay horse was running to save his life and to save mine. It
+was a race with fire. When I thought of the horse, and saw how fast he
+was 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 been
+made for leisurely travel. Many turns were sudden and sharp. I loosened
+the reins, and cried out to Target. Evidently I had unknowingly held him
+in, for he lengthened out, and went on in quicker, longer leaps. In
+that moment riding seemed easy. I listened to the roar behind me, now
+a little less deafening, and began to thrill. We were running away from
+the fire.
+
+Hope made the race seem different. Something stirred and beat warm
+within me, driving out the chill in my marrow. I leaned over the neck of
+the great bay horse, and called to him and cheered him on. Then I saw
+he was deaf and blind to me, for he was wild. He had the bit between his
+teeth, 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 guided
+nor stopped than could the forest fire. The trail grew more winding and
+overhung more thickly by pine branches. The horse did not swerve an inch
+for tree or thicket, but ran as if free, and the saving of my life began
+to be a matter of dodging. Once a crashing blow from a branch almost
+knocked me from the saddle. The wind in my ears half drowned the roar
+behind me. With hands twisted in Target's mane I bent low, watching with
+keen eyes for the trees and branches ahead. I drew up my knees and
+bent my body, and dodged and went down flat over the pommel like a
+wild-riding Indian. Target kept that straining run for a longer distance
+than I could judge. With the same breakneck speed he thundered on over
+logs and little washes, through the thick, bordering bushes, and around
+the sudden turns. His foam moistened my face and flecked my sleeves. The
+wind came stinging into my face, the heavy roar followed at my back with
+its 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 stand
+that killing pace? I began to talk soothingly to him, to pull on the
+bridle; but he might have been an avalanche for all he heeded. Still
+I kept at him, fighting him every moment that I was free from low
+branches. Gradually the strain began to tell.
+
+The sight of a cabin brought back to my mind the meaning of the wild
+race with fire. I had forgotten the prisoners. I had reached the forest
+glade and the cabin, but Target was still going hard. What if I could
+not stop him! Summoning all my strength, I quickly threw weight and
+muscle back on the reins and snapped the bit out of his teeth. Then
+coaxing, commanding, I pulled him back. In the glade were four horses,
+standing bunched with heads and ears up, uneasy, and beginning to be
+frightened. Perhaps the sight of them helped me to stop Target; at
+any 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 was
+clear, though the fog of smoke overspread the sun. The wind blew strong
+with a scent of pitch. Now that I was not riding, the roar of the fire
+sounded close. I caught the same strange growl, the note of on-sweeping
+fury. Again the creepy cold went over me. I felt my face blanch, and
+the 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 panting
+hard. In one cut I severed the rope on his feet; in another, that round
+his raw and bloody wrists. Herky had torn his flesh trying to release
+his hands.
+
+“Kid, how'd you git back hyar?” he questioned, with his sharp little
+eyes glinting on me. “Did the fire chase you? Whar's Leslie?”
+
+“Buell fired the slash. Penetier is burning. Dick and Hiram sent me back
+to the pool below, and then didn't come. They got caught--oh!... I'm
+afraid--lost!... Then I remembered you fellows. The fire's coming--it's
+awful--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 was
+almost unconscious. He had struggled terribly. His heels had dug a hole
+in the hard clay floor; his wrists were skinned; his mouth and chin
+covered with earth, probably from his having bitten the ground in
+his agony. Herky helped him up and gave him a drink from a little
+pocket-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 as
+cool 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 a
+hoss now, an' we'll try to head acrost the ridge.”
+
+I remounted Target, and the three men caught horses and climbed up
+bareback. Bill led the way across the glade, up the slope, into the
+level forest. There we broke into a gallop. The air upon this higher
+ground was dark and thick, but not so hard to breathe as that lower
+down. We pressed on. For a while the roar receded, and almost deadened.
+Then it grew clearer again' filled out, and swelled. Bud wanted to sheer
+off to the left. Herky swore we were being surrounded. Bill turned a
+deaf ear to them. From my own sense of direction I fancied we were going
+wrong, 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 roar
+was anything to tell by. We galloped on, always governed by the roar,
+always avoiding the slope up the mountain. If we once started up that
+with the fire in our rear we were doomed. Perhaps there were times when
+the wind deceived us. It was hard to tell. Anyway, we kept on, growing
+more bewildered. Bud looked like a dead man already and reeled in
+his saddle. The horses were getting hard to manage, and the wind was
+strengthening and puffed at us from all quarters. Bill still looked
+cool, but the last vestige of color had faded from his face. These
+things boded ill. Herky had grown strangely silent, which fact was the
+worst of all for me. For that tough, scarred, reckless little wretch to
+hold his tongue was the last straw.
+
+The air freshened somewhat, and the forest lightened. Almost abruptly we
+rode out to the edge of a great, wide canyon. It must have crossed the
+forest at right angles to the canyon we had left. It was twice as wide
+and 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 the
+tree-tops, to our left was foggy gloom, behind rolled the unceasing
+roar. We all looked straight across. Probably each of us harbored the
+same thought. Before that wind the fire would leap the canyon in flaming
+bounds, and on the opposite level was the thick pitch-pine forest of
+Penetier proper. So far we had been among the foot-hills. We dared not
+enter the real forest with that wild-fire back of us. Momentarily we
+stood irresolute. It was a pause full of hopelessness, such as might
+have 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. “We
+must 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're
+talkin' about?”
+
+“Yes, yes! Come on! We'll back-fire!”
+
+I led the way down the slope, and they came close at my heels. I rode
+into the shallow brook, and dismounted about the middle between the
+banks. 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 every
+hundred 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 was
+long and dry. There was brush near by, and the pine-needle mats almost
+bordered the bank. I struck a match and dropped it.
+
+Sis-s-s! Flare! It was almost like dropping a spark into gunpowder. The
+flame ran quickly, reached the pine-needles, then sputtered and fizzed
+into a big blaze. The first pine-tree exploded and went off like a
+rocket. We were startled by the sound and the red, up-leaping pillar
+of fire. Sudden heat shot back at us as if from a furnace. Great sparks
+began to fall.
+
+“It's goin'!” yelled Herky-Jerky, his voice ringing strong. He clapped
+his hat down on my bare head. Then he started running up-stream.
+
+I darted in the opposite direction. I heard Bud and Bill yelling, and
+the angry crack and hiss of the fire. A few rods down I stopped, struck
+another match, and lit the grass. There was a sputter and flash. Then
+the flame flared up, spread like running quicksilver, and, meeting the
+pine-needles, changed to red. I ran on. There was a loud flutter behind
+me, then a crack almost like a shot, then a seething roar. Another pine
+had gone off. As I stopped to strike the third match there came three
+distinct reports, and then others that seemed dulled in a windy roar.
+I raced onward, daring only once to look back. A fearful sight met my
+gaze. The slope was a red wave. The pines were tufts of flame. The air
+was filled with steaming clouds of whirling smoke. Then I fled onward
+again.
+
+Match after match I struck, and when the box was empty I must have
+been a mile, two miles, maybe more, from the starting-point. I was
+wringing-wet, and there was a piercing pain in my side. I plunged across
+the brook, and in as deep water as I could find knelt down to cover all
+but my face. Then, with laboring breaths that bubbled the water near my
+mouth, I kept still and watched.
+
+The back-fire which I had started swept up over the slope and down the
+brook like a charge of red lancers. Spears of flame led the advance. The
+flame 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 in
+the tree-tops. Even as I gazed, appalled in the certainty of a horrible
+fate, 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 any
+task or play. But I had never known what fire was. I knew now. Storms of
+air and sea were nothing compared to this. It was the greatest force
+in nature. It was fire. On one hand, I seemed cool and calculated the
+chances; on the other, I had flashes in my brain, and kept crying out
+crazily, 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, and
+occasionally the crash of a failing branch. It was intolerably hot, but
+I could stand the heat better than the air. I coughed and strangled.
+I could not get my breath. My eyes smarted and burned. Crawling close
+under the bank, I leaned against it and waited.
+
+Some hours must have passed. I suffered, not exactly pain, but a
+discomfort 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 the
+canyon. Twice I crawled out upon the bank, but the heat drove me back
+into the water. The snow-water from the mountain-peaks had changed from
+cold to warm; still, it gave a relief from the hot blast of air. More
+time dragged by. Weary to the point of collapse, I grew not to care
+about anything.
+
+Then the yellow fog lightened, and blew across the brook and lifted and
+split. The parts of the canyon-slope that I could see were seared and
+blackened. The pines were columns of living coals. The fire was eating
+into their hearts. Presently they would snap at the trunk, crash down,
+and burn to ashes. Wreathes of murky smoke circled them, and drifted
+aloft to join the overhanging clouds.
+
+I floundered out on the bank, and began to walk up-stream. After all, it
+was not so very hot, but I felt queer. I did not seem to be able to step
+where 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 wanted
+to feel overjoyed at that, but I was too tired. Anyway I was sure the
+fire had crossed below or above. It would be tearing down on this side
+presently, 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 legs
+trembled, my feet lost all sense of touching the ground. I could not go
+much farther. Just then I heard a shout. It was close by. I answered,
+and heard heavy steps. I peered through the smoky haze. Something dark
+moved 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 strange
+eagerness in me; his rough greeting seemed to bring me back from a
+distance.
+
+“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 whiskers
+was 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 a
+dream.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. CONCLUSION
+
+That dreadful feeling of motion went away, and I became unconscious of
+everything. When I awoke the sun was gleaming dimly through thin films
+of smoke. I was lying in a pleasant little ravine with stunted pines
+fringing its slopes. The brook bowled merrily over stones.
+
+Bud snored in the shade of a big boulder. Herky whistled as he broke
+dead branches into fagots for a campfire. Bill was nowhere in sight. I
+saw several of the horses browsing along the edge of the water.
+
+My drowsy eyelids fell back again. When I awoke a long time seemed to
+have passed. The air was clearer, the sky darker, and the sun had gone
+behind 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 the
+canyon, 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 big
+forest. Thet back-fire did the biz. Say, kid, wasn't settin' off them
+pines 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 to
+Holston 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 strange
+lassitude made me indifferent. But Herky's calm mention of taking me
+back to Holston changed the color of my mood. I began to feel more
+cheerful. The meal we ate was scant enough--biscuits and steaks of
+broiled venison with a pinch of salt; but, starved as we were, it was
+more than satisfactory. Herky and Bill were absurdly eager to serve me.
+Even Bud was kind to me, though he still wore conspicuously over his
+forehead the big bruise I had given him. After I had eaten I began to
+gain strength. But my face was puffed from the heat, my injured arm was
+stiff 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 for
+firewood, 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 light
+extending up into the steely sky.
+
+“The forest fire?”
+
+“Yep, she's burnin' some. But you oughter seen it last night. Not thet
+it ain't worth seein' jest now. Come along with me.”
+
+He led me where the ravine opened wide. I felt, rather than saw, a steep
+slope beneath. Far down was a great patch of fire. It was like a crazy
+quilt, here dark, there light, with streaks and stars and streams of
+fire shining out of the blackness. Masses of slow-moving smoke overhung
+the brighter areas. The night robbed the forest fire of its fierceness
+and lent it a kind of glory. The fire had ceased to move; it had spent
+its force, run its race, and was now dying. But I could not forget what
+it had been, what it had done. Thousands of acres of magnificent pines
+had perished. The shade and color and beauty of that part of the forest
+had gone. The heart of the great trees was now slowly rolling away in
+those dark, weird clouds of smoke. I was sad for the loss and sick with
+fear for Dick and Hiram.
+
+Herky must have known my mind.
+
+“You needn't feel bad, kid. Thet's only a foothill or so of Penetier
+gone up in smoke. An' Buell's sawmill went, too. It's almost a sure
+thing 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' Bud
+an' 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. Some
+time in the night I awoke. The fire was still burning brightly. Bud and
+Bill 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 of
+the campfire wafted up together. Then I saw and felt that he had covered
+me with his coat and vest.
+
+I slept far into the next day. Herky was in camp alone. The others had
+gone, Herky said, and he would not tell me where. He did not appear as
+cheerful as usual. I suspected he had quarreled with his companions,
+very likely about what was to be done with me. The day passed, and again
+I 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 the
+horses. They had browsed far up the ravine, and the dawn had broken by
+the time he returned. Target stood well to be saddled, nor did he
+bolt when I climbed up. Perhaps that ride I gave him had chastened and
+subdued his spirit. Well, it had nearly killed me. Herky mounted the one
+horse 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 burned
+forest land. Then as we descended into the big canyon we turned a curve
+and saw, far ahead to the left, a black, smoky, hideous slope. We kept
+to the right side of the brook and sheered off just as we reached a
+point opposite, where the burned line began. Fire had run up that side
+till checked by bare weathered slopes and cliffs. As far down the brook
+as eye could see through the smoky haze there stretched that black
+line of charred, spear-pointed pines, some glowing, some blazing, all
+smoking.
+
+From time to time, as we climbed up the slope, I looked back. The higher
+I got the more hideous became the outlook over the burned district. I
+was 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 those
+acres denuded of their timber by the fire of a few days. But as hour
+after hour went by, with our trail leading through miles and miles of
+the same old forest that had bewitched me, I began to feel a little less
+grief at the thought of what the fire had destroyed. It was a loss, yet
+only a small part of vast Penetier. If only my friends had gotten out
+alive!
+
+Herky was as relentless in his travelling as I had found him in some
+other ways. He kept his pony at a trot. The trail was open, we made
+fast time, and when the sun had begun to cast a shadow before us we were
+going down-hill. Busy with the thought of my friends, I scarcely noted
+the passing of time. It was a surprise to me when we rode down the last
+little foot-hill, out into the scattered pines, and saw Holston only a
+few miles across the sage-flat.
+
+“Wal, kid, we've come to the partin' of the ways,” said Herky, with a
+strange 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 might
+as well let me have him.”
+
+“Sure, Herky.” I jumped off at once, led the horse over, and held
+out the bridle. Herky dismounted, and began fumbling with the stirrup
+straps.
+
+“Your legs are longer'n mine,” he explained.
+
+“Oh yes, Herky, I almost forgot to return your hat,” I said, removing
+the wide sombrero. It had a wonderful band made of horsehair and a
+buckle of silver with a strange device.
+
+“Wal, you keep the hat,” he replied, with his back turned. “Greaser
+stole 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 in
+jail in Yuma.”
+
+“Thank you, Herky. I'll keep it, though I'd never need anything to make
+me remember Arizona--or you.”
+
+Herky swung his bow-legs over Target and I got astride the lean-backed
+pony. 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 little
+eyes gleamed, but he turned away without another word, and, slapping
+Target on the flank, rode off under the trees.
+
+I put the hat back on my head and watched Herky for a moment. His
+silence and abrupt manner were unlike him, but what struck me most was
+the 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 were
+long. We reached the outskirts of the town perhaps a couple of hours
+before sundown. A bank of clouds had spread out of the west and
+threatened rain.
+
+The first person I met was Cless, and he put the pony in his corral and
+hurried me round to the hotel. On the way he talked so fast and said so
+much that I was bewildered before we got there. The office was full of
+men, and Cless shouted to them. There was the sound of a chair scraping
+hard on the floor, then I felt myself clasped by brawny arms. After
+that 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, I
+thought, and after that some one gave me a hot, nasty drink, and I felt
+the cool sheets of a bed.
+
+The next morning all was clear. Dick came to my room and tried to keep
+me in bed, but I refused to stay. We went down to breakfast, and sat at
+a table with Jim and Hiram. It seemed to me that I could not answer any
+questions 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 been
+burned. The fire had in some way been confined to the foot-hills. It had
+rained all night, so the danger of spreading was now over. My letter had
+brought the officers of the forest service; even the Chief, who had been
+travelling west over the Santa Fe, had stopped off and was in Holston
+then. There had been no arrests, nor would there be, unless Buell or
+Stockton 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 in
+the 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 second
+time.
+
+“We didn't get out. We went back to the pool where we sent you. The
+pack-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. We
+weathered the fire all right, and then rode in to Holston. Now the
+mystery is where were you?”
+
+“Then you saved all the ponies?”
+
+“Yes, and brought your outfit in. But, Ken, we--that was awful of us to
+forget 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 he
+avoided 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 save
+our 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 run
+some. 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 in
+that big canyon.”
+
+“Back-fire!” exclaimed Dick, slamming the table with his big fist. Then
+he 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 brought
+the 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 met
+again.
+
+“It was a wild boy's trick, Ken--that ride in the very face of fire in
+a 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' it
+would 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 by
+it; nevertheless it pleased me more than anything that had ever been
+said me in my life.
+
+Then came the reading of letters that had a rived for me. In Hal's
+letter, first and last harped on having been left behind. Father sent me
+a check, and wrote that in the event of a trouble in the lumber district
+he 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 packed
+them up--all except Herky sombrero, which I wore. Then I went to the
+railroad station to see the schedule, and I compromised with father
+by deciding to take the limited. The fast east-bound train had gone
+a 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 off
+up-stairs to a hall full of men. At one end were tables littered with
+papers, and here men were signing their name Dick explained that forest
+rangers were being paid and new ones hired. Then he introduced me
+officers of the service and the Chief. I knew by the way they looked at
+me that Dick had been talking. It made me so tongue-tied that I could
+not 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 touched
+with gray.
+
+“Kenneth Ward,” he went on, pleasantly, “I hope that letter of
+introduction 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 into
+my pocket to bring forth the letter. It was wrinkled, soiled, and
+had been soaked with water. I began to apologize for its disreputable
+appearance 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 of
+bright young fellows. Here, look at this map.”
+
+He drew my attention to a map lying on the table, and made crosses and
+tracings with a pencil while he talked.
+
+“This is Penetier. Here are the Arizona Peaks. The heavy shading
+represents timbered land. All these are canyons. Here's Oak Creek
+Canyon, the one the fire bordered. Now I want you to tell me how you
+worked that back-fire, and, if you can, mark the line you fired.”
+
+This appeared to me an easy task, and certainly one I was enthusiastic
+over. I told him just how I had come to the canyon, and how I saw that
+the fire would surely cross there, and that a back-fire was the only
+chance. Then, carefully studying the map, I marked off the three miles
+Herky 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 me
+a 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 your
+head, and you are interested in forestry. Perhaps you can help us.
+Personally I shall be most pleased to hear what you think might be done
+in Penetier.”
+
+I gasped and stared, and could scarcely believe my ears. But he was not
+joking; he was as serious as if he had addressed himself to one of his
+officers. I looked at them all, standing interested and expectant. Dick
+was as grave and erect as a deacon. Jim seemed much impressed. But old
+Hiram Bent, standing somewhat back of the others, deliberately winked at
+me.
+
+But for that wink I never could have seized my opportunity. It made me
+remember my talks with Hiram. So I boiled down all that I had learned
+and launched it on the Chief. Whether I was brief or not, I was out of
+breath when I stopped. He appeared much surprised.
+
+“Thank you,” he said, finally. “You certainly have been observant.” Then
+he turned to his officers. “Gentlemen, here's a new point of view from
+first-hand observation. I call it splendid conservation. It's in the
+line of my policy. It considers the settler and lumberman instead of
+combating him.”
+
+He shook hands with me again. “You may be sure I'll not lose sight of
+you. Of course you will be coming West next summer, after your term at
+college?”
+
+“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 game
+warden in the same forest. You may spend next summer with them.”
+
+I stammered some kind of thanks, and found myself going out and
+down-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 out
+there.”
+
+“I don't have to ask you, Mr. Dick,” I replied.
+
+“Lad, I'll need a young fellar bad next summer,” said old Hiram, with
+twinkling 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 the
+Greaser?”
+
+“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, he
+seemed so easy-going, so careless--almost sweet, like a woman; but then
+I had seen 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, and
+certainly would get his just deserts; but I did not want him punished
+any more for what he had done to me.
+
+Those last few hours sped like winged moments. We talked and planned a
+little, I divided my outfit among my friends, and then it was time for
+the train. That limited train had been late, so they said, every day for
+a 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, and
+I said good-bye calmly. I had my part to play. My short stay with them
+had made me somehow different. But my coolness was deceitful. Dick
+helped me on the train and wrung my hand again.
+
+“Good-bye, Ken. It's been great to have you out.... Next year you'll be
+back in the forests!”
+
+He had to hurry to get off. The train started as I looked out of my
+window. There stood the powerful hunter, his white head bare, and he was
+waving his hat. Jim leaned against a railing with his sleepy, careless
+smile. I caught a gleam of the blue gun swinging at his hip. Dick's eyes
+shone warm and blue; he was shouting something. Then they all passed
+back out of sight. So my gaze wandered to the indistinct black line
+of Penetier, to the purple slopes, and up to the cold, white
+mountain-peaks, and Dick's voice rang in my ears like a prophecy:
+“You'll be back in the forests.”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Forester, by Zane Grey
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