CHAPTER XI
AMIDST A CATTLE STAMPEDE
Wilbur would have liked greatly to be able to stay at his little tenthome and celebrate the Fourth of July in some quiet fashion, but thefireworks folly of the professor's party had got on his nerve a little,and he was not satisfied until he really got into the saddle and was onhis way to a lookout point. Nor was he entirely without reward, forshortly before noon, as he rode along his accustomed trail, ahalf-Indian miner met him and told him he had been waiting to ask him todinner. And there, with all the ceremony the little shack could muster,this simple family had prepared a feast to the only representative ofthe United States that lived near them, and Wilbur, boy-like, had tomake a speech, and rode along the trail later in the afternoon, feelingthat he had indeed had a glorious Fourth of July dinner in the Indian'scabin.
The week following the Supervisor rode up, much to Wilbur's surprise,who had not expected to see him back in that part of the forest sosoon. But Merritt, who indeed was anxious to get away, by hisconversation showed that he was awaiting the arrival and conveyance of atrainload of machinery for the establishment of a large pulp-mill on theKern River. The trail over which this machinery would have to be takenwas brushed out and ready, all save about nine miles of it, a sectiontoo small to make it worth while to call a Ranger from another part ofthe forest. So the Supervisor announced his intention of doing the workhimself, together with Wilbur. The night preceding, just before theyturned in for the night, the boy turned to his chief and said:
"What time in the morning, Mr. Merritt?"
"I'll call you," replied the Supervisor.
He did, too, for at sharp five o'clock the next morning Wilbur waswakened to find the older man up and with breakfast ready.
"I ought to have got breakfast, sir," said the boy; "why didn't youleave it for me?"
"You need more sleep than I do," was the sufficient answer. "Now, tuckin."
The boy waited for no second invitation and devoted his attention tosecuring as much grub as he could in the shortest possible time.Breakfast was over, the camp straightened up, and they were in thesaddle by a quarter to six. It was ten miles from Wilbur's camp to thepoint where the trail should start. The country was very rough, and itwas drawing on for nine o'clock when they reached the point desired.
"Now," said the Supervisor, "take the brush hook and clear the trail asI locate it."
Wilbur, accordingly, following immediately after his chief, worked forall he knew how, cutting down the brushwood and preparing the trail.Every once in a while Merritt, who had blazed the trail some distanceahead, would return, and, bidding the boy pile brush, would attack theunderwood as though it were a personal enemy of his and would cover theground in a way that would make Wilbur's most strenuous moments seemtrifling in comparison. Once he returned and saw the lad laboring fordear life, breathing hard, and showing by his very pose that he wastiring rapidly, although it was not yet noon, and he called to him.
"Loyle," he said, "what are you breaking your neck at it that way for?"
"I don't come near doing as much as I ought unless I do hurry," hesaid. "And then I'm a long way behind."
"You mean as much as me?"
The boy nodded.
"Absurd. No two men's speed is the same. Don't force work. Find out whatgait you can keep up all day and do that. Make your own standard, don'ttake another man's."
"But I go so slowly!"
"Want to know it all and do it all the first summer, don't you? Supposeno one else had to learn? I don't work as hard as you do, though I getmore done. You can't buck up against an old axman. I haven't done thisfor some time, but I guess I haven't forgotten how. Go and sit down andget your breath."
"But I'm not tired--" began Wilbur protestingly.
"Sit down," he was ordered, and the boy, feeling it was better to dowhat he was told, did so. After he had a rest, which indeed was verywelcome, the Supervisor called him.
"Loyle," he said, "you know something about a horse, for I've watchedyou with them. Handle yourself the same way. You wouldn't force a horse;don't force yourself."
Moreover, the older man showed the boy many ways wherein to save labor,explaining that there was a right way and a wrong way of attacking everydifferent kind of bush. In consequence, when Wilbur started again in theafternoon he found himself able to do almost half as much again withless labor. Working steadily all day until sundown, five miles of thetrail had been located, brushed out, and marked.
There was a small lake near by, and thinking that it would be lessfatiguing for the boy to catch fish than to look after the camp, theSupervisor sent him off to try his luck. Wilbur, delighted to have beenlucky, returned in less than fifteen minutes with four middling-sizedtrout, and he found himself hungry enough to eat his two, almost bonesand all. That night they slept under a small Baker tent that Merritt hadbrought along on his pack horse, the riding and pack saddles being piledbeside the tent and covered with a slicker.
The following day, by starting work a little after daybreak, theremaining four miles of the trail were finished before the noonday halt,which was made late in order to allow the completion of the work.Wilbur, when he reviewed the fact that they had gone foot by foot overnine miles of trail, clearing out the brush and piling it, so that itcould be burned and rendered harmless as soon as it was dry, thought itrepresented as big a two days' work as he had ever covered.
"Will the pulp-mill be above or below the new Edison plant?" queriedWilbur on their way home.
"Above," said his companion. "I'll show you just where. You're going toride down with me to the site of the mill to-morrow. There's a lot ofspruce here, and it ought to pay."
"But I thought," said Wilbur, "that paper-pulp was such a destructiveway of using timber?"
"It is," answered Merritt, "but paper is a necessity. A book is moreimportant than a board."
"But doesn't it take a lot of wood to make a little paper?" asked theboy. "There's been such a howl about paper-pulp that I thought it mustbe fearfully wasteful."
"It isn't wasteful at all," was the reply. "A cord and a half of sprucewill make a ton of pulp. Where the outcry comes in is the quantity used.One newspaper uses a hundred and fifty tons of paper a day. That meanstwo hundred and twenty-five cords of wood. The stand of spruce here isabout ten cords to the acre. So one newspaper would clean off ten acresa day or three thousand acres a year."
"But wouldn't it ruin the forest to take it off at that rate?"
"Certainly," the Supervisor answered, "but the sale will be so arrangedthat not more will be sold each year than will be good for the forest."
"Is all paper made of spruce?" asked Wilbur.
"No. Many kinds of wood will make paper. Carolina poplar and tulip woodare both satisfactory."
"Except for the branches and knot-wood," said Wilbur, "almost every partof every kind of tree is good for something."
"And you can use those, too," came the instant reply. "That's what drydistillation is for. All that you've got to do is fill a retort withwood and put a furnace under it, and all pine tree leavings can betransformed into tar and acetic acid, from which they can make vinegar,as well as wood alcohol and charcoal."
Finding that the boy was thoroughly interested in the possibilities oflumber, the Supervisor, usually so silent and brief in manner, openedout a little and talked for two straight hours to Wilbur on thepossibilities of forestry. He showed the value of turpentine and resinin the pine trees and advocated the planting of hemlock trees and oaktrees for their bark, as used in the tanning industry.
As the Forester warmed up to his subject, Wilbur thought he waslistening to an "Arabian Nights" fairy tale. Despite his customarysilence Merritt was an enthusiast, and believed that forestry was the"chief end of man." He assured the boy that twenty different species oftree of immense value could be acclimatized in North America which areof great commercial value now in South America; he compared the climatein the valleys of the lower Mississippi with those of the Ganges, an
dnamed tree after tree, most of them entirely unknown to Wilbur, whichwould be of high value in the warm, swampy bottoms. And when Wilburventured to express doubt, he was confronted with the example of theeucalyptus, commonly called gum tree, once a native of Australia, nowbecoming an important American tree.
All the way home and all through supper the Supervisor talked, untilwhen it finally became time to turn in, the boy dreamed of an ideal timewhen every acre of land in the United States should be rightly occupied;the arid land irrigated from streams fed by reservoirs in the forestedmountains; the rivers full of navigation and never suffering floods; thefarms possessing their wood-lots all duly tended; and every inch of thehills and mountains clothed with forests--pure stands, or mixed stands,as might best suit the conditions--each forest being the best possiblefor its climate and its altitude.
But he had to get up at five o'clock next morning, just the same, anddreams became grim realities when he found himself in the saddle againand off for a day's work before six. A heavy thunderstorm in the nighthad made everything fresh and shining, but at the same time the water onthe underbrush soaked Wilbur through and through when he went out towrangle the horses. Merritt's riding horse, a fine bay with a blazedface, had a bad reputation in the country, which Wilbur had heard, andhe was in an ugly frame of mind when the boy found him. But Wilbur wasnot afraid of horses, and he soon got him saddled.
"I think Baldy's a little restless this morning, sir," ventured Wilbur,as they went to the corral to get their horses. But he received noanswer. The Supervisor's fluent streak had worn itself out the daybefore and he was more silent than ever this morning.
Merritt swung himself into his saddle, and, as Wilbur expected, the baybegan to buck. It was then, more than ever, that the boy realized thedifference between the riding he had seen on the plains and ordinaryriding. Merritt was a good rider, and he stuck to his saddle well. ButWilbur could see that it was with difficulty, and that the task was ahard one. There was none of the easy grace with which Bob-Cat Bob hadridden, and when Baldy did settle down Wilbur felt that his rider hadconsidered his keeping his seat quite a feat, not regarding it as atrifling and unimportant incident in the day.
Merritt and the boy rode on entirely off the part of the forest on whichWilbur had his patrol, to a section he did not know. They stopped onceto look over a young pine plantation. Just over a high ridge there was awider valley traversed by an old road which crossed the main range aboutfive miles west and went down into a valley where there were numerousranches. The principal occupation of these ranchmen was stock-raising,on account of their long distance from a railroad which prevented themmarketing any produce. Just about July of each year these ranchmenrounded up their stock, cut out the beef steers, and shipped them to themarkets. It was then the last week in July, and the Supervisor expectedto meet some of the herds upon the old road which crossed the mountainsfurther on. Just as they reached the bottom of the hill they saw theleaders of a big herd coming down the road from the pass. In thedistance a couple of cowpunchers could be seen in front holding up thelead of the bunch.
"I'll wait and talk," said Merritt, reining in. As perhaps he hadexchanged four whole sentences in two hours' ride, Wilbur thought tohimself that the conversation would have to be rather one-sided, but heknew the other believed in seizing every opportunity to promotefriendliness with the people in his forest and waited their upcomingwith interest. The Supervisor had his pack-horse with him, and as theherd drew nearer he told Wilbur to take him out of sight into the brush,so as not to scare the steers, and tie him up safely. That done,Wilbur rode back to the road.
By the time he had returned the two punchers had ridden up. One provedto be the foreman of the outfit, by name Billy Grier, and the other aTexan, whom Merritt called Tubby Rodgers, apparently because he was asthin as a lath.
"I was a-hopin'," said Grier as he rode up, "that you-all was headin'down the road a bit."
"I wasn't planning to," said the Forester. "Why?"
"We had a heavy storm down in the valley last night, which sort of brokethings up badly, an' I had to leave a couple of men behind."
"Don't want to hire us to drive, do you?" asked Merritt.
"Allers willin' to pay a good man," said the foreman with a grin. "Giveye forty and chuck."
The Supervisor smiled.
"I'm supposed to be holding down a soft job," he said; "governmentservice."
"Soft job," snorted Grier, "they'd have to give me the bloomin' forestafore I'd go at it the way you do. But, Merritt," he added, "this ishow. A piece down the road, say a mile an' a half, I'm told there's arotten bit o' road, an' I'm a little leery of trouble there. I'd havestrung out the cattle three times as far if I'd known of it. But I hadno chance; I've only just heard that some old county board is tryin' tofix a bridge, an' they're movin' about as rapid as a spavined mule withthree broken legs."
"Well?" queried Merritt; "I suppose you want us to help you over thatspot."
"That's it, pard," said the foreman; "an' I'll do as much for you sometime."
"I wish you could, but I'll never have a string of cattle like those toturn into good hard coin."
"Well," said the cowpuncher, "why not?"
"Nothing doing," replied Merritt; "the Forest Service is an incurabledisease that nobody ever wants to be cured of."
By this time the head of the bunch of steers was drawing close and theforeman repeated his request.
"All right," answered the Forester, who thought it good policy to havethe ranchman feel that he was under obligations to the Service, "we'llgive you a hand all right."
After riding down the road for about a mile it became precipitous, andWilbur could readily see where there was likely to be trouble. Shortlybefore they reached the place where the bridge was being repaired thebank on the right-hand side of the road gave place to a sheer drop fortyto fifty feet high and deepening with every step forward. As the bunchneared the bridge Merritt and Wilbur, with the cowpunchers, slowed upuntil the steers were quite close. Then Grier and Rodgers went aheadover the bridge, while Merritt waited until about fifty cattle hadpassed and then swung in among them, telling Wilbur to do the same whenabout another fifty head had passed.
At first Wilbur could not see the purpose of this, and he had greatdifficulty in forcing his horse among the cattle. But they pressed backas he swung into the road, giving him a little space to ride in, andthus dividing the head of the drove into two groups of fifty. Followinginstructions, Wilbur gradually pressed the pace of the bunch in order toprevent any chance of overcrowding from the rear.
It seemed easy enough. Owing to the narrowness of the road and theprecipitous slope it was impossible for the steers to scatter, and aslong as the pace was kept up, there was likely to be no difficulty. ButKit--Wilbur was riding Kit--suddenly pricked her ears and began todance a little in her steps. The steers, although their pace had notchanged, were snuffling in an uncertain fashion, and Wilbur vaguelybecame conscious that fear was abroad. He quieted Kit, but could seefrom every motion that she was catching the infection of the fear. Hetightened his hold on the lines, for he saw that if she tried to boltboth of them would go over the edge. Wilbur looked down.
A hundred yards or so further on the road widened slightly, and Wilburwondered whether it would be possible for him to work his way to theright of the steers and gallop full speed alongside the herd to get infront of them; but even as he thought of the plan he realized that itwould scarcely be possible, and that unless he reached the front of theherd before the road narrowed again he would be forced over the edge.And, as he reached the wider place, he saw Grier and Rodgers standing.They also had sensed the notion of fear and were waiting to see whatcould be done in the main body of the herd. Merritt had worked his waythrough the steers, and was riding in the lead. Wilbur wondered how hehad ever been able to force Baldy through. This put Wilbur behind abunch of about one hundred steers and in front of five or six hundredmore.
Below him, to the right, was a valley, the drop
now being about onehundred and fifty feet, and Wilbur could see at the edge of the creek,pitched among some willows, a little tent, the white contrastingstrongly with the green of the willows. The road wound round high abovethe valley in order to keep the grade. Twice Wilbur halted Kit to try tostop the foremost of the herd behind him from pressing on too close, butthe third time Kit would not halt. She was stepping as though onsprings, with every muscle and sinew tense, and the distance between thesteers before and the steers behind was gradually lessening.
Wilbur realized that as long as the even, slow pace was kept he was inno danger, but if once the steers began to run his peril would beextreme. He could turn neither to the right nor to the left, the littlepony was nothing in weight compared to the steers, and even if she were,he stood a chance of having his legs crushed. The only hope was to keepthe two herds apart. He wheeled Kit. But as the little mare turned andfaced the tossing heads and threatening horns, she knew, as did Wilburinstantaneously, that with the force behind them, no single man couldstop the impetus of the herd, although only traveling slowly. Indeed, ifhe tried, he could see that the rear by pressure onwards would force theoutside ranks midway down the herd over the edge of the cliff. Kit spunround again almost on one hoof, all but unseating Wilbur.
But even in that brief moment there had been a change, and the boy feltit. The steers were nervous, and, worst of all, he knew that Kit couldrealize that he himself was frightened. When a horse feels that therider is frightened, anything is apt to happen. Wilbur's judgment wasnot gone, but he was ready to yell. The herd behind grew closer andcloser. Presently the walk broke into a short trot, the horns of thefollowing bunch of steers appeared at Kit's flanks, a rumbling as ofhalf-uttered bellows was heard from the rear of the herd, and, on theinstant, the steers began to run.
NURSERY FOR YOUNG TREES.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
PLANTATION OF YOUNG TREES.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
SOWING PINE SEED.
Brush on ground is to shade tender seedlings from the heat of the sun.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
PLANTING YOUNG TREES.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]