CHAPTER VI
IN THE HEART OF THE FOREST
Towards noon the next day, Wilbur and the Ranger rode up to the shack inthe woods which Rifle-Eye considered as one of his headquarters. As soonas they reached the clearing they were met by a big, shambling youth,whose general appearance and hesitating air proclaimed him to be thehalf-witted lad of whom Wilbur had heard. He came forward and took thehorses.
"You've heard about Ben?" queried the hunter as the horses were beingled away.
"Yes," answered Wilbur, "Bob-Cat Bob told me all about the death of hisfather during the sheep and cattle war. He told me when we were ridingup to the ranch, from the station at Sumber."
"I have thought," said Rifle-Eye, "that perhaps it ain't quite the rightthing to keep Ben here, up in the woods. But I tried sendin' him toschool. It wasn't no manner of use. It only troubled the teacher an'bothered him, an' I reckon his life will stack up at the end jest aswell, even if he can't read."
"What does he do while you are away?" asked Wilbur.
"Oh, a lot of things. He ain't idle a minute, really, an' there's timesthat he's as good as them that thinks themselves so wise."
"What sort of things?"
"Well, he's done a lot o' work stampin' out the prairie dogs. Of course,there's very few o' them in these parts, so few that the government hasmade no appropriation for this forest. It's in Eastern Montana an' theDakotas that you get them, an' there's been a lot o' trouble in theCuster an' Sioux forests. He's gone there several times, an' there'sbeen villages o' them here among the foothills that Ben's cleared upentirely."
"They poison the prairie dogs, don't they?"
"Yes, with strychnine, mainly. Grain is soaked in the poison an' a fewgrains put outside each hole in a dog town. If this is done early in theyear, before the green grass is up for food, it will pretty nearly cleanup the town."
"It seems rather a shame," said Wilbur, "they are such fat, jolly littlefellows, and the way they sit up on their hind legs and look at you isa wonder."
"It's all right for them to look 'fat and jolly,'" replied Rifle-Eye,"but when the stock raiser finds hundreds of acres of grass nibbled downto the roots, an' when the farmer's young wheat is ruined, they don'tsee so much jollity in it."
"But I didn't know that the Forest Service took a hand in that sort ofthing."
"Only indirectly. But they provide the poison an' the settlers usuallygit some one to put it round. As I say, Ben's been doin' a lot of itthis spring."
"But that sort of work doesn't last long."
"No, only in the spring. But Ben's busy other ways. Sometimes he goesdown to the valleys an' helps the ranchers with their hayin'. He don'tknow anythin' about money, though, an' so they never pay him cash."
"That's tough on Ben, then," remarked Wilbur. "Does he work all the timefor nothing?"
"Not at all. They always see that he gits a fair return. Every once in awhile the man he's workin' for will drive up to the shack with somebacon an' a barrel o' flour an' trimmin's. Often as not, he'll bringthe wife along, an' she'll go over the lad's things to find what heneeds."
"That's mighty nice," commented Wilbur.
"Some of 'em are as good to Ben as if he was their own," said theRanger. "They'll go over everything he's got, fix up whatever needsmendin', an' make a list o' things to be bought next time any one goesinto town. You see, he gits his wages that way. He works well, an' so itain't like charity, an' at the same time it gives the man he works for achance to do the right thing."
"I suppose if he didn't, you'd get after him," suggested the boy.
"Never had to yet, an' never expect to," was the prompt reply. "Mostlyfolks is all right, an' a lot o' the supposed selfishness is jestbecause they ain't been reminded. And then Ben never makes trouble."
"He seems quiet enough," said Wilbur, with a gesture towards the doorwaywhere the lad was approaching. He came in and stood looking vacantly atthe two sitting together.
"What were you doin' yesterday, Ben?" asked the Ranger sharply to rousehim.
The lad flung out both arms with a wild gesture.
"I was away, away, far away," he answered; "away, away over the hills."
"Where?"
The half-witted lad passed his hand across his eyes.
"With Mickey," he said.
"An' what were you an' Mickey doin'?"
"Lots of things, lots, lots, lots. Little fires creep, creep, creepin'on the ground," he moved his hands waveringly backward and forward asthough to show the progress of the flames, "then put them out quick,so!" he stamped his foot on the ground.
"Does he mean a forest fire, Rifle-Eye?" queried Wilbur, alert at thevery mention of fire.
"No, no, no," interrupted Ben; "little bit fires. Pile burn, burn hot,grass catch fire, put out grass."
"You mean," said the mountaineer, "that you an' Mickey were burnin' upbrush?"
"Yes, brush all in piles, burn."
"It's a pretty risky business," said Rifle-Eye, "this burnin' brush inthe late spring, but Mickey's right enough to have had Ben along. He'sone o' the best fire-fighters that ever happened. He never knows enoughto quit."
"Did you have any trouble, Ben?" asked Wilbur.
"One little fire, walk, walk, walk away into the woods. But I stoppedhim."
"Alone?"
The half-witted lad nodded. Then, coming over to Wilbur, he pointed tothe rude bandages and said questioningly:
"Tumble?"
"No, Ben," replied the other boy, "I got into a mix-up with a bob-cat."
"I fight, too. Wait, I show you something."
He disappeared for a moment and then came back with two wolf pups,carrying one in each hand as he might a kitten.
"I got five more," he said.
"Where did you get 'em, Ben?" asked the Ranger.
"Way, way over. Deadman Canyon."
"Get the old wolf?"
The half-witted lad nodded his head vigorously several times.
"Yes," he said, "dead, dead, dead."
"Was the den just by the Sentinel Pine?"
"Yes."
"I reckon that's the wolf that's been givin' such a lot of trouble onthe Arroyo," commented Rifle-Eye. "I went out after that wolf one daythis spring, Ben, but I didn't get her. I waited at the den a long time,too."
"Two holes out of den, two. I wait, too. Long, long time. No come out.Plug up one hole. Long more time waited. Then wolf go in. I go in, too."
"You went into the wolf's den?" queried Wilbur in amazement.
"Yes, in. Far, far in."
"How far?"
"Don't know. Far."
"Well, I went in about forty feet myself," said the old hunter, "an' Ididn't see any sign o' the pups, so I backed out again. If you went allthe way in, Ben, I reckon it was a pretty long crawl."
"But why did you go in the den when the mother wolf was there?" askedWilbur.
"Boy fool," said the half-witted lad, pointing at him. "Why go in ifwolf not there?"
"Well," said Wilbur, on the defensive, "I should think it a whole lotsafer to go in--that is, if I was going in at all--sometime when I'd besure the mother wolf wouldn't be there."
But the other, still holding the cubs in his hands, negatived thisreasoning with a vigorous shake of the head.
"Safer, wolf in," he said.
"I don't see that at all," objected Wilbur. "It can't be safer."
"You go in, in far, when wolf out. By and by wolf come, eat up legs, nocan turn round for shoot."
"I hadn't thought of that," the boy said, a little humbled.
"Ben's nearly right," said the Ranger, "an' it ain't really as dangerousas it sounds. There ain't room in the passage for the wolf to spring,an' if you shoot you're bound to hit her somewhere, no matter how youaim. O' course, a wolf ain't goin' to come along an' 'eat up your legs'the way he puts it, but you might get a nasty bite or two. It's a lotbetter to go after a wolf than have the wolf come after you. It takesmore nerve, but it ain't so hard at that."
&
nbsp; "But how did you kill the old wolf, Ben?" asked Wilbur.
"I go in, far in. See eyes glitter. Shoot once. Shoot twice. Old wolfdead. Take out pups, easy. Skin wolf."
"Where's the skin?"
"Dryin'."
But Wilbur was by no means satisfied and he plied the half-witted ladwith questions until he had secured all the details of the story. In themeantime the Ranger had been getting dinner, and as soon as it was overWilbur was glad to lie down on Ben's bed, for he had lost not a littleblood in his tussle with the wild-cat the night before, and riding allmorning with those deep scratches only rudely bandaged had been rather astrain. By the time that Rifle-Eye was ready to start again Wilbur wasfairly stiffened up, and at the Ranger's suggestion he agreed to stay ona couple of days in the shack, having Ben cook for him and look afterhim, as the Ranger felt that he himself ought to get back toheadquarters.
It was not until the third day that Wilbur once more got into the saddleand with Ben to guide him through the forest, started for theSupervisor's headquarters, or rather the Ranger's cabin where theSupervisor was staying. The two boys rode on and up, leaving behind thescrub oak, chapparal, and manzanita, and into the great yellow pine andsugar pine forests. Shortly before noontime they heard voices in thewoods, and Ben, after listening a moment, turned from the trail. In afew minutes he reined up beside a tall, sunburned man, walking throughthe woods pencil and notebook in hand. At the same time the Ranger, whowas working with him, stepped up.
"Thanks, Ben," he said. Then, turning to the Supervisor, he said:"Merritt, here's the boy!"
Wilbur's new chief stepped forward quickly and held out his hand with aword of greeting. Wilbur shook it heartily and decided on the spot thathe was going to like him. Wearing khaki with the Forest Service bronzebadge, a Stetson army hat, and the high lace boots customarily seen, helooked thoroughly equipped for business.
"You're Wilbur Loyle," he said, "of course. I heard you were coming.Have you had any experience?"
"Just the Colorado Ranger School, sir," said the boy.
"You were to be here three days ago."
"Yes, Mr. Merritt, but I was delayed, and I put up a couple of days withBen, here."
"He reckoned he had more right to a rabbit what a bob-cat was feastin'on than the cat had," volunteered Rifle-Eye in explanation. "In theensooin' disagreement he got a bit scratched, an' so I looked after him.I told him to stay at Ben's, an' I guess he's all right now."
"Being three days late isn't the best start in the world," said theSupervisor sharply, "but if Rifle-Eye knows all about it and is willingto stand for it, I won't say any more. Can you cruise?"
"I've learned, sir, but I haven't done much of it. I think, though, Ican do it, all right."
"Very well. We'll break off for dinner now, and you can try thisafternoon. Or do you still feel tired, and would you rather wait untilto-morrow?"
"Thanks, Mr. Merritt," answered Wilbur, "but I want to start right now."
"Very well," said the Supervisor laconically. Then, turning to theRanger, he commenced talking with him about the work in hand, and forthe moment Wilbur was left aside. The lumberman who had been working onthe other side of the Supervisor, however, sauntered up and introducedhimself as "McGinnis, me boy, Red McGinnis, they call me, because of thenatural beauty of me hair."
"I'm very glad, Mr. McGinnis--" began the boy when the lumbermaninterrupted him.
"'Tis very sorry ye'll be if ye call me out of me right name. Sure Isaid McGinnis, jest plain McGinnis, not Misther McGinnis. Ye can call me'Judge,' or 'Doctor,' or 'Colonel,' or annything else, but I won't becalled Misther by annyone."
"Very well, McGinnis," said the boy, looking at his height and broadshoulders, "I guess there's no one that will make you."
"There is not!" the big lumberman replied. "And are ye goin' to join usin a little promenade through the timber?"
"So Mr. Merritt said."
"I don't see what for," the Irishman replied. "Sure, there's the threeof us now."
"Is there much of it to do?"
"There is that. There's three million feet wanted, half sugar pine andhalf yellow pine, in this sale alone. An' there's another sale waiting,so I hear, as soon as this one's through."
"Maybe it's just to find out whether I can do it?" suggested Wilbur.
The lumberman nodded affirmatively.
"That's just about it," he said. "Because ye'll have a big stretch tocover as Guard, an' there'll be no time for ye cruisin'. You keep thetrees from burnin' up so as we can mark them for cuttin' down."
"It always seems a shame," said Wilbur, "to have to cut down thesetrees. Of course, I know it's done so as to help the forest, not to hurtit, and that if the big trees weren't cut down the young ones couldn'tget sunlight and wouldn't have a chance to grow. But still one hates tosee a big tree go."
"It isn't that way at all, at all," said the lumberman. "There's somethat does their best work livin', and there's some that does it dead. Aman does it livin' and a tree does it dead. But what a tree does afterit's dead depends on what kind of a chance it's had when it's beenlivin'. Sure ye've been to the schools when all the girls and some ofthe boys gets into white dresses, the girls I mean, and sings songs, andgives speeches and class poems and other contraptions, and graduates."
"I have," said Wilbur, "and not so long ago at that."
"And so have I," answered the lumberman. "Sure, me own little Kathleenwas graduated just a month ago from high school. Well, cuttin' down atree is like its graduation. It's been livin' and growin' and gettin'big and strong and makin' up into good timber. Now its schoolin' in theforest is over, it's goin' out into the world, to be made useful in somekind of way, and in goin' it makes room for more."
"You don't take kindly to the 'Oh, Woodman, spare that tree' ideal?"smiled Wilbur.
"I do not. But I'd spare it, all right, until there were other youngtrees growin' near it to take its place in time. 'Tis the biggest partof the work is cuttin' down the trees that make the best timber."
When they were settled drinking hot tea and eating some trout that theparty had with them, the Supervisor turned to Wilbur.
"McGinnis is a good man," he began, smiling as the Irishman withpantomime returned the compliment by drinking his health in a pannikinof tea, "but he's so built that he can't see straight. If you introduceMcGinnis to a girl he'll want to estimate how many feet she'd make boardmeasure."
He dodged a pine cone which the Irishman threw at him.
"How about Aileen?" he said.
"I'll take that back," said Merritt; "Mrs. McGinnis hasn't gone todiameter growth. But," he continued, "she's good on clear length and hasa fine crown."
By which Wilbur readily understood that the lumberman's wife was slight,well-built, and neat, and with heavy hair. The lumberman, mollified bythe tribute, returned to his dinner, and the Supervisor continued:
"McGinnis told you that cutting down the best trees available for timberis the most important part of forest work. It's not. The most importantthing is keeping the forest at its best. Cutting trees when they havereached their maximum is a most necessary part, and it's a policy thathelps to make the forest pay for itself. But the value to the forestlies in its conservation. You know about that?"
"Yes, sir," said the boy; "it's keeping the watersheds from becomingdeforested, either by cutting or by fire, and so preventing erosion fromtaking place."
"I reckon," put in the old Ranger, "thar's another that pleases me stillbetter than either of those."
"And what's that, Rifle-Eye?" asked Merritt.
"It's the plantin'. When I walk along some of the forest nurseries, an'see hundreds and hundreds of little seedlin's all growin' protectedlike, and bein' cared for just the same as if they was little children,an' when I know that in fifty years time they'll be big fine trees likethe one we're sittin' under, I tell you it looks pretty good to me.They're such helpless little things, seedlin's, and they do have such atime to get a start. Nursery's a good name all right. I'
ve been alongsome of 'em at night, when the moonlight was a shinin' down on them, andthey wasn't really no different from children in their little beds."
"I should think," said Wilbur, "that the changing of a forest from onekind of tree to another would be the most interesting. I mean gettingrid of the worthless trees and giving the advantage to those that arefiner."
"And a few sections west," commented the Supervisor, "you would findthat Bellwall, who's the Ranger there, thinks that the most interestingthing in the whole of the forest work is putting an end to the diseasesof trees and to the insects that are a danger to them. Another Rangermay be a tree surgeon."
"A tree surgeon doesn't help so much," put in McGinnis, "the timber isniver worth a whoop!"
"There you go again," said the head of the forest, "there's other thingsto be thought of besides timber." He turned to the boy. "You don't knowthe trees of the Sierras, I suppose?"
"I think I know them pretty well now," answered Wilbur. "I had to learna lot about them at school, and then Rifle-Eye has been giving mepointers the last few days."
"What's the difference between a yellow pine and a sugar pine?" queriedthe Supervisor.
"Sugar pine wood is white and soft," said the boy, "yellow pine is hard,harder than any other pine except the long-leaf variety."
"That's right enough. But how are you going to tell them when standing?"
Wilbur thought for a moment.
"I should think," he said, "that the yellow pine is a so much biggertree as a rule that you could tell it by that alone. But I suppose ayounger yellow pine might look like a sugar. The leaves would help,though, because I should think the sugar, like most of the soft pines,has its leaves in clusters of five in a sheath, and the yellow being ahard pine, has them in bundles of three."
"How about the bark?"
"Sugar pine bark is smoother," said the boy.
The Supervisor nodded.
"All right," he said, "we'll try you at it. You go along with McGinnisfor an hour or so, to see just how he does it, and then you can take oneside, and he the other. Just for a day or two, while Rifle-Eye looksafter some other matters."
Wilbur accordingly took a pair of calipers and walked with McGinnis backto where he had originally met the party. Resuming work the lumbermanstarted through the forest, calling as he went the kind of trees andtheir approximate size. As, however, this particular portion of theforest had never been "cruised," McGinnis not only called and marked thetrees which were to be cut in the sale, but also the other timber.
Thus he would call, as he reached a tree, "Sugar, thirty-four, six," bywhich Wilbur understood him to mean that the tree was a sugar pine, thatit was thirty-four inches in diameter breast high, and that it would cutinto six logs of the regular sixteen-foot length. It probably would bethirty or fifty feet higher, but the top could only be used for posts,cordwood, and similar uses. Such a tree, having been estimated andadjudged fit for sale, the lumberman would make a blaze with a small ax,by slicing off a portion of bark about eight inches long, then turningthe head of the ax, whereon was "U. S." in raised letters, he wouldwhack the blaze, making a mark which was unchangeable. No other treesthan those so marked might be cut.
But as other trees were passed which were not good enough formerchantable timber, he would call these rapidly, "Cedar, small,""Engelmann (spruce), eighteen," "Douglas (spruce), fourteen," all ofwhich were entered by the Supervisor, walking behind, in his cruisingbook. At the same time he made full notes as to the condition of theyoung forest, the presence of parasitic plants such as mistletoe, ofdiseased trees, if any were found, of the nature of the soil, of thedrainage of the forest, and of the best way in which the timber sale wasto be logged in order to do the least possible damage to the forest.
In a half an hour or so Wilbur dropped back to the Supervisor.
"I think, sir," he said, "that I can do that without any trouble. But Ican't do it as fast as McGinnis, sir, for he can tell the size of atree just by looking at it. I shall have to use the calipers for a dayor two."
Merritt looked at him.
"For a day or two?" he said. "McGinnis has been doing it for thirtyyears. In these Western forests, too. You take him to an Eastern forestand even now he wouldn't be sure of estimating correctly. You use thecalipers for a year or two!"
Wilbur, accordingly, quickened his pace, and, going along a little tothe left and in advance of the Supervisor, took up his share of thework. He found that he had to depend entirely upon McGinnis for hiscompass direction, and that he was only doing about one tree toMcGinnis' six, but still every hour that passed by gave him greaterconfidence. The afternoon was wearing away when suddenly they came to apart of the forest in which some timber seemed to have been cut duringthe winter preceding. McGinnis dropped back.
"Sure, ye didn't tell me that any of this had been cut over," he saidaggrievedly.
"It hasn't, so far as I know," said Merritt. He put his book in hispocket and walked on briskly for a few hundred yards. Although thelogging had been done the preceding winter the signs were clear forthose who could read them determining the direction in which the logshad been taken.
"That's Peavey Jo's work," said the Supervisor at last. "I reckon thisis where he begins to find trouble on his hands. We'll find out,McGinnis, how much of this timber he has stolen, measure up the stumpsand make him pay for every stick he's taken."
"Ye'd better leave Peavey Jo alone. They used to call him 'The CanuckBrute,'" remarked McGinnis.
"He will pay," repeated Merritt quietly, "for every foot that he's got.And I'll see that he does."
"You'll have the fight of your life."
"What of it! You don't want to back out?"
"Back out? Me? I will not! But it'll be a jim-dandy of a scrap."
The Supervisor turned to Wilbur.
"Measure," he said, "the diameter of all those stumps and mark with abit of chalk those you have measured. We'll talk to Peavey Jo in a dayor two."
WHERE BEN AND MICKEY BURNED THE BRUSH.
Getting rid of slashings which otherwise might feed a forest fire.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
THE CABIN OF THE OLD RANGER.
Where Wilbur stayed a couple of days recovering from the wild-cat'sscratches.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
STAMPING IT GOVERNMENT PROPERTY.
McGinnis marking "U. S." on timber that has been scaled and measured up.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]