CHAPTER VII
WILBUR IN HIS OWN CAMP
"I should think," said Wilbur at headquarters that night, when thetimber theft of Peavey Jo was being discussed, "that it would be mightyhard to prove that the timber had been taken."
"Why?" asked the Supervisor.
"Well, we can see how the logs were drawn, and so forth, but you can'tbring those driveways into court very well, and put them before thejudge as Exhibit A, or anything?"
"You could bring affidavits, couldn't you? But there are few who want togo to law about it. A man knows he can't buck the government on a fakecase. We have very little trouble now, but there used to be a lot ofit."
"Did you ever have to use weapons, Mr. Merritt?" asked the boy,remembering the story he had heard in Washington about the tie-cutters.
"No," was the instant reply. "You don't handle people with a gun anymore in California than you do in New York. These aren't the days ofForty-nine."
"But I thought the 'old-timers' still carried guns," persisted the boy.
"Very few do now. But I got into trouble once, or thought I was goingto, when I was a Ranger in the Gunnison Forest. It involved some Douglasfir telephone poles. This trespass was done while I was in town for awhile in the Supervisor's office. When I came back I happened to pass bythis man's camp, and seeing a lot of telephone poles, I asked if theyhad been cut in the forest. The man was a good deal of a bully, and heordered me off the place. He said he didn't have to answer anyquestions, and wasn't going to."
"Did you go?" asked Wilbur.
"Certainly I went. What would be the use of staying around there? Butbefore I left I got a kind of an answer. He said he had shipped in thesetelephone poles from another part of the State."
"Sure, that was a fairy tale," said McGinnis.
"Of course it was. I went into the forest and searched around, althoughthere had been a recent fall of snow, until I found the place where mostof the poles had been cut. Then I went back to the trespasser and toldhim, saying I would prove to him that it was on government ground.
"He agreed, and we rode to the place. He took his Winchester along andcarried it over his shoulder. He wasn't carrying it in the usual way,but had his hand almost level with his shoulder so that the barrelpointed in my direction. I noticed, too, that he was playing with thetrigger. It seemed likely that it might suit his purposes rather well ifI was accidentally killed. But each time I cantered up close to him, thebarrel returned to its natural position.
"Presently, as we rode along, we came to a waterfall, not a big one, butfalling with quite a splashing, and under the cover of the noise Isuddenly came to a quick gallop, overtook the trespasser, and, graspinghis Winchester firmly with both hands, jerked it out of his grasp."
"Sure, he must have been the maddest thing that iver happened!" saidMcGinnis.
"He was sore, all right. But what could he do? I had the rifle, and weneither of us had any six-shooters. I showed him that there was noobject in my shooting him, while he would gain by shooting me, so Iproposed to hold the gun. And hold it I did. On my return I put anotice of seizure on the poles.
"The report went through the usual way to the Commissioner of theGeneral Land Office. He wrote me a letter direct about the case and putit up to me to ask the trespasser what proposition of settlement heintended to make. I thought the town was the best place for this andwaited at the post-office for a day or two until he came in. There Itackled him, and told him he would have to notify the Departmentimmediately. At this, he and his son invited me outside to fight it out.I told them I did not intend to fight, but that if within thirty minutesthey did not make a proposition of settlement I would telegraph to theDepartment and his case would become one for harsher measures.
"The postmaster set out to convince him that Uncle Sam was too big a jobfor him to handle, and in twenty minutes or so back he came with anoffer which was forwarded to the Department. A year or so later the casewas settled by a Special Agent."
McGinnis added several similar stories of timber difficulties, and,supper being over, they got ready to turn in. The headquarters was amost comfortable house, fairly large, having been built by the previousRanger, who was married. It was now used by another Ranger, as well asRifle-Eye, being near the borders of their two districts, and havingplenty of good water and good feed near. But although it was barelydark, Wilbur was tired enough to be glad to stretch himself on the cotin the little room and sink to sleep amid the soughing of the windthrough the pine needles of neighboring forest giants one and twohundred feet high.
Early the next morning, Wilbur tumbled up, went out and looked after hishorses, and came in hungry to breakfast.
"I had intended," said the Supervisor, "to go with you this morning andshow you the part of the range you are to look after. But I want to getat Peavey Jo, lest he should decide to leave suddenly, and Rifle-Eyewill show you the way instead. I had the tent pitched three or four daysago, when you ought to have been here. You'll find that to cover yourrange takes about six hours' good riding a day. Use a different horse,of course, each day, and remember that your horse in some ways is fullyas important as you are. You can stand a heap of things that he can't.A man will tire out any animal that breathes."
"And what have I to do?"
"You have three trails to ride, on three successive days, so that youwill have a chance of seeing all your range, or points that will commandall your range at least twice a week. And, of course, quite a good dealof it you will cover daily. You are to watch out for fires, and if yousee one, put it out. If you can't put it out alone, ride back to yourcamp and telephone here, as soon as it is evening. Sometimes it isbetter to keep working alone until you know there's some one to answerthe 'phone, sometimes it's better to get help right away. You can tellabout that when you have got to the fire and have seen what it is."
Wilbur nodded.
"That's easy enough to follow," he said.
"If a heavy rain comes, you had better ride back here, because for a fewdays after a big rain a fire isn't likely to start, and there's alwayslots of other stuff to be done in the forest, trail-building, and thingsof that sort."
"Very well, Mr. Merritt," answered the boy.
"There are no timber sales going on in that section of the forest, sothat if you see any cutting going on, just ride up quietly and get intoconversation with the people cutting and casually find out their names.Ask no other questions, but in the evening telephone to me."
"The telephone must be a big convenience. But," added Wilbur, "it seemsto take away the primitiveness of it, somehow."
"Wilbur," said the Supervisor seriously, "you don't want to run into themistake of thinking that life on a national forest is principally apicturesque performance. It's a business that the government is runningfor the benefit of the country at large. Anything that can be done tomake it efficient is tremendously important. The telephone already hassaved many a fearful night ride through bad places of the forest, hasbeen the means of stopping many a fire, and has saved many a life inconsequence. I think that's a little more important than'primitiveness,' as you call it."
The boy accepted the rebuke silently. Indeed, there was nothing more tosay.
"As for grazing, there's not much to be said, except that the sheeplimits are pretty well defined. The cattle can wander up the rangewithout doing much harm here, for the young forest is of pretty goodgrowth, but the sheep must stay down where they belong. Rifle-Eye willshow you where, and sheep notices have been posted all along the limits.And if there's anything you don't know, ask. And I guess that's aboutall."
The Supervisor rose to go, but Wilbur stopped him.
"How am I to arrange about supplies?" he said.
"The tent's near a spring," was the brief but all-embracing reply."There's a lake near by with plenty of trout, there's flour andgroceries and canned stuff in a cache, and the Guard that was there lastyear had some kind of a little garden. You can see what there is, and ifyou want seeds of any kind, let me know. And
there's nothing to preventyou shooting rabbits, though they're not much good this time of year."
"I'll get along all right, Mr. Merritt," said Wilbur confidently.
"I'll ride over on Sunday and see you anyway," added the Supervisor ashe strode through the doorway, meeting McGinnis, who was waiting for himoutside. Wilbur followed him to the door.
"'Tis all the luck in the world I'm wishin' ye," shouted the bigIrishman, "an' while ye're keepin' the fires away we'll be gettin'another nicely started for that old logjammer. Sure, we'll make it hotenough for him."
"Good hunting," responded Wilbur with a laugh, as the two mendisappeared under the trees.
Although only a day had passed since Wilbur had met the Supervisor andMcGinnis, it seemed to him that several days must have elapsed, so muchhad happened, and he found it hard to believe, when he found himself inthe saddle again beside the old Ranger, that they had started from Ben'sshack only the morning before.
"I like Mr. Merritt," he said as soon as they had got started. "I likeMcGinnis, too."
"I reckon he wasn't over-pleased with your bein' late?" queriedRifle-Eye.
"He wasn't," admitted the boy candidly, "but I don't blame him for that.I liked him just the same. But I don't think it's safe to monkey withhim. Now, McGinnis is easygoing and good-natured."
"So is a mountain river runnin' down a smooth bed. The river is just thesame old river when rocks get in the road, but it acts a lot different.Now, Merritt, when he's satisfied and when he ain't, don't vary, but Itell you, McGinnis can show white water sometimes."
"I don't think I'm aching to be that rock," said Wilbur with a grin.
"Wa'al," said the Ranger, "I ain't filed no petition for the nomination,not yet."
"But tell me, Rifle-Eye," said the boy, "what is McGinnis? He isn't aGuard, is he? and he doesn't talk like a Ranger from another part of theforest."
"No, he's an expert lumberman," replied the hunter. "He isn't attachedto this forest at all. He ain't even under the service of the governmentall the while. He generally is, because he knows his business an' theForest Service knows a good man when it sees one. They engage him for amonth, or three, or four months, an' he goes wherever there's a timbersale, or a big cut. Often as not, he teaches the Rangers a heap ofthings they don't know about lumberin', and the Forest Assistantsthemselves ain't above takin' practical pointers from him."
"But I thought Mr. Merritt said that McGinnis only knew this kind offorest?"
"He said McGinnis wouldn't know anything of an Eastern hardwood forest.That's right. But the government hasn't got any hardwood forests yet,though I guess they soon will in the Appalachians. But you can't losehim in any kind of pine. I've met up with him from Arizona to Alaska."
The old woodsman turned sharply from the trail, apparently into theunbroken forest.
"Do you see the trail?" he asked.
Wilbur looked on the ground to see if he could discern any traces. Notdoing so, he looked up at the Ranger, who had half turned in the saddleto watch him. As he shook his head in denial he noticed the oldmountaineer looking at him with grieved surprise.
"What do you reckon you were lookin' on the ground for?" he asked.
"For the trail," said Wilbur.
"Did ye think this was a city park?" said Rifle-Eye disgustedly.
"Well, I never saw a trail before that you couldn't see," respondedWilbur defiantly.
The old hunter stopped his horse.
"Turn half round," he said. Wilbur did so. "Now," he continued, "can yousee any trail through there?"
The boy looked through the long cool aisles of trees, realizing that hecould ride in any direction without being stopped by undergrowth, but hecould see nothing that looked like a trail.
"Now turn round and look ahead," said the hunter.
The moment Wilbur turned he became conscious of what the old mountaineerwanted to show him. Not a definite sign could he see, the ground wasuntrampled, the trees showed no blaze marks, yet somehow there was aconsciousness that in a certain direction there was a way.
"Yes," he said vaguely. "I can't see it, but I feel somehow that there'sa trail through there." He pointed between two large spruces that stoodnear.
The hunter slapped his pony on the neck.
"Get up there, Milly," he said, "we'll teach him yet! You see," hecontinued, "there ain't no manner of use in tryin' to see a trail. Ifthe trail's visible, the worst tenderfoot that ever lived could followit. It's the trail that you can't see that you've got to learn tofollow."
"And how do you do it, Rifle-Eye?" asked the boy.
"Same as you did just now. There's just a mite of difference where folkshave ridden, there's perhaps just a few seedlin's been trodden down,an' there's a line between the trees that's just a little straighterthan any animal's runway. But it's so faint that the more you thinkabout it, the less sure you are. But, by an' by, you get so that youcouldn't help followin' it in any kind of weather." And the old hunter,seeing the need of teaching Wilbur the intricacies of the pine countryforests, gave him hint after hint all the way to his little camp.
When he got there Wilbur gave an exclamation of delight. The camp, asthe Supervisor had said, was near a little spring, which indeed bubbledfrom the hillside not more than ten feet away from the tent, andgleaming on the slope a couple of hundred feet below, he could see thelittle lake which was "so full of trout" glistening itself like a silverfish in the sunlight. A tall flagstaff, with a cord all reeved for theflag, stood by the tent, and for the realities of life a strong,serviceable telephone was fastened to a tree.
Wilbur turned to the hunter, his eyes shining.
"What a daisy place!" he cried.
The old hunter smiled at his enthusiasm.
"Let's see the tent," he said, and was about to leap from his horse whenthe hunter called him.
"I reckon, son," he said, "there's somethin' you're forgettin'."
"What's that?" said Wilbur.
"Horses come first," said Rifle-Eye. "It's nigh dinner-time now. Where'sthe corral?"
But Wilbur's spirits were not to be dampened by any check.
"Is there a corral?" he said. "How bully! Oh, yes, I remember now Mr.Merritt said there was. Where is it, Rifle-Eye? Say, this is a jim-dandyof a camp!"
A few steps further they came to the corral, a pretty little meadow in aclearing, and in the far corner of it the stream which trickled from thespring near the house. Wilbur unsaddled with a whoop and turned thehorses in the corral, then hurried back to the camp. The old hunter,thinking perhaps that the boy would rather have the feeling of doing itall himself for the first time, had not gone near the tent. There was asmall outer tent, which was little more than a strip of canvas thrownover a horizontal pole and shielding a rough fireplace for rainyweather, and within was the little dwelling-tent, with a cot, and even atiny table. On the ground was Wilbur's pack, containing all the thingshe had sent up when he had broken his journey to go to the Double BarJ ranch, and there, upon the bed, all spread out in the fullness of itsglory, was a brand-new Stars and Stripes. For a moment the boy's breathwas taken away, then, with a dash, he rushed for it, and fairly dancedout to the flagpole, where he fastened it and ran it to the truck,shouting as he did so. His friend, entering into the boy's feelings,solemnly raised his hat, as the flag settled at the peak and waved inthe wind. Wilbur, turning, saw the old scout saluting, and with stirringpatriotism, saluted, too.
"And now," said the old hunter. "I'll get dinner."
"That you'll not," said Wilbur indignantly. "I guess this is my house,and you're to be my first guest."
WILBUR'S OWN CAMP.
His first photograph; taken the day the Supervisor dropped in to seehim.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]