CHAPTER XXVI
_The Doctor's Talk_
Tom went at once to his chopping, for being, as the Doctor said, "ahealthy young animal," his sleep, his bath and his breakfast hadcompletely cured him of his exhaustion.
At noon the boys made a hasty dinner, as was their custom when chopping,for the days were still short and they liked to utilize as many of thedaylight hours as they could.
They had contracted to deliver a specified number of ties by the firstof April or sooner, and they had already completed that part of theirtask; but their contract permitted them to send down as many more ties,doubling the number if they could; while, as for cordwood and bridgetimbers, there was no limit set upon their deliveries. They were anxiousto cut all they could and thus to make their winter's work as profitableas possible, and so they were not disposed to waste any part of a day sofine as this one was.
While they were chopping in the afternoon, just as a big tree on whichthe Doctor was at work began swaying to its fall, a large raccoon whichhad been hiding in the hollow of one of its upper limbs leaped to theground. The Doctor, who had become almost as "quick on trigger" as Tomhimself, seized a shotgun and fired. The animal fell instantly, riddledwith turkey shot, and a minute later the Doctor held it up by the tail,saying:
"Here's a supper for us, boys! It'll be a change from bear beef, anyhow, and you are to have the skin, Tom."
The boys shouted for joy, for they were growing exceedingly weary ofbear meat by this time, and there are few things more appetizing than afat raccoon. So the Doctor carried his game to the house, where Edproceeded at once to dress it for supper.
It was not until after supper that Tom related the story of his mountainadventure, and as he was an expert mimic, he succeeded in so presentingthe mountaineer's part in the conversation as to cause a deal oflaughter, in which Tom himself joined heartily, although his own memoryof his difficult journey was anything but ludicrous.
The weather had grown exceedingly cold again and the logs were piledhigh on the fire. As the boys basked in the heat that was radiated intothe room, some one said: "What a pity it is to waste all the heat thatis going off up the chimney! It would run an engine."
"So it would," said the Doctor, "but that is what all the world isconstantly doing. The wood that we have burned since supper would supplya French or Italian house with fire for a month at least."
"But how?" asked Jack. "Surely wood burns up as fast in France or Italyas it does here."
"Of course. But the French and Italians--especially the Italians--havevery little wood, and they use it very sparingly. When they make an openfire it is made of sticks about eight or ten inches long, very small andusually consisting of round wood. They rarely have a split stick,because they never cut down a tree, or if they do they use every part ofit that is bigger than your wrist for some kind of lumber useful in thearts."
"But if they don't cut down trees," asked Harry, "how do they get anywood at all?"
"They have very few trees," answered the Doctor, "and instead of cuttingthem down they trim off the branches from time to time and make firewood of them, utilizing every particle, even down to the smallest twigs,which they cut into eight inch lengths and tie up in bundles for use inboiling their soup kettles. In some parts of Southern California,"continued the Doctor, "they get their fire wood in the same way, thoughthey do not have to bother with the little twigs, as tree growth isenormously rapid in that winter-less climate. At San Bernardino I haveseen many houses standing in large grounds, with a row of cottonwoodtrees all around at the edge of the sidewalk. I have often seen thesetrees with every limb cut off close to the stem of the tree--not morethan a few feet from it at farthest. In that way the owner gets his firewood--he doesn't need much of it--for three years to come. The treesthus pollarded quickly put out a host of new branches and as these growrapidly in a climate that has no winter, they are ready to be cut againthree years later."
"But if trees grow so rapidly there," asked Tom, "how is it that thereare no woodlands there?"
"Because it is a rainless region. It is a desert simply for a lack ofwater, and when men build reservoirs up in the mountains and bring waterdown in irrigating ditches that desert literally blossoms like a rose.The soil is as rich as any down in our valleys and creek low groundshere, and as there is no winter every living thing grows all the yearround. At Riverside, for example, you find a luxuriance of growthunmatched anywhere in these mountains. Eucalyptus trees border all theroads, towering to great heights. Back of them are orange and lemongroves and still further back vast vineyards in which the stumps of thevines--for they are cut back to a stump every year, to make thembear--are from four to six inches in diameter, so that they need nostakes to support them as vines do here. Often also there are rows ofluxuriant pepper trees flourishing in the middle of the road. In short,you can nowhere on earth except in swamps, find a more luxuriant riot ofvegetation than at Riverside. Yet until men made reservoirs and ditchesand brought water down there from the mountains the ground that nowsupports all this splendid growth was as bare as the palm of your hand,and when you drive out of Riverside in any direction, you come instantlyto an absolute desert, without even a weed growing on it, the moment youpass beyond the line of irrigating ditches."
"Is there much land of that sort?" asked Jack, "land that is fertile Imean in itself, but is desert because of a lack of water?"
"Millions of acres of it, though much of it has already been redeemed byirrigation. General Sherman once said that when he first crossed theSan Joaquin and Sacramento valleys he could have bought the whole ofthem for twenty-five cents, and in fact would not have given a penny forboth. Yet to-day those valleys are the most productive wheat fields inthe world, not even excepting Minnesota and the Dakotas. In a singleyear they have been known to furnish fifty million bushels of wheat forexport, after feeding the Pacific coast fat."
"But is there always water to be had for irrigating purposes?" askedJack, who was becoming intensely interested.
"Practically, yes," the Doctor answered. "That is a country of vastmountain ranges, all the way from the Rockies to the sea, with greatvalleys and plains lying between. It is almost always raining or snowingin the mountains, and indeed the tops of the higher ranges are nearlyalways snow clad, even in summer. I remember once crossing the Utahdesert, which lies between the Rocky mountains proper and the Wassachrange. There is no sand or gravel there, but only a singularly richsoil, barren for lack of rain alone. During the entire trip across wewere never for one minute out of sight of either a snow storm or a rainstorm some where in the mountains that surround the desert. Obviouslyenough water falls in the mountains to make of that desert the verygarden spot of America when ever men take measures to store the waterand bring it down to the desert lands below. The Mormons, who have madea rich farming region in this way out of the desert west of the Wassachrange, have already begun doing this on the eastern side in a limitedway. At Pleasant Valley they have brought water down from the mountainsand made gardens that are a delight to the eye and mind. They grow therethe finest black Hamburg grapes in the world. But neither that nor anyother of the great deserts can be redeemed entirely until either thegovernment or some great company able to spend money by scores ofmillions shall undertake the work in a systematic way, selling waterrights with every farm. Of course no farmer can provide a water supplyfor himself from mountains twenty miles away, but if a great company orthe government would catch and store the water and sell the right to useit to each farmer, as is done in parts of Southern California, the majorpart of what used to be called 'the great American desert' would soonbecome the great American garden. Of course the alkali deserts of Nevadaand worse still, the arid, sandy, gravelly, soilless plains of Arizonaand New Mexico can never be reclaimed in that way. But the regions thatare barren only because they get no rain, can be redeemed and verycertainly will be when this country becomes so crowded with populationthat every acre of arable land will be needed."
"But isn't t
his country pretty badly crowded already?" asked Tom.
"Crowded? No," answered the Doctor. "It is very sparsely settledinstead. This country has a population of only twenty people to thesquare mile, while Belgium has 529 and England 540 to the square mile.Long before we fill up to any such extent as that all our arid landsthat are fit for cultivation will be watered from the mountains, andregions where now even a cactus cannot grow will produce wheat, corn,cattle and fruits in lavish abundance. But I say, boys, we've talkedtill after eleven o'clock. This will never do; let's get to bed."