A FOREST FIRE
Scott was up before day the next morning and he and Heth prepared a
hurried breakfast. He was quite excited. He had read volumes about the
myriad sheep which were grazed in the national forests of the great
Southwest and he was anxious to see them. The fact that he was now going
to have an actual part in the handling of them made him impatient to get
things going.
Heth had everything ready at the chute for counting in the sheep and
Scott had all the permits in hand approved by the supervisor, stating
just how many sheep each owner had paid for. Of course each herder knew
just how many he was supposed to take in and just what range had been
allotted to him. It was Scott’s job to count the sheep as they came
through the chute and see that the permits were not exceeded. As the old
gentleman had told Scott on the train, the arrangement was comparatively
new and many of the stockmen were by no means reconciled to the forest
service control. They had been running their stock free on those ranges
for years and they were not going to pay for the privilege without a
struggle. It was almost certain that there would be more than one
attempt to exceed the limit. Mr. Ramsey had told him as much and he was
anxious for the test.
At last the breakfast things were cleared away and they were ready for
the start. Scott caught up a little tally register such as the
headwaiters in a hotel dining room use, looked over the permits to see
that he had them all and started for the corral. It was light now and
time they were off.
Of course it was an old story to Heth and there was no reason why he
should be excited about it, but it seemed to Scott that he was
unnecessarily slow and apparently getting more nervous every minute.
Just outside the cabin Heth mumbled an excuse about some forgotten
article and went back. Scott, too impatient to wait for him any longer,
went on down to saddle Jed.
Heth peeped out of the door to make sure that Scott was out of earshot
and hurried to the telephone, but it rang before he got there. He
snatched down the receiver and answered eagerly, and a look of relief
came over his face when he recognized the ranger’s voice. “Hello, Heth,
is Burton there?”
“Just is,” replied Heth a little irritably. “He’s already gone down to
saddle up. Hold the line and I’ll call him.”
Heth shouted from the cabin door and Scott hurried up from the corral
exasperated at the further delay. “Dawson’s on the line,” Heth
explained.
Scott took the receiver. “Yes? Good morning, Mr. Dawson.... Fire....
Hadn’t I better send Heth over there, he knows the country better?”
Heth smiled and looked out of the window.
“Oh, very well, sir,” Scott concluded in an aggrieved tone. “I can
handle it. I’ll report as soon as I get back.”
He turned from the telephone keenly disappointed and found Heth looking
at him inquiringly.
“Dawson says that the lookout has reported a fire over on the north edge
of our district. He does not think that I know enough about sheep to
handle the job here alone and wants me to leave that to you and go look
up that hanged fire.”
“Then I suppose I shall have to sit on that fence all day and count
sheep while you take a little ride for your health,” Heth growled with
well-feigned disgust.
“I wish you had my job,” Scott complained. “I’ve fought a good many
fires, but I’ve never seen two thousand sheep in my life. Well, I’ll
hustle all I can and I may get back in time to see some of it.”
Scott ran down to the corral again to finish saddling Jed and soon came
clattering back to the cabin door. Heth was just coming out in a big
hurry. All signs of dallying had disappeared. “Have you got that tally
register?” he called.
Scott pulled it out of his pocket, Heth snatched it and started for his
horse.
“How is the best way to get over there?” Scott called after him, “the
Knobcone trail?”
“Yes,” Heth called back without stopping, “Knobcone and turn to the
left.”
“If he’d been in half as much of a hurry a while ago,” Scott growled,
“we would have been gone before that ’phone message came.”
He rode off doggedly along the ridge and turned off into the Knobcone
trail. That was the only trail in the district of any length that he had
not been over, but he had his map and did not anticipate any trouble in
following it. Most of the trails had been well built, were in good
condition and were plainly marked. The trail rose steadily and kept him
from making as good time as he had hoped. Knobcone mountain towered high
above him and three miles ahead when he came to an unmarked fork in the
trail.
“Of course,” Scott thought, “the only unmarked fork on the forest
because I am in a hurry and do not know this country.” He pulled out his
map. No such fork appeared. He could see the trail he was on leading
straight away up the steep slope to the peak and his first impulse was
to follow it, for he was sure that he could see all the north country
from there. But Heth had said to take the trail to the left. Possibly it
circled the peak and would bring him out on the north side without the
climb. In that case it would undoubtedly be quicker; and that decided
him.
For a mile or so the trail promised well. It followed a contour line
around the face of the hill and seemed to be leading just where Scott
wanted to go. The country was open, with only a scattering stand of bull
pine. The trail which followed a little natural bench had required very
little building, but it was distinct and offered good traveling. Scott
was making good time and having visions of counting some of the sheep in
spite of the fire when Jed came to a sudden stop on the edge of a steep
cañon.
The trail dived into it and was quickly lost in a dense growth of
Engelmann’s spruce. Some of the spruces poked so high up out of the
cañon that he could not see the other side. The descent was so steep
that he was afraid to try Jed on it till he found out where it came out.
So he dismounted and scrambled down on foot. The trail was very narrow
and the needles on the protruding spruce boughs stuck through his
clothes like thorns. He had misgivings of ever being able to get Jed
through there.
The cañon, instead of being a mere cut in the mountain side as he had
expected, was flat bottomed and broad. The trail continued to thread its
way through the spruce thicket, distinct but crooked. It seemed more
like a foot trail than a horse trail, and Scott looked in vain for any
hoof prints. He considered going across on foot to the north slope—it
could not be much over a mile now—to where he could see the valley
beyond. He would lose a great deal of time now if he attempted to ride
back to the fork and up over the mountain peak. He hurried on, pricking
his face and hands painfully on the spruce needles.
Suddenly he was confronted by a solid wall of spruce and a small sign
reading “Th 7—’14.” Scott gave an exclamation of disgust and started
back over the trail at a run regardless of the spruce boughs which
spurred him mercilessly at every jump. He knew what it was now. Some
experimental plots for the study of the growth of spruce had been laid
out there in the cañon and the trail was only a path leading to them. He
stubbed his toe in his haste and dived head first into one of the
prickly spruces.
“Heth may know all about sheep,” he growled as he panted up the steep
side of the cañon, “but he knows mighty little about the trails.” And if
he had had Heth right there then, he would probably have punched his
head, for Jed was gone.
At first Scott thought that the horse had merely wandered a few steps in
search of grass, but he could see quite a distance through the open
woods and there was no sign of him. Certainly he would not have gone
into that spruce thicket. He was involuntarily rubbing his hands and
thighs as he looked about him and he could not imagine anything going
into that hornet’s nest if it did not have to.
Then he suddenly remembered the strange horseman who had tried to steal
Jed a few days before. He hurriedly examined the place where he had left
the horse and found holes plowed in the ground by plunging hoofs.
Something had evidently startled him very suddenly for there was no sign
that he had moved till he made the sudden lunge.
Scott tried to reason it out. If it was the horseman he must have come
down the trail and if he had there would be tracks. He examined the back
trail for some distance without finding any trace of another track of
either horse or man. Adopting the tactics of an old hound that has lost
the scent, he made a large circle, examining the ground carefully at
every step, but he did not find anything till he came across Jed’s
tracks headed straight up the slope and still gouging the ground
desperately at every jump. He completed his circle without finding any
sign of anything having approached the horse.
Scott was badly puzzled but there was no time to figure it out now. He
had already lost an hour and a half. The next thing was to find the
horse. He took the running trail up the slope and followed it. At least
it was going in the direction which he wanted to take. But even this
advantage was only temporary for the tracks soon began to turn back
toward camp. Scott would have given up the chase then and gone about his
business on foot had he not noticed that the tracks seemed to indicate a
more moderate pace. He was about ready to give it up when he saw
something moving in a little clearing ahead and sighted Jed.
The horse was evidently much excited. His neck was arched and his head
was high. He would stand for a few seconds intently watching Scott’s
approach. Then, with head held to one side to avoid the long, dragging
reins he would trot nervously around a little circle before coming to
gaze once more. Scott approached him cautiously but could not get his
hand on him. Every time he reached for the bridle Jed would trot another
little circle. A sudden move to grab him sent him galloping to the other
side of the opening.
Then Scott remembered that in his impatience and lack of breath he had
neglected to speak softly. Ever since that first day when Jed had
surrendered to that soft, persuasive voice it had been the tone that
appealed to him. One could talk him into almost anything but he did not
yet know what it was to be forced or caught by craft. “What’s the
matter, boy?” Scott asked quietly as he approached him once more, and
Jed lowered his muzzle to Scott’s hand in apparent relief.
Scott mounted and rode eastward to intercept the Knobcone trail on the
higher slope. Jed traveled all right but seemed exceedingly nervous and
shied badly several times when they were going under a tree. Something
had evidently scared him pretty badly and that something seemed to have
been in a tree. They lost a little more time picking a way across two or
three bad gullies, but finally came out on the Knobcone trail about a
mile from the peak. There were no trees on this upper slope and Jed lost
all his nervousness and pegged away at the steep grade like a good
fellow.
As they reached the top Scott stretched his neck eagerly for a look into
the valley and sank back into the saddle with an exclamation of disgust.
It was a twin peak and the second one stood square in his path. The
trail followed the saddle between the two peaks and ascended the second
one about a mile away. Scott glanced at his watch. It was one o’clock.
That blunder of Heth’s in misdirecting him had cost him at least three
good hours. With a word to Jed he loped rapidly across the gentle dip of
the saddle and was soon on top of the second peak.
There was nothing to interfere with the view there. It was magnificent.
He seemed to be on the top of the world. There were plenty of other
mountains but they all seemed lower, and far to the southwest was the
main valley extending for miles and clear as crystal all the way. There
was none of that hazy effect to which he had always been accustomed at
home. And over there somewhere within range of his vision, if he had
only known how to locate it, was the mighty seven thousand foot cut of
the Grand Cañon.
“My,” he thought, “what a splendid place this would be for a look out.”
Only then did he remember why he had come. The magnificence of the view
had carried him away. “Can see everything in the world from here except
a fire. Not the faintest trace of smoke in all this end of Arizona.
There’s the lookout on that peak over there to the northeast. If that
jay over there has a glass, as he probably has, he can see me over here
gawking around looking for his fool fire.”
He dismounted and settled down beside a rock for a careful survey of the
country. He felt sure that there was no fire, for a smoke in that
atmosphere would stand out like an electric sign in a country town, but
he wanted to be entirely certain of it. Anyway it was already too late
to see much of the sheep counting and he might as well take advantage of
the opportunity to study the country.
Scott had always been very much interested in geology and he had never
had a better chance. He had read much about that Southwest country. He
knew that it had once been a great plateau which had eroded
tremendously, leaving the mountain ridges and mesa tops at or near the
original level, and cutting the valleys away to the level plains. And
here it was all spread out before him like an open book. He could look
across rows of mountain ridges practically all the same height and
scattered about the plains were great square-sided, flat-topped mesas,
of equal height and capped with the same hard substance. And he tried to
imagine those mesas and ridges crumbling away, as they undoubtedly were
doing, but so slowly that it could not be noticed, and the whole very
gradually returning to a vast flat plain.
It was a fascinating picture and Scott found it hard to concentrate on
the search for a wisp of smoke in the existence of which he had no
faith. At last the lengthening shadows on the plains beside the mesas
warned him that it was time to start for home. Jed was peacefully
cropping the thin grass on the bald knob of the mountain peak and was in
no more hurry to go than his master. With one more glance at the beauty
of it all and one more determined search for smoke Scott mounted and
turned Jed’s head toward home.
He rode slowly, enjoying the scenery and still dreaming of the mighty
changes which had built that remarkable country and did not realize till
he came into the shadow of the timber on the southeastern slope, that
darkness would overtake him before he could reach the cabin. There was
still another and better reason for him to stop dreaming. With the
return to the timber Jed’s nervousness returned also. He nearly spilled
Scott more than once by shying suddenly and dashing under a clump of
trees at full speed.
So close is the relationship of a man to his horse that he soon
communicated his nervousness to his rider. Scott could not see anything,
but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being followed. The
feeling became so strong that he determined to stop and see if there
really was anything there. Jed did not fancy stopping in the timber, but
Scott finally managed to bring him to a prancing halt on the far edge of
a little open park. He glanced back and felt sure that he saw something
in the trail just within the shadow of the trees. But it did not
advance.
“Pshaw,” Scott grumbled, “I’ll be shying at a bunch of brush myself
after awhile.”
He rode on, determined not to look back, but the temptation became too
strong. He cast a glance over his shoulder and was sure that he saw a
silent shadow cross a little opening in the woods not fifty yards back.
He rode ahead slowly and stopping again on the far edge of another
little opening wheeled suddenly about.
This time his maneuver was successful. A large mountain lion loped
lithely out of the shadow into the open before he seemed to realize how
close he was. Scott had read of these queer animals trailing people
silently for miles with no apparent object, but he had never believed
it. No sooner did the great cat see them not more than thirty yards away
than he stopped in apparent embarrassment and gazed indifferently about
the country, neither advancing or retreating. Scott saw all this in the
fraction of a second and longed for a rifle, but it would not have done
him any good if he had had a whole arsenal—for Jed saw the cougar almost
as soon as Scott did and ended the interview with one wild snort and a
still wilder plunge which almost shook Scott out of the saddle.
There was no reasoning with him now. Neither soft words nor hard-curbed
bit had any influence at all. By chance he happened to hit the trail—or
so it seemed to Scott—and down it he went at a terrific pace. He paid no
attention to grades or washouts, up hill or down, over smooth trail and
broken ruts, he jumped four feet in the air over every shadow and seemed
to duck under every tree. Scott leaned over on his neck to avoid the
limbs and brush and clung on for dear life. That first ride over the
corral fence and across the open plain was nothing to this. But Jed was
as sure footed as a mountain goat. He swung out of the Knobcone trail
safely and swept along the ridge with a burst of speed which was almost
unbelievable.
Scott was wondering whether he would attempt to turn him down the trail
to the cabin or let him run it out along the ridge, but he really did
not have anything to say about it. Jed was in complete control of the
home trip. He whirled into the side trail with a scattering of gravel
and a suddenness that left Scott hanging to the saddle bow to avoid the
bushes beside the trail, and stopped with all four feet sliding before
the gate of the corral. He was trembling violently and when Scott came
to dismount he found that he himself was trembling even worse. He tried
to lead Jed into the barn but the horse absolutely refused to go under a
roof or anything else. It was only in the open corral that he seemed at
all at ease. He was used to the plains and knew that nothing living
could catch him there.
Jed did not seem in the least distressed by his long race and when he
had quieted down a little Scott went in to report on the fire. Heth was
not there. He called up the ranger and reported with some heat that the
fire had been a fake, and no trace of smoke was to be seen in any part
of that region. The ranger only laughed, said it was better to be sure
than to take a chance on burning up, and did not seem in the least
displeased with the lookout for reporting the fire falsely.
Deprived of the satisfaction of calling down Heth for sending him off on
a blind trail, and indignant at the lack of sympathy on the part of the
ranger, Scott scraped together a hurried supper, wrote up his diary in
rather warm language and went to his bed in an ugly mood.
Nor would it have improved his temper if he could have been up at the
ranger station and heard the private conference which was then in
session between the ranger and Heth.