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Boy Scouts
in the Northwest
Or
Fighting Forest Fires
By
Scout Master, G. Harvey Ralphson
Author of
"Boy Scouts in Mexico; or
On Guard with Uncle Sam."
"Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone; or
The Plot Against Uncle Sam."
"Boy Scouts in the Philippines; or
The Key to the Treaty Box."
_Embellished with full page and other illustrations._
M. A. Donohue & Company, Chicago
COPYRIGHT 1911.
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by
M. A. Donohue & Co.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY 7
II. THE SIGNAL IN THE SKY 20
III. JUST A TYPEWRITER RIBBON 28
IV. THE AEROPLANE IN DANGER 45
V. THE REVELATION OF A TRAGEDY 58
VI. ABOVE THE CLOUDS AT NIGHT 71
VII. A KEY WITH A BROKEN STEM 85
VIII. FATE OF THE STEAK A LA BRIGAND 100
IX. THE CHAOS OF A BURNING WORLD 113
X. CHASING THE MILKY WAY 125
XI. THE LUCK OF A BOWERY BOY 137
XII. A MEMBER OF THE OWL PATROL 152
XIII. OFF IN A DESPERATE MISSION 166
XIV. THE BATTLE IN THE AIR 179
XV. TOLD BY THE FOREST RANGER 191
XVI. HOW A CAT TREED A WOLF 206
XVII. THE TIME FOR THE ROUND-UP 219
XVIII. TWO INANIMATE WITNESSES 230
XIX. THE MAN BEHIND THE SCENES 244
Boy Scouts
SERIES
EVERY BOY AND GIRL IN THE LAND
WILL WANT TO READ THESE INTERESTING
AND INSTRUCTIVE BOOKS
WRITTEN BY
That Great Nature Authority and
Eminent Scout Master
G. HARVEY RALPHSON
of the Black Bear Patrol
The eight following great titles are now ready, printed from large,
clear type on a superior quality of paper, embellished with original
illustrations by eminent artists, and bound in a superior quality of
binder's cloth, ornamented with illustrative covers stamped in two
colors of foil and ink from unique and appropriate dies:
1 Boy Scouts in Mexico;
or, On Guard with Uncle Sam
2 Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone;
or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam
3 Boy Scouts in the Philippines;
or, The Key to the Treaty
4 Boy Scouts in the Northwest;
or, Fighting Forest Fires
5 Boy Scouts in a Motor Boat;
or, Adventures on the Columbia River
6 Boy Scouts in an Airship;
or, The Warning from the Sky
7 Boy Scouts in a Submarine;
or, Searching An Ocean Floor
8 Boy Scouts on Motor Cycles;
or, With the Flying Squadron
The above books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent
prepaid to any address, upon receipt of 50c each, or any three for
$1.15, or four for $1.50, or seven for $2.45, by the publishers
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
701-727 S. Dearborn Street, CHICAGO
BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTHWEST
OR Fighting Forest Fires
CHAPTER I.--A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY.
On a sizzling hot afternoon near the middle of August, in the year
nineteen eleven, three boys dressed in the khaki uniform of the Boy
Scouts of America stood on a lofty plateau near the British frontier,
watching with anxious eyes the broken country to the south and west.
"Nothing stirring yet!" Jack Bosworth said, turning to Pat Mack and
Frank Shaw, his companions. "Ned and Jimmie may be in trouble somewhere.
I wish we had waited and traveled with them."
"Traveled with them!" repeated Frank Shaw. "We couldn't travel with
them. We were fired--given the grand bounce--twenty-three sign. Ned
seemed to want the space in the atmosphere we occupied at Missoula.
Serve them good and right if they do get distributed over the scenery."
"Never you mind about Ned Nestor and Jimmie McGraw," Pat Mack put in.
"They can get along all right if someone isn't leading them by the hand.
Suppose we fix up the camp and get ready for our eats?"
The boys turned away from the lip of the canyon upon which they had been
standing and busied themselves putting up shelter tents and unpacking
provisions and camping tools, as they called their blankets and cooking
vessels.
They had passed the previous night in a sheltered valley lower down,
sleeping on the ground, under the stars, and had breakfasted from the
scanty stock of eatables carried in their haversacks. Early that morning
a train of burros had landed their outfit at the end of a rough trail
some distance below, and the boys, with long labor and patience, had
carried it up to the plateau.
The men in charge of the burros had of course volunteered to assist in
the work of carrying the goods to the place selected for the camp, but
their offers had been declined with thanks, for the Boy Scouts were
determined that for the present no outsider should know the exact
location of their temporary mountain home.
Those who have read the previous books of this series[1] will not be at
a loss to understand why the location of the camp in the Northwest was
for a time to remain a secret, so far as possible. Ned Nestor, for whom
those on the plateau were now waiting, had, some months before that hot
August afternoon, enlisted in the Secret Service of the United States
government.
Accompanied by Frank Shaw, Jack Bosworth, Jimmie McGraw and others, he
had seen active diplomatic service during the Mexican revolution, had
unearthed a plot against the government in the Panana Canal Zone, and
had rendered signal service in the Philippines, where he had assisted in
preventing an armed revolt against the supremacy of the United States
government.
At the close of his service in the Philippines, he had been commissioned
to investigate forest fire conditions in the Great Northwest. The boy
had a wonderful native talent for detective work, and, besides, it was
thought by the officials in charge of the matter that a party of Boy
Scouts, camping and roving about in northern Idaho and Montana and in
the southern sections of British Columbia, would be better able to size
up the forest fire situation than a party of foresters or government
secret service men.
So Ned and his four chums had sailed away from Manila, reached San
Francisco in due season, and, after receiving further instructions and
arranging for supplies, had headed for the frontier. At Missoula,
Montana, he had sent Frank, Jack and Pat on ahead, after giving them the
exact location of the future encampment and arranging for the
transportation of supplies.
From the first there had been some mystery in the minds of the three
concerning Ned's strange halt at Missoula. They could not understand why
he had sent them on ahead of him, for he usually directed every detail
of their journeyings. When questioned concerning this innovation, Ned
had only laughed and told the boys to keep out of the jaws of wild
animals and not get lost.
"I'll be in camp almost as soon as you are," he had said, "and will take
the first mountain meal with you."
Yet the boys had reached the vicinity of the chosen location on the
previous day, and Ned had not made his appearance. Naturally the boys
were more than anxious about the safety of their leader.
"Did Ned say anything to you while at Missoula, about an aeroplane?"
Jack asked of Frank as they unpacked bacon and corn meal. "You know,
before we left the Philippines," he went on, slicing the bacon for the
coming repast, "the officials said we were to have a government
aeroplane. I was just wondering if the thing would get here after we
have no use for it."
"He said nothing to me about the arrival of the aeroplane," Frank
replied, "but I presume he knows when the government air machine will be
on hand. It may be packed up at Missoula, for all we know," he added,
"and Ned may have waited there for the purpose of getting it ready for
flight."
"What the dickens can we do with an aeroplane in this wilderness?"
demanded Pat, wiping the sweat from his face. "We can't run around among
the trees with it, can we? Nor yet we can't get gasoline up here to run
it with. Anyway, I'm no friend to these airships."
"When they travel with upholstered dining coaches in connection, and
sleeping cars on behind," laughed Jack, "you'll think they're all to the
good. If we can't chase around among the trees in an aeroplane," he
continued, "we can sail over the forests and high peaks, can't we?
Without something of the sort, it would take us about a thousand years
to get a look-in at this wild country."
"Well," Pat grumbled, "I only hope we won't get our necks broken falling
out of the contraption. It may be all right to go up in one of the
foolish things, but I think I'd rather take chances on going over
Niagara Falls in a rain-water barrel."
"I half believe he will come in the aeroplane," Frank said, shading his
eyes with his hand and looking out to the south. "He wants to surprise
us, I take it, and that is why he acted so mysteriously about the
matter."
"What about Jimmie?" demanded Pat, who would take almost any risk on
water, but who was filled with horror the moment his feet left the solid
earth. "He can't bring Jimmie along in his pocket, can he? And even if
he managed to get the little scamp up on the thing, some trick would be
turned that would land the 'plane on top of a high tree."
"Two can ride an aeroplane, all right," Frank insisted. "Anyway, quit
your knocking. Ned knows what he is about, and we'll wait here for him
if we have to remain until the Rocky Mountains wash down into the
Pacific Ocean."
"Suppose we climb up on the shelf above," Jack suggested, "and see if we
can find anything in the sky that looks like an aeroplane. I really
think Ned and Jimmie will travel here on the air line."
Pat fished a field-glass out of his haversack and passed it over to
Jack.
"You boys go on up," he said, "and see what there is to be seen. I'll
stay here and cook this bacon. I could eat a hog on foot right this
minute. Where did you put those canned beans?"
"Never you mind the canned beans," laughed Jack. "It will be time enough
to open them when you get the bacon fried to a crisp. I see our finish
if you got one of the bean cans opened. Say, but I could eat a peak off
the divide!"
"Well, the divide is up there, all right," Pat grinned, "go on up and
take a bite off it. On this side that ridge away up there the rivers run
into the Pacific ocean. On the other side they run into the Atlantic
ocean. Split a drop when you get on top and send your best wishes to
both oceans. And don't you remain away too long, either, for this bacon
is going to be cooked in record-breaking time."
Leaving Pat to prepare the supper, Frank and Jack turned their faces
upward toward the main divide of the Rocky Mountains, 4,000 feet above
their heads. It was a splendid scene, and they enjoyed it to the full.
To the north the green forests of British Columbia stood crinkling under
the almost direct rays of the August sun, to the east, almost over their
heads, stood the backbone of the continent of North America, to the
south stretched the broken land of Montana, while to the west lay the
valleys and ridges of Idaho, Montana, and Washington beyond which pulsed
the mighty swells of the Pacific.
Immediately to the north of the position occupied by the camp, and
within a mile of the international boundary line, Kintla lake lay like a
mirror in the lap of the mountains, reflecting peaks and silent groves
in its clear waters. From the lake, ten miles in length by half that in
width, an outlet flowed westward into the North Branch of the Flathead
river.
The level plateau where the camp had been pitched was not far from two
acres in extent, with the bulk of the mountain to the east, a drop of a
thousand feet to the south, and steep but negotiable inclines to the
west and north. The lake was 300 feet below the level of the plateau,
which was about 3,000 feet above the sea level and 4,000 feet below the
summit of the divide at that point in the long range of mountains.
There were peaks to the north and south which showed eternal snow and
ice, but there was a lowering of the shoulder of the great chain
directly to the east, so there was no snow in sight there. There were
forest trees low down in the canyon to the south, and on the slopes to
the west and north, but the plateau and the sharp rise toward the summit
were bare.
While Pat sliced his bacon and mixed corn-meal, soda, salt and water to
make hoecakes, to be fried in bacon grease, Frank and Jack wormed their
way up the face of the mountain, toward a shelf of rock some hundred
feet above the plateau. It was hard climbing, but the lads persisted,
and soon gained the elevation they sought, from which it was hoped to
gain a fine view of the country toward Missoula.
"Good thing we don't want to go any farther," Frank exclaimed, throwing
himself down on the ledge and wiping his streaming face. "We couldn't
scale the wall ahead with a ladder. Now," he went on, "look out there to
the south and see if there's an aeroplane in sight."
Jack brought out the field-glass and looked long and anxiously, but
there was no sign of a man-made bird in the clear sky.
"I don't believe, after all, that he'll come in an aeroplane," the boy
said, directly. "Suppose he took a notion to get a motor boat and run up
the north branch of the Flathead river, and so on into Kintla lake, down
there? How long would it take him to make the trip?"
"About ten thousand years," was Frank's reply. "He never could get up
the north branch. There's too many waterfalls. Why, man, the stream
descends several thousand feet before it gets to sea level."
"Anyway," Jack replied, "if you'll get out of my way I'll take a look at
the lake through the glass."
"You'll probably see him come sailing up the slope in a battleship,"
Frank said, in a sarcastic tone.
Jack, without speaking, turned his glass to the north and gazed long and
anxiously over the lake. Presently Frank saw him give a start of
surprise and lean forward, as if to get a closer view of some object
which had come into the field of the lens.
"What is it?" he asked.
Jack passed him the glass with no word of explanation, and the boy
hastily swept the shores of the mountain lake.
"I don't see any motor boat," he said, directly.
"Well, what do you see?" Jack asked, expectantly.
"For one thing," Frank replied, "the smoke of a campfire."
"I saw that, too," Jack said, "and didn't know what to make of it. Also,
I saw a rowboat sneaking around that green point to the east."
"That is what is puzzling me," Frank replied. "Years ago there was a
Blackfoot reservation just over the divide, and a Flathead Indian
reservation down by Flathead lake, to the south, but I had no idea the
Indians were still about. Still, the people you saw were probably
Indians. Suppose we go down there and look the matter up. We've got to
have some sort of a yarn to tell Pat when we get back to camp."
The two boys scrambled down almost vertical surfaces, edged along narrow
ledges, slid down easier inclines, and finally came to the rim of beach
about the lake. There, at the eastern end of the pretty body of water,
they came upon the still glowing embers of a fire.
Close to the spot where the remains of the fire glimmered in the hot
air, they saw the mouth of a cavern which seemed to tunnel under the
body of the mountain to the east. There were numerous tracks about the
fire, and some of them led to the entrance to the cavern.
"Whoever built this fire," Jack exclaimed, "wore big shoes, so it wasn't
Indians. No, wait!" he added, in a moment, "there are tracks here which
show no heel marks. What do you make of that?"
"Must be moccasins," Frank said. "The Indians may still be in the woods
about here."
"I'm going into the cavern to see what's stirring there," Jack said,
"and before I go I'll have a look at my artillery."
The boy looked his revolver over, and before Frank could utter a
warning, he darted away into the gloom of the cave. Frank did not follow
him, but turned in the direction of the point where the boat had
disappeared.
A dozen yards on his way he stopped and listened. A voice, sounding like
that of a person in a deep well, reached his ears, and he turned back.
He gained the mouth of the cavern in half a minute and plunged inside.
It was dark a dozen feet from the entrance, but he struck a match and
moved on, finally coming to a smooth wall which appeared to shut off
farther progress.
When he turned about and faced the opening every object between where he
stood and the mouth stood revealed against the bright sunshine outside.
There were a few loose rocks, a rude bench, a small goods box, and
nothing else. Jack was nowhere in eight.
He examined the walls of the cavern but discovered no lateral passages.
He called out to his chum, but received no response. Where was Jack? If
he had left the cavern he would have been seen. It was a perplexing
mystery, and the boy sat down on the box and listened for a repetition
of the sounds he had heard.
For a moment no sounds came, then a voice, seemingly coming out of the
solid wall behind him reached his ears. He could distinguish no words
for a time, and then it seemed that he was being called by name.
He called to Jack again and again, but received no answer. Jack was
evidently there somewhere, but where? The smooth walls gave no
indication of any hidden openings, and there was in view no crevice
through which a voice behind the walls might penetrate. It seemed either
a silly joke or an impenetrable mystery.
-----
[1] "Boy Scouts in Mexico; or, On Guard With Uncle Sam," "Boy Scouts in
the Canal Zone; or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam," and "Boy Scouts in the
Philippines; or, The Key to the Treaty Box." Chicago: M. A. Donohue &
Company, Publishers.