Bennie Achieves a Dog, and the Party Puts Out a Forest Fire
The next day, Sunday, they stayed in Bend, and, to tell the truth, the
boys were just as well pleased. They were all three sore and stiff.
Dumplin’ had a cut on his knee, Spider’s shoulder ached where a dead
pine limb had torn both his shirt and his skin, and Bennie had three big
black and blue bruises on his legs. The two scouts spent most of the day
writing letters home, and also writing up the account of their long hike
at Crater Lake, to Mount Scott, as part of the examination for a merit
badge in hiking. Spider also studied his government pamphlet on Oregon
trees, which he had bought at the Crater Lake Inn. Uncle Billy said that
when they got into the heart of the Cascades they would encounter a
great number of different kinds of trees, and Spider was determined to
identify them.
While they were busy with this, Uncle Billy was busy at the telephone,
arranging with a man who lived at Sisters, a little town nearer the
mountains, to meet them Monday morning with a pack train, and take them
in to Mount Jefferson.
“I don’t know whether we are going to get to Mount Jefferson or not,”
the doctor said at luncheon. “Norman tells me the snow up here was even
heavier last winter than it was at Crater Lake. He says he tried to get
over the Divide to Jefferson yesterday, by the short way, and the snow
blocked him. We’ll have to go in past Marion Lake. That’ll take three
days, and maybe we won’t get there that way. I certainly never knew so
much snow at this time of year.”
He was wiping the perspiration off his forehead as he spoke, which made
everybody laugh. But they could look out of the big plate glass window
at the west end of the dining-room and see, fifty miles away, the
white-clad summits of the Three Sisters, three big mountains side by
side, shining in the sun.
“Are we going to be on horseback all this trip to Jefferson?” Dumplin’
asked plaintively.
“You can walk if you want to,” his father smiled.
“I feel now as if I’d have to,” Dumplin’ sighed. “Wish they made
pneumatic saddles.”
That afternoon, between trips to the garage to pack the cars, and trips
to the drug store to buy Spider a note-book for his tree observations,
and to get ice cream sodas, Bennie acquired a dog. Maybe it would be
more truthful to say that the dog acquired Bennie. He was a young dog,
hardly more than a puppy, one of those very small collies which the
western sheep men use in herding their flocks. Dumplin’ called him a
half portion dog. The poor little chap had evidently lost his master, or
else he had wandered away from home. He didn’t seem to worry much,
however. What he was plainly looking for was somebody, anybody, who
would be kind to him. He trotted up and down the street, following
different people and trying to attract their attention.
The second time Bennie saw him, he said, “I don’t believe that dog’s got
a master. He’s looking for a kind home. Come here, Towser.”
He whistled to the pup, and the dog came bounding up to him, tail
wagging madly, and crouched puppy fashion at his feet. When Bennie
stooped to pat him, he sprang up, put his forepaws on the scout’s chest,
and tried to lick his face.
“Gosh, you nice little mutt!” Bennie exclaimed. “I sure like dogs, and
you’re a regular dog.”
To this the dog replied with a whine of joy, and from that moment he
clung to Bennie like a brother.
“Now you got him, what you going to do with him?” Spider asked, as the
pup bounded along beside them, fairly shaking with delight, as his tail
switched back and forth.
“Dunno. Get him some grub first, I guess. He looks awful thin.”
Bennie went around to the hotel kitchen and begged some meat scraps,
which the pup devoured greedily. After that, he tried to follow Bennie
into the hotel. No dogs were allowed inside, however.
“I guess he’ll go away now,” Bennie said, shutting the door in the poor
dog’s face.
But when they came out from dinner the dog was still lying in front of
the door, and as Bennie went out to the sidewalk he leaped upon him,
trying to lick his face. He settled down on the door-mat when the boys
went in for the night, and the last thing they saw was his face looking
in at them through the screen, his eyes reproachful and sad at being
left out.
And when they came down at six in the morning, he was still there! At
sight of Bennie, he emitted a glad yelp and began scratching at the
door.
“Say, that pup is certainly fond of me,” Bennie said, going out and
petting it. “Can’t I take him along, Uncle Billy?”
“Not a chance,” the doctor answered. “We’ve got troubles enough.
Besides, he probably belongs to somebody here in Bend. He’ll go home
when we’ve gone.”
When they were putting the last of the baggage into the cars in front of
the hotel the dog leaped into the doctor’s car and sat on the driver’s
seat, wagging his tail furiously, as much as to say, “Well, well, I’m
all ready to start; hurry up!”
He had to be put out three times before the cars were ready. When the
order came to start, Bennie hugged him hard, while the pup licked at his
face.
“Good-bye, you little mutt, you,” said he. “If my uncle wasn’t a
flinty-hearted old thing, we’d take you along.”
Then Bennie climbed over into the car, and they were off for Mount
Jefferson. They ran north out of Bend, and then turned west, toward the
distant mountains. In the early morning light, clear as a bell, they
could see the snow-clad peaks rising against the sky, all the way from
the Three Sisters in front of them to Mount Hood, a hundred miles to the
north. More than fifty miles away, northwestward, rose the sharp,
glittering white pyramid of Mount Jefferson, their objective. It was
their first sight of it, and the doctor slowed down the car so they
could have a good look.
And as he did so, they heard a little yip beside the car—and there was
the pup, his tongue hanging out, his chest heaving, but his eyes fixed
on Bennie in triumph!
“Oh, Uncle Billy, the poor little mutt!” Bennie cried. “Some speed, I’ll
say. He’s going to follow us till he runs his head off. Can’t I take him
in?”
The words were hardly out of his mouth, and the doctor had no time to
reply, before the pup, with one spring, landed in Bennie’s lap.
“Looks as if you _had_ taken him in,” the doctor grinned. “Well, let him
stay now. But you’ll have to feed him out of your own rations. We can’t
pack food for a dog.”
The dog, with wiggles of his tail and body that expressed his joy as
plainly as any words could, snuggled down in Bennie’s lap and tried to
lick him.
“What are you going to name him?” Dumplin’ called out from the other
car.
“I guess his name is Mutt,” Bennie laughed.
“Seeing’s how we are going to Jefferson, better call him Jeff,” Dumplin’
retorted.
“Jeff it is,” Bennie answered, grinning at the joke. “Good old Jeff! I
bet he’s a good dog. I bet he can round up a flock of sheep. I’m going
to take him home when we go.”
“How pleased your mother will be,” said his uncle.
The cars started up again now, and they rode for almost fifty miles
northwestward, getting presently into the yellow pine forests and then
the foot-hills, so that Jefferson disappeared entirely from view. At
last the doctor turned his car down a side road, and stopped in front of
a small house, all by itself in a forest clearing beside a lovely little
river. Opposite this house was a barn, and in the barnyard was a herd of
horses.
“Allingham Ranger Station! All out! Far as we go!” cried the doctor.
“Hello, Norman!”
This last he shouted to a stocky young man, in khaki riding breeches and
leather leggings, who was standing by the barn.
Norman was to be their guide. The horses were his. With him he had two
more men, one to take care of the horses and one to cook. That made
eight saddle horses needed for the party. There were eight more pack
horses to carry the luggage. Although it was only 9:30 o’clock, it took
them till almost one to get the cars unloaded, and the tents, dunnage
bags, sleeping bags, provisions, cameras, alpenstocks, and so on, packed
on the eight horses. Bennie and Spider were of little use in this
packing process, because they knew nothing about it. They brought the
stuff to be packed to Norman and his two helpers, and watched them stow
it across the pack saddles, stretch a canvas over, and then throw a long
rope over the heap and under the horse’s belly, back and forth several
times, till, when it was finally hauled taut and tied, it made a large
diamond-shaped design of the load, and held it firmly on.
“Say, that’s a complicated process,” said Spider. “I can tie most knots
after I’ve seen somebody do it, but I couldn’t do that.”
“It takes some practice to throw a diamond hitch,” Norman laughed.
“Well, let’s saddle our old cayuses now.”
The eight riding horses were saddled, the boys each attending to his own
nag. But Norman inspected the saddles before they mounted, and tightened
the girths.
“Now, adjust your stirrups,” he said. “Don’t have them too short. Two
fingers between you and the saddle when you stand up is enough. We’re
not going to ride in Central Park this afternoon.”
“Where are we going to ride, by the way?” the doctor asked. “Any chance
of getting into Jefferson Park?”
“Not a chance,” said Norman. “We can’t even get in to Hunt’s Cove
direct, as I ’phoned you. We’ve got to detour around by Marion Lake. Too
much snow.”
“Hope he knows where all those places are,” whispered Bennie.
“But can we climb Jefferson from Hunt’s Cove?” the doctor asked. “Has
anybody ever done it?”
“Never heard of anybody. But we can have a look.”
“Why can’t you climb it from Hunt’s Cove—wherever that is?” Bennie
asked.
“Maybe you can,” Norman replied. “But it’s no picnic. Wait till you
see.”
“Well, I’ve been hearing about all this snow,” Bennie grinned, wiping
the sweat from his forehead, “for two days. I’d like to see some right
now.”
“Give us time,” Norman smiled. “And now we’re off. We’ve got fifteen
miles to make before dark.”
“But how about lunch?” Dumplin’ suddenly demanded.
“Marion Lake before dark!” Norman answered. “No lunch.”
Dumplin’ groaned.
“It’ll help you reduce, Dump,” Bennie taunted. “Gidup, Dobbin! Oh, gee,
where’s poor little Jeff?” And he began to whistle.
Jeff appeared with a loud yelp from the side of the stream, where he had
evidently been cooling himself. Shaking off the water, he dashed ahead
of the procession of sixteen horses, barking madly, and the march for
Jefferson began.
The trail lay through a thick yellow pine forest. This was a United
States government forest, so that the fire had been kept out and the
little pines were everywhere coming up under the old ones, much to
Spider’s delight. But the trail itself was dry and dusty, and their
noses soon smarted, their throats were dry. With the loaded pack horses,
they could not trot, but plodded on in single file, the dust rising in
clouds behind them.
They had been traveling perhaps an hour when Norman, riding ahead,
suddenly pulled up his horse, and Bennie, just behind him, saw him
sniff.
“What’s the matter?” the scout asked.
“I smell smoke,” Norman answered. Then he looked at the dust cloud
behind to see which way it was moving.
“We are going into the wind. Must be ahead,” he said. “You come on with
me. Let your uncle lead the train.”
He kicked his horse and dashed up the trail. Bennie kicked his horse,
and dashed after him, not at all sure that he could keep his saddle.
Strangely enough, though, he found it easier to gallop than to trot, and
found himself falling into the motion of the horse.
A quarter of a mile up the trail the smell of smoke was plain. Over a
knoll they dashed, and they saw smoke in the forest ahead. A moment
later they heard the crackle, and then they were on the fire. It was a
small one as yet, evidently just under way, but it was licking savagely
into the small trees and the dead stuff, all dry as tinder or else full
of inflammable pitch. And the flames were moving toward them!
Norman wheeled. “Go back!” he yelled. “Stop the train where it is, and
tell Joe to stay with the horses while the rest bring up all the axes,
and that camp spade in my pack. Then you go back as fast as you can to
the Ranger Station and tell the ranger. If he isn’t there, find him!”
Bennie wheeled his horse, and dashed back. He gave the message to the
rest, and kept on. Both he and his horse were panting, drenched with
sweat and thick with dust, when he reached the Ranger Station again. The
ranger was there, as good luck would have it. While Bennie watered his
horse, he telephoned for help; then he saddled and galloped up the
trail, with Bennie behind him, but some way behind, for Bennie’s horse
was getting weary.
When Bennie reached the pack train, Joe, the cook, had all the horses
lined up facing back toward the station, ready to retreat if the fire
came nearer. Everybody else had gone to fight the flames. So Bennie left
his horse, too, and with stiff, aching legs, ran up the trail. As he
drew near the scene, he could see, between him and the flames that were
still confined to the smaller trees and the stuff on the forest floor,
five men and two boys working like mad. Norman was digging a little
ditch, while the rest, with axes and scout hatchets, were chopping down
the small trees to make an open lane several feet wide. They had this
lane and ditch cut across the direct path of the fire, and were swinging
it around on each end, as if they were going to enclose the flames in a
big ring. Bennie grabbed a hatchet, and went madly to work with the
rest.
Nobody was wasting any breath talking. The fire was coming nearer all
the time, and the nearer it came the hotter they grew. But when, in the
centre, it reached the lane and ditch—and stopped, they gave a loud
cheer, and worked all the harder to get around the two sides before it
could spread out.
“If only the wind won’t change!” the ranger did say, breathlessly, and
then stooped to his work.
It is doubtful if they could have outflanked the fire, however, with
only eight pairs of hands, if help had not arrived. Half a dozen men
came galloping up, their horses rearing and snorting at sight of the
flames, and leaped off with spades and axes. With this new, fresh help,
the fire was outflanked on the two sides, and as it moved more slowly
back against the slight wind, they were able to get it under control.
When the danger was over, they paused, wiped their hot, dripping, dirty
faces, and looked at the burned area.
It was hardly more than an acre in extent, but an acre, as Bennie said,
is quite enough to dig a ditch around in a hurry, without proper tools.
“Thank the Lord it’s no more,” the ranger declared. “If you hadn’t
spotted it when you did, it would have worked down into those thicker
pines over the knoll, and then we’d have been in for a real overhead
fire, and no mistake. Once in there it would jump up into the big
fellows.”
“What I want to know is, what started it?” said Mr. Stone.
“Party went in ahead of you this morning, to fish at Marion Lake,” said
the ranger. “Cigarette, probably. Idiots! Snoop around there, Norman,
and see what you can discover tonight. I’ll be over in the morning
myself. I want to stick by here tonight and make sure this doesn’t blow
up again. Well, boys, Uncle Sam is grateful to you, all right!”
They went back to the pack train, and then resumed their journey,
crossing the black, smoking patch of the fire, and waving good-bye to
the ranger and his helpers.
“Well, there are two precious hours gone,” Norman growled. “We’ll have
to make camp in the dark.”
“But we stopped a bad fire,” said Bennie. “Aren’t you glad?”
“Sure, I’m glad. But I hate to camp in the dark. Get up!”
He kicked his horse, and all the train behind picked up to a faster
pace. They didn’t hold it long, though, for the trail began to go
up-hill presently, and the character of the forest to change. Instead of
the big yellow pines, the path rose into a forest of smaller trees of
many kinds, and shrubs, too. Spider did his best to pull off specimens
of the foliage or needles as he rode past, so he could identify them.
The guide would not let them stop.
Even at the top of the pass they were still in the forest, and could get
no outlook. But as the trail grew level again, on the pass, they ran
into snow-drifts and pools of water just melted. It was the first sign
of anything cool that day. Over the pass the trail began to descend into
a wild forest of big evergreens, and for the next few weary miles
Bennie, for one, had little idea of where they went. He was dizzy from
lack of food and his exertions in the heat, and he was so saddle sore
that he had to keep shifting his weight to try to ease the stiffness.
His bones and his head both ached. It was getting dark in the forest,
too, whenever they had to go down into the bottom of a ravine. Nobody
was saying a word, except, the horse rustler, who kept yelling at the
pack horses to make them hurry.
At last, when it seemed as if he couldn’t stand his saddle another
minute, and when it was so dark in the deep, damp woods that Norman was
almost invisible at the head of the train, they heard him call, “Turn
left,” and followed him down a side trail, so dim they would never have
detected it in the dark.
A moment later there was light ahead, and they were on the shore of
Marion Lake! The woods went right down to the water. There was no beach.
The lake itself was a good-sized pond, perhaps a mile long, and across
it rose up the snow-draped, needle-pointed spires of Three Fingered
Jack, nearly 8,000 feet high. Nobody looked at the view, however; there
was no time. The boys got out the tents and sleeping bags, the cook set
up the stove and prepared food by lantern light. The doctor and Mr.
Stone rustled wood. Norman and the helper took the horses off in the
darkness to find a bit of open pasturage if they could. For half an
hour, weary as they were, everybody worked like mad. And then, dirty as
they were, they all rushed to the stove at the cry of “Come and get it!”
“I was never so hungry in my life,” Bennie said.
“I ain’t hungry any more,” Dumplin’ replied. “I was three hours ago, but
now I’m past caring. I’m just a vacuum.”
“Stomach or head?” his father asked.
The food had been cooked in a hurry, but nobody cared. Eating by lantern
light and the glow from the stove door, they gobbled the bacon and
swallowed the coffee in eager gulps.
“Glad Ma can’t see my table manners now!” Spider remarked, his mouth
full.
When the meal was over Norman went off again through the trees to see if
he could find the camp of the fishermen who possibly set the fire, and
the rest lay on their backs by the water, discussing the exciting day.
Norman came back to report that three men were camping around a
headland, and he suspected one of them must have thrown away a
cigarette, though they denied it.
“And to think,” said the doctor, “that if we hadn’t come along, the fire
might have got a headway and burned thousands of acres, just because one
man didn’t have sense enough not to throw a cigarette butt into the
brush! Some folks ought not to be allowed in the woods.”
“Well, me for a bath and bed,” said Mr. Stone. “I don’t know which I
need more.”
The full moon was rising behind Three Fingered Jack when they all jumped
into the lake, which was surprisingly shallow near shore, and had a good
bath. Then they climbed wearily into their tents, and in two minutes
they were in bed. But no sooner had they got snuggled down in the dark
than there came a yell from the doctor.
“Here, get up, Bennie, and take that pup out of here! He’s licking my
face!”
“Oh, gee, he’s all wet, and he’s shaking himself on me,” from Spider.
“Aw, let him sleep at my feet, Uncle Billy,” from Bennie.
“No, sir; he’ll hunt fleas in the night. I want a good sleep. You get up
and take him outside!”
So poor Bennie got stiffly up again, and led Jeff out of the tent,
making him a little bed out of a canvas pack cover by the flap. Jeff
curled up contentedly, with a good-night lick and whimper, and Bennie
went back.
Already he could hear Spider breathing hard, and in one minute he, too,
had dropped off like a soldier after a battle.