WILBUR IN HIS OWN CAMP
"I should think," said Wilbur at headquarters that night, when the
timber theft of Peavey Jo was being discussed, "that it would be mighty
hard 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't
bring those driveways into court very well, and put them before the
judge as Exhibit A, or anything?"
"You could bring affidavits, couldn't you? But there are few who want to
go to law about it. A man knows he can't buck the government on a fake
case. We have very little trouble now, but there used to be a lot of
it."
"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 any
more in California than you do in New York. These aren't the days of
Forty-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 going
to, when I was a Ranger in the Gunnison Forest. It involved some Douglas
fir telephone poles. This trespass was done while I was in town for a
while in the Supervisor's office. When I came back I happened to pass by
this man's camp, and seeing a lot of telephone poles, I asked if they
had been cut in the forest. The man was a good deal of a bully, and he
ordered me off the place. He said he didn't have to answer any
questions, and wasn't going to."
"Did you go?" asked Wilbur.
"Certainly I went. What would be the use of staying around there? But
before I left I got a kind of an answer. He said he had shipped in these
telephone 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, although
there had been a recent fall of snow, until I found the place where most
of the poles had been cut. Then I went back to the trespasser and told
him, 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 and
carried 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 barrel
pointed in my direction. I noticed, too, that he was playing with the
trigger. It seemed likely that it might suit his purposes rather well if
I was accidentally killed. But each time I cantered up close to him, the
barrel returned to its natural position.
"Presently, as we rode along, we came to a waterfall, not a big one, but
falling with quite a splashing, and under the cover of the noise I
suddenly came to a quick gallop, overtook the trespasser, and, grasping
his Winchester firmly with both hands, jerked it out of his grasp."
"Sure, he must have been the maddest thing that iver happened!" said
McGinnis.
"He was sore, all right. But what could he do? I had the rifle, and we
neither of us had any six-shooters. I showed him that there was no
object in my shooting him, while he would gain by shooting me, so I
proposed to hold the gun. And hold it I did. On my return I put a
notice of seizure on the poles.
"The report went through the usual way to the Commissioner of the
General Land Office. He wrote me a letter direct about the case and put
it up to me to ask the trespasser what proposition of settlement he
intended to make. I thought the town was the best place for this and
waited at the post-office for a day or two until he came in. There I
tackled him, and told him he would have to notify the Department
immediately. 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 minutes
they did not make a proposition of settlement I would telegraph to the
Department and his case would become one for harsher measures.
"The postmaster set out to convince him that Uncle Sam was too big a job
for him to handle, and in twenty minutes or so back he came with an
offer which was forwarded to the Department. A year or so later the case
was 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 a
most comfortable house, fairly large, having been built by the previous
Ranger, who was married. It was now used by another Ranger, as well as
Rifle-Eye, being near the borders of their two districts, and having
plenty of good water and good feed near. But although it was barely
dark, Wilbur was tired enough to be glad to stretch himself on the cot
in the little room and sink to sleep amid the soughing of the wind
through the pine needles of neighboring forest giants one and two
hundred feet high.
Early the next morning, Wilbur tumbled up, went out and looked after his
horses, and came in hungry to breakfast.
"I had intended," said the Supervisor, "to go with you this morning and
show you the part of the range you are to look after. But I want to get
at Peavey Jo, lest he should decide to leave suddenly, and Rifle-Eye
will show you the way instead. I had the tent pitched three or four days
ago, when you ought to have been here. You'll find that to cover your
range 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 fully
as 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 you
will have a chance of seeing all your range, or points that will command
all your range at least twice a week. And, of course, quite a good deal
of it you will cover daily. You are to watch out for fires, and if you
see one, put it out. If you can't put it out alone, ride back to your
camp and telephone here, as soon as it is evening. Sometimes it is
better to keep working alone until you know there's some one to answer
the 'phone, sometimes it's better to get help right away. You can tell
about 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 few
days after a big rain a fire isn't likely to start, and there's always
lots of other stuff to be done in the forest, trail-building, and things
of that sort."
"Very well, Mr. Merritt," answered the boy.
"There are no timber sales going on in that section of the forest, so
that if you see any cutting going on, just ride up quietly and get into
conversation 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 seems
to take away the primitiveness of it, somehow."
"Wilbur," said the Supervisor seriously, "you don't want to run into the
mistake of thinking that life on a national forest is principally a
picturesque performance. It's a business that the government is running
for the benefit of the country at large. Anything that can be done to
make it efficient is tremendously important. The telephone already has
saved many a fearful night ride through bad places of the forest, has
been the means of stopping many a fire, and has saved many a life in
consequence. 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 to
say.
"As for grazing, there's not much to be said, except that the sheep
limits are pretty well defined. The cattle can wander up the range
without doing much harm here, for the young forest is of pretty good
growth, but the sheep must stay down where they belong. Rifle-Eye will
show 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 about
all."
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 and
groceries and canned stuff in a cache, and the Guard that was there last
year had some kind of a little garden. You can see what there is, and if
you want seeds of any kind, let me know. And there's nothing to prevent
you 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 as
he strode through the doorway, meeting McGinnis, who was waiting for him
outside. Wilbur followed him to the door.
"'Tis all the luck in the world I'm wishin' ye," shouted the big
Irishman, "an' while ye're keepin' the fires away we'll be gettin'
another nicely started for that old logjammer. Sure, we'll make it hot
enough for him."
"Good hunting," responded Wilbur with a laugh, as the two men
disappeared under the trees.
Although only a day had passed since Wilbur had met the Supervisor and
McGinnis, it seemed to him that several days must have elapsed, so much
had happened, and he found it hard to believe, when he found himself in
the saddle again beside the old Ranger, that they had started from Ben's
shack only the morning before.
"I like Mr. Merritt," he said as soon as they had got started. "I like
McGinnis, too."
"I reckon he wasn't over-pleased with your bein' late?" queried
Rifle-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 with
him. Now, McGinnis is easygoing and good-natured."
"So is a mountain river runnin' down a smooth bed. The river is just the
same 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 I
tell 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 a
Guard, is he? and he doesn't talk like a Ranger from another part of the
forest."
"No, he's an expert lumberman," replied the hunter. "He isn't attached
to this forest at all. He ain't even under the service of the government
all the while. He generally is, because he knows his business an' the
Forest Service knows a good man when it sees one. They engage him for a
month, or three, or four months, an' he goes wherever there's a timber
sale, or a big cut. Often as not, he teaches the Rangers a heap of
things they don't know about lumberin', and the Forest Assistants
themselves ain't above takin' practical pointers from him."
"But I thought Mr. Merritt said that McGinnis only knew this kind of
forest?"
"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 lose
him 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 the
unbroken forest.
"Do you see the trail?" he asked.
Wilbur looked on the ground to see if he could discern any traces. Not
doing so, he looked up at the Ranger, who had half turned in the saddle
to watch him. As he shook his head in denial he noticed the old
mountaineer 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," responded
Wilbur defiantly.
The old hunter stopped his horse.
"Turn half round," he said. Wilbur did so. "Now," he continued, "can you
see any trail through there?"
The boy looked through the long cool aisles of trees, realizing that he
could ride in any direction without being stopped by undergrowth, but he
could 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 mountaineer
wanted to show him. Not a definite sign could he see, the ground was
untrampled, the trees showed no blaze marks, yet somehow there was a
consciousness that in a certain direction there was a way.
"Yes," he said vaguely. "I can't see it, but I feel somehow that there's
a trail through there." He pointed between two large spruces that stood
near.
The hunter slapped his pony on the neck.
"Get up there, Milly," he said, "we'll teach him yet! You see," he
continued, "there ain't no manner of use in tryin' to see a trail. If
the trail's visible, the worst tenderfoot that ever lived could follow
it. It's the trail that you can't see that you've got to learn to
follow."
"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 folks
have 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 straighter
than any animal's runway. But it's so faint that the more you think
about it, the less sure you are. But, by an' by, you get so that you
couldn't help followin' it in any kind of weather." And the old hunter,
seeing the need of teaching Wilbur the intricacies of the pine country
forests, gave him hint after hint all the way to his little camp.
When he got there Wilbur gave an exclamation of delight. The camp, as
the Supervisor had said, was near a little spring, which indeed bubbled
from the hillside not more than ten feet away from the tent, and
gleaming on the slope a couple of hundred feet below, he could see the
little lake which was "so full of trout" glistening itself like a silver
fish in the sunlight. A tall flagstaff, with a cord all reeved for the
flag, 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 when
the 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's
the 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-dandy
of a camp!"
A few steps further they came to the corral, a pretty little meadow in a
clearing, and in the far corner of it the stream which trickled from the
spring near the house. Wilbur unsaddled with a whoop and turned the
horses in the corral, then hurried back to the camp. The old hunter,
thinking perhaps that the boy would rather have the feeling of doing it
all himself for the first time, had not gone near the tent. There was a
small outer tent, which was little more than a strip of canvas thrown
over a horizontal pole and shielding a rough fireplace for rainy
weather, and within was the little dwelling-tent, with a cot, and even a
tiny table. On the ground was Wilbur's pack, containing all the things
he had sent up when he had broken his journey to go to the Double Bar
J ranch, and there, upon the bed, all spread out in the fullness of its
glory, was a brand-new Stars and Stripes. For a moment the boy's breath
was taken away, then, with a dash, he rushed for it, and fairly danced
out 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 in
the wind. Wilbur, turning, saw the old scout saluting, and with stirring
patriotism, 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."
[Illustration: WILBUR'S OWN CAMP.
His first photograph; taken the day the Supervisor dropped in to see
him.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]