IN THE MIDST OF A SEA OF FIRE
A subdued but fiery inspiration, as of some monster breathing deeply in
the darkness, gradually made itself heard above the voices of the night,
and an eddying gust brought from the distance the sound of twigs and
branches crackling as they burned. As yet the fire was not visible, save
for the red-bronze glow seen through the trees reflected on the sky
above. But before they reached the scene of the fire, Wilbur realized
how different it was from the blaze he had left. Then it was a
difficulty to be overcome: now, it was a peril to be faced.
"It has run about three miles since I left it," Wilbur said. "I hope
we're not too late."
"It's never too late to try, son," replied the Ranger, "so long as there
is a tree left unburned. There ain't anything in life that it ever gets
too late to try over. If a thing's done, it ain't too late ever to try
to do something else which will make up for the first, is it?"
"But I failed to stop it before," said Wilbur.
"Nary a fail. A fight ain't lost until it's over. An' when this little
scrap is over the fire'll be out. You ain't had but one round with this
fire so far."
"That's certainly some fire," rejoined the boy as they turned sharply
from a glade to the edge of a hill that looked upon the forest just
below. It was a sight of fear. Overhead, the clouds flying before the
wind were alternately revealing and hiding the starlit and moonlit sky
behind, the dark and ragged wisps of storm-scud seeming to fly in panic
from what they saw below them. The wind moaned as though enchained and
forced to blow by some tyrannic power, instead of swaying before the
breeze, the needles of the pines seemed to tremble and shudder in the
blast, and dominating the whole,--somber, red, and malevolent,--the fire
engulfed the forest floor. In the distance, where some dead timber had
been standing, the flames had crept up the trunks of the trees, and now
fanned by the gusts of wind, were beginning to run amid the tops.
"Will it be a crown-fire, Rifle-Eye?" asked Wilbur, remembering what he
had heard of the fearful devastation committed by a fire when once it
secured a violent headway among the pines.
"It's in the tops now," said the old hunter, pointing with his finger,
"but I don't reckon there's enough wind yet to hold it up there. The
worst of it is that it's not long to morning now, an' we shall lose the
advantage o' fightin' it at night. I reckon we'd better get down and see
what we can do."
In a few minutes the hunter and Wilbur had fastened their horses and
presently were beside the fire. To the boy's surprise the old hunter
made no attack upon the fire itself, but, going in advance of it some
hundred feet, with the boy's hoe, which he dragged after him like a
plow, made a furrow in the earth almost as rapidly as a man could walk.
This, Wilbur, with ax and shovel, widened. The old hunter never seemed
to stop once, but, however curving and twisting his course might be, the
boy noted that the furrow invariably occurred at the end of a stretch
where few needles had fallen on the ground and the débris was very
scant.
After about a mile of this, the hunter curved his furrow sharply in
toward the burned-out portion, ending his line behind the line of fire.
He then sent Wilbur back along the line he had just traversed to insure
that none of the fire had crossed the guard thus made. Then, starting
about twenty feet from the curve on the fire-guard, he took another wide
curve in front of the floor-fire, favoring the place where the needles
lay thinnest, until he came to a ridge. Following him, Wilbur noted that
the old woodsman had made no attempt to stop the fire on the upward
grade, but had apparently left it to the mercy of the fire, whereas, on
the further side of the ridge, where the fire would have to burn down,
the old hunter had made but a very scanty fire-guard. Then Wilbur
remembered that he had been told it was easy to stop a fire when it was
running down a hill, and he realized that if, in the beginning, instead
of actually endeavoring to put out the fire, he had made a wide circuit
around it, and by utilizing those ridges, he could have held the fire to
the spot where it began. For a moment this nearly broke him all up,
until he remembered that he had seen another fire, and that Rifle-Eye
had told him of a third one yet.
Wilbur was working doggedly, yet in a spiritless, tired fashion, beating
out the fire with a wet gunnysack as it reached the fire-guard of the
old hunter's making, and very carefully putting out any spark that the
wind drove across it, working almost without thought. But as he topped
the ridge and came within full view of the fire that had started among
the tops, his listlessness fell from him. Against the glow he could see
the outline of the figure of the hunter, and he ran up to him.
"It's all out, back there," he panted. "What shall we do here?"
For the first time the Ranger seemed to have no answer ready. Then he
said slowly:
"I reckon we can hold this bit of it, up yonder on the mountain, but
there's a line of fire runnin' around by the gully, and the wind's
beginnin' a-howlin' through there. I don't reckon we can stop that. We
may have to fall back beyond the river. We'll need axmen, now. You've
got a good mare; ride down to Pete's mine and bring all hands. The
government will pay them, an' they'll come. There's the dawn; it'll be
light in half an hour. You'd better move, too."
Wilbur started off at a shambling run, half wondering, as he did so, how
it was he was able to keep up at all. But as he looked back he saw the
old hunter, ax on shoulder, going quietly up the hill into the very
teeth of the fire to head it off on the mountain top, if he could. He
reached Kit and climbed into the saddle. But he was not sleepy, though
almost too weary to sit upright. One moment the forest would be light as
a glare from the fire reached him, the next moment it would be all the
darker for the contrast. For a mile he rode over the blackened and
burned forest floor, some trees still ablaze and smoking. Every step he
took, for all he knew, might be leading him on into a fire-encircled
place from which he would have difficulty in escaping, but on he went.
There was no trail, he only had a vague sense of direction, and on both
sides of him was fire. Probably fire was also in front, and if so he was
riding into it, but he had his orders and on he must go. The mine, he
knew, was lower down on the gully, and so roughly he followed it. Twice
he had to force Kit to cross, but it was growing light now, so the
little mare took the water quietly and followed the further bank.
Suddenly he heard horses' hoofs, evidently a party, and he shouted. An
answering shout was the response, and the horses pulled up. He touched
Kit and in a minute or two broke through to them.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Merritt," said the boy, "I was just wondering who
it might be."
"The fire's over there," said the Supervisor. "What are you doing here?"
"Rifle-Eye sent me to get the men at Pete's mine," he said.
"They're here," replied the Forest Chief. "How's the fire?"
"Bad," said the boy. "Rifle-Eye said he thought we would have to fall
back beyond the river."
"Don't want to," said Merritt, "there's a lot of good timber between
here and the river."
"Nothin' to it," said one of the miners. "Unless the wind shifts, it's
an easy gamble she goes over the river and don't notice it none."
The Supervisor put his horse to the gallop, followed by the party, all
save one miner, who, familiar with the country, led the way, finding
some trail utterly undistinguishable to the rest. Seeing the vantage
point, as Rifle-Eye had done, he made for the crest of the hill.
"Any chances?" asked the Supervisor.
"I reckon not," said Rifle-Eye. "You can't hold it here; there's a blaze
down over yonder and another below the hill."
"Who set that fire?" said Merritt suddenly. Wilbur jumped. It had not
occurred to him that the fire could have started in any other manner
than by accident, and indeed he had not thought of its cause at all.
The old Ranger looked quietly at his superior officer.
"It's allers mighty hard to tell where a fire started after it's once
got a-going," he said, "and it's harder to tell who set it a-going."
"I want to stop it at the river."
The old woodsman shook his head.
"You ain't got much chance," he said; "I reckon at the ridge on the
other side of the river you can hold her, but she's crept along the
gully an' she'll just go a-whoopin' up the hill. I wouldn't waste any
time at the river."
"But there's the mill!"
"We ain't no ways to blame because Peavey Jo built his mill in front of
a fire. An', anyhow, the mill's in the middle of a clearing."
The Supervisor frowned.
"His mill is on National Forest land, and we ought to try and save it,"
he said.
"I'm goin' clear to the ridge," remarked the Ranger, "an' I reckon
you-all had better, too. I ain't achin' none to see the mill burn, but
I'd as lieve it was Peavey Jo's as any one else."
"I'd like to know," Merritt repeated, "who set that fire."
The Ranger made no answer, but walked off to where his horse was
tethered and rode away. The other party without a moment's delay struck
off to the trail leading to the mill. The distance was not great, but
Wilbur had lost all count of time. It seemed to him that he had either
been fighting fire or riding at high speed through luridly lighted
forest glades for years and years, and that it would never stop.
At the mill they found a wild turmoil of excitement. All the hands were
at work, most of them wetting down the lumber, while other large piles
which were close to the edge of the forest were being moved out of
danger. The horses all had been taken from the stables, and the various
sheds and buildings were being thoroughly soaked. The big mill engine
was throbbing, lines of hose playing in every direction, for although
the timber around the mill had been cleared as much as possible,
negligence had been shown in permitting some undergrowth to spring up
unchecked. Owing to the conformation of the land, too, the bottom on
which the mill stood was smaller than customary.
In the early morning light the great form of Peavey Jo seemed to assume
giant proportions. He was here, there, and everywhere at the moment, and
his blustering voice could be heard bellowing out orders, which, to do
him justice, were the best possible. As soon as the Supervisor and his
party appeared he broke out into a violent tirade against them for not
keeping a fit watch over the forest and allowing a fire to get such a
headway on a night when in the evening there had been so little wind,
whereas now a gale was rising fast. But Merritt did not waste breath in
reply; he simply ordered his men to get in and do all they could to
insure the safety of the mill.
Wilbur, who had been set at cutting out the underbrush, found that his
strength was about played out. Once, indeed, he shouldered his ax and
started to walk back to say that he could do no more, but before he
reached the place where his chief was working his determination
returned, and he decided to go back and work till he dropped right
there. He had given up bothering about his hands and feet being so
blistered and sore, for all such local pain was dulled by the utter
collapse of nerve-sensation. He couldn't think clearly enough to think
that he was feeling pain; he could not think at all. He had been told to
cut brush and he did so as a machine, working automatically, but seeing
nothing and hearing nothing of what was going on around him.
Presently an animal premonition of fear struck him as he became
conscious of a terrific wave of heat, and he could hear in the distance
the roar of the flames coming closer. Raging through the resinous pine
branches the blaze had swept fiercely around the side of the hill. As
the boy looked up he could see it suddenly break into greater vigor as
the up-draft on the hill fanned it to a wilder fury and made a furnace
of the place where he had been standing with Merritt and Rifle-Eye
scarcely more than an hour before.
Meanwhile the wind drove the flames steadily onward toward the
threatened mill. It was becoming too hot for any human being to stay
where Wilbur was, but the boy seemed to have lost the power of thought.
He chopped and chopped like a machine, not noticing, indeed, not being
able to notice that he was toiling there alone. It grew hotter and
hotter, his breath came in quick, short gasps, and each breath hurt his
lungs cruelly as he breathed the heat into them, but he worked on as in
a dream. Suddenly he felt his shoulder seized. It was the Supervisor,
who twisted him round and, pointing to the little bridge across the
river which spanned the stream just above the mill, he shouted:
"Run!"
But the boy's spirit was too exhausted to respond, though he got into a
dog trot and started for the bridge. Perilous though every second's
delay was, Merritt would not go ahead of the boy, though he could have
outdistanced his shambling and footsore pace two to one, but kept beside
him urging and threatening him alternately. The fire was on their heels,
but they were in the clearing. On the bridge one of the miners was
standing, riding the fastest horse in the party, holding, and with great
difficulty holding, in hand the horse of the Supervisor and the boy's
mare, Kit. Their very clothes were smoking as they reached the bridge.
Suddenly, a huge, twisted tree, full of sap, which stood on the edge of
the clearing, exploded with a crash like a cannon, and a flaming branch,
twenty feet in length, hurtled itself over their heads and fell full on
the further side of the bridge, barring their way. Upon the narrow
bridge the horses reared in a sudden panic and tried to bolt, but the
miner was an old-time cowboy, and he held them in hand. Merritt helped
the lad into the saddle before mounting himself. But even in that moment
the bridge began to smoke, and in less than a minute the whole structure
would be ablaze. The miner dug his heels, spurred, into the sides of his
horse, and the animal in fear and desperation leaped over the hissing
branch that lay upon the bridge. The Supervisor's horse and Kit followed
suit. As they landed on the other side, however, the head of the forest
reined in for a moment, and looking round, shouted suddenly:
"The mill!"
Wilbur pulled in Kit. So far as could be seen, none of the forest fire
had reached the mill; the sparks which had fallen upon the roof had gone
out harmlessly, so thoroughly had the place been soaked, yet through the
door of the mill the flames could be seen on the inside. At first Wilbur
thought it must be some kind of a reflection. But as they watched,
Peavey Jo rode up. He had crossed the bridge earlier, and was on the
safe side of the river watching his mill.
Suddenly, from out the door of the mill, outlined clearly against the
fire within, came an ungainly, shambling figure. The features could not
be seen, but the gait was unmistakable. He came running in an odd,
loose-jointed fashion toward the bridge. But just before he reached it
the now blazing timbers burned through and the bridge crashed into the
stream.
"It's Ben," muttered Wilbur confusedly; "I guess I've got to go back,"
and he headed Kit for the trail.
But the Supervisor leaned over and almost crushed the bones of the boy's
hand in his restraining grip.
"No need," he said, "he's all right now."
For as he spoke Wilbur saw Ben leap from the bank on the portion of the
burned bridge which had collapsed on his side of the stream. A few quick
strokes with the ax the boy was carrying and the timbers were free, and
crouched down upon them the boy was being carried down the stream. His
peril was extreme, for below as well as above the fire was sweeping down
on either side of the mill, and it was a question of minutes, almost of
seconds, whether the bridge-raft would pass down the river before the
fire struck or whether it would be caught.
"If the wind would only lull!" ejaculated the boy.
"I'll stay here till I see him burn," replied Peavey Jo grimly.
But Wilbur's wish met its fulfillment, for just for the space that one
could count ten the wind slackened, and every second meant a few yards
of safety to the half-witted lad. Though they were risking their lives
by staying, the three men waited, waited as still as they could for the
fear of their horses, until the boy disappeared round a curve of the
river. A muttered execration from Peavey Jo announced the lad's safety.
It angered the usually calm Supervisor.
"That ends you," he said. "You're licked, and you know it. Your mill's
gone, your timber's gone, and your credit's gone. Don't let me see you
on this forest again."
"You think I do no more, eh? Me, I forget? Non! By and by you remember
Peavey Jo. Now I ride down river. That boy, you see him? He see the sun
rise this morning. He no see the sun set. No. Nor ever any more. I
follow the river trail. I do not say good-by, like the old song," he
added, scowling his fury; "you wish yes! Non! I say _au revoir_, and
perhaps sooner than you t'ink."
He wheeled and turned down the river. The Supervisor turned to the
miner.
"It's not my business to stop him," he said, "and the boy's got the
start. He can't reach there before the fire does, now."
Then, as though regretting the lull, the wind shrieked with a new and
more vindictive fury, as though it saw its vengeance before it. Almost
at a breath it seemed the whole body of flame appeared to lift itself to
the skies and then fall like a devouring fury upon the forest on the
hither side of the river below, whither Peavey Jo had ridden.
In the distance the two men heard a horse scream, and they knew. But
Wilbur did not hear.
They had waited almost too long, for the wind, rising to its greatest
height, had carried the fire above them almost to the edge of the river,
and now there was no question about its crossing. Further delay meant to
be hemmed in by a ring of fire. With a shout the miner slackened the
reins and his horse leaped into a gallop, after him Merritt, and the boy
close behind. Wilbur had ridden fast before, but never had he known
such speed as now. The trail was clear before them to the top of the
ridge, the fire was behind, and the wind was hurling masses of flames
about them on every side. The horses fled with the speed of fear, and
the Supervisor drew a breath of relief as they crossed a small ridge
below the greater ridge whither they were bound.
Once a curl of flame licked clear over their heads and ignited a tree in
front of them, but they were past it again before it caught fair hold.
The boy could feel Kit's flanks heaving as she drew her breath hard, and
with the last instinct of safety he threw away everything that he
carried, even the fire-fighting tools being released. Only another mile,
but the grade was fearfully steep, the steeper the harder for the horses
but the better for the fire. Kit stumbled. A little less than a mile
left! He knew she could not do it. The mare had been kept astretch all
night, and her heart was breaking under the strain. Any second she might
fall.
The trail curved. And round the curve, with three horses saddled and
waiting, sat the old Ranger, facing the onrush of the fire as
imperturbably as though his own life were in no way involved. The
miner's horse was freshest and he reached the group first. As he did so,
he swung out of his saddle, was on one of the three and off. The
riderless horse, freed from the burden, followed up the trail. Merritt
and Wilbur reached almost at the same time.
"I reckon," drawled Rifle-Eye, "that's a pretty close call."
"He's done," said the Supervisor, ignoring the remark. "Toss him up."
With a speed that seemed almost incredible to any one accustomed to his
leisurely movements, the old Ranger dismounted, picked Wilbur bodily out
of the saddle, set him on one of the fresh animals, freed Kit, mounted
himself, and was off in less than thirty seconds. For the first half
mile it was touch and go, for the trail was steep and even the three
fresh horses found the pace terrific. But little by little the timber
thinned and the fire gained less hold. Then, with a burst they came into
a clearing along the top of the ridge. The crest was black with workers,
over two hundred men were there, and on every side was to be heard the
sound of trees crashing to the ground, most of them by dynamite.
Where the head of the trail reached the crest stood the doctor and his
wife, the "little white lady" trembling with excitement as she watched
the fearful race from the jaws of a fiery death. The doctor plucked
Wilbur from his saddle as the horse rushed by him. The boy's senses were
reeling, but before he sank into insensibility from fatigue he heard
Merritt say:
"Loyle, when you're a Ranger next year, I want you on my forest."
THE END
[Illustration: "KEEP IT FROM SPREADING BOYS!"
_Photography by U. S. Forest Service._]
[Illustration: "GET BUSY NOW, WHEN IT BREAKS INTO THE OPEN!"
_Photography by U. S. Forest Service._]
_U. S. SERVICE SERIES_
By FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
Many illustrations from photographs taken in work for U. S.
Government ^Large 12mo ^Cloth ^$1.50 per volume
* * * * *
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY
This story describes the thrilling adventures of members of the U. S.
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. CENSUS
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES
[Illustration: The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries]
The book does not lack thrilling scenes. The far Aleutian Islands have
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HANDICRAFT FOR HANDY BOYS
Practical Plans for Work and Play with Many Ideas for Earning Money
By A. NEELY HALL
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With Nearly 600 Illustrations and Working-drawings by the Author and
Norman P. Hall ^8vo ^Cloth ^Net, $2.00 ^Postpaid, $2.25
[Illustration: Handi-Craft for Handy Boys]
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_For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of postpaid price by
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THE BOY CRAFTSMAN
Practical and Profitable Ideas for a Boy's Leisure Hours
By A. NEELY HALL
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[Illustration: The Boy Craftsman]
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* * * * *
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How Bobby and Joe Achieved Success in Business
First Volume of "Business Boys Series"
By CLARENCE JOHNSON MESSER
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[Illustration: Mr. Responsibility, Partner]
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"The story is one that boys will enjoy and that parents can safely
put in their hands."--_Lowell Courier Citizen_.
"A wholesome, informative, worth-while boy's book."--_N. Y. Press_.
* * * * *
_For sale by all booksellers or sent on receipt of postpaid price by the
publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON