THE FIRE LOOKOUT
Vaulting easily into their saddles, the boys lost no time in starting
homeward, but so hard had they ridden to reach Waterville to file their
claim that they were compelled to spare their ponies on the return.
Earnestly did they discuss the words of the registrar, speculating as to
whether or not they really had committed a fraud and discussing the
other surprising features of their interview with the official.
“Well, it’s some satisfaction to know our application protects us until
word is received from Washington,” Ted finally declared. “It will block
the game those claim-jumpers are trying to play.”
“I hope so. It doesn’t seem as though Simmons, knowing we were friends
of Silas Hopkins, would dare to grant entry to whomsoever they are, now
that we have put in our claim.” Descending darkness caused the boys to
give all their attention to guiding their ponies until they realized
that the animals were cleverer at keeping the road than they were
themselves, and after they made this discovery, they devoted their
senses to listening. For it was their first night in the saddle, alone,
and they feared surprise both by men and wild beasts.
Without mishap, however, they finally reached their hut, where to their
delight they found Andy. And eagerly they poured out their troubles to
him.
“We’ll attend to this business in the morning. Go to bed now. You’ve had
enough excitement for one day.”
Before dawn, however, the rain began to come down in torrents,
percolating the thatched roof and compelling the young homesteaders and
their guest to spread ponchos, blankets, and anything they could find to
keep the water from their beds and from the food.
As later they looked out upon a rainy day, Ted’s heart sank.
“Everything’s either soaked or damp and nasty,” he complained. “The fire
won’t burn enough to cook anything decently and we can’t work.”
“Never mind the work part of it,” returned Andy. “This rain will do a
world of good. Before harvest time you will probably be praying for a
third as much of a downpour. We’ll find enough to do, don’t worry. What
do you say to going fishing?”
“I say ‘no,’” replied Phil. “If you are not going to do anything about
our claim, I’m going over to see Mr. Jay.”
At this announcement the others laughed heartily.
“I must think before I act,” said Andy.
“Mr. Jay doesn’t care any more about seeing you than you do about seeing
him. If I were going to shirk all the chores, I’d at least tell the
truth,” grinned his brother. But Phil had fled from the water-soaked
shakedown at the first words.
“You going too?” inquired Andy.
“Not much. If my letter paper isn’t wet, I shall write home. If it is, I
may ride over and give Jennie another lesson.”
“You boys aren’t very keen on fishing, evidently,” commented Andy, as he
overhauled his tackle.
“I never caught but two fish in my life. One was a ‘pumpkin seed’ and
the other was a smelt. It took me four days to get them and I must have
tramped thirty miles.”
“You’ll find it’s different out here. If you followed this brook thirty
miles—which you can’t because it’s only about ten from source to
lake—you’d have more fish than you could carry. Better come.”
But Ted was not to be persuaded, and after they had finished the chores,
Andy set out, leaving Ted writing.
In their letters to their mother the boys had refrained from mentioning
the shooting of the bear and the incidents of the fateful dinner,
fearing to alarm her, and Ted was busy explaining to her about the
irrigation system when he heard hoof-beats.
Wondering who could be coming, he went to the door, and beheld a
rubber-clad chap of about thirty, tall, lithe, and well set up, his face
tanned by sun and wind, calmly leading his horse under the animal
shelter.
“Pray make yourself perfectly at home,” called the boy, sarcastically.
“Thanks,” returned the other, smilingly ignoring the slur. “I am
Chester, of the forest patrol. How long have you been here? I’ve noticed
your smoke for several days, but this is the first rainy day I’ve had to
leave my station to investigate.”
“My name is Porter. Come in. My brother and I have had a rather rough
time with strangers, which accounts for my uncivil greeting. I thought
you patrolmen investigated every smudge as soon as you saw it.”
“The patrolmen do, if it is on their route. I only said I belonged to
the forest patrol, I’m a lookout.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a station on the top of Bear Mountain from which I can cover
about a thirty-mile radius. Whenever I see smoke, I report it to the
patrolman in whose section it lies, or to the nearest settler who has a
’phone, if our man is out on his route.”
“Hasn’t been any one here.”
“Because I didn’t report it, it is off the regular route. I noticed the
smoke showed and died down at certain periods, never gaining in volume,
so I decided it was some new entryman. It being rainy, however, I rode
down to make sure.” The appearance and bearing of his visitor was so
self-reliant, Ted felt that he was no enemy and did his best to be
agreeable, telling him about his mother and sisters and the robbery,
finally deluging him with questions concerning the life on the station.
In love with his work, as all the forest patrol are, Chester talked of
it so interestingly that Ted began to envy him.
“It must be bully knowing you are guarding millions of dollars worth of
lumber and the lives of so many people,” he declared enthusiastically.
“Still, I should think you’d get lonesome off up there by yourself, but
I suppose you read a lot.”
“I’m too busy watching for fires except when it rains, and then I
usually have a trip to make, either like looking up a smudge or
repairing a telephone. But a fellow can’t be lonesome among the trees
and mountains, if he loves them.”
“How long are you on duty?”
“From snow-going to snow-coming. I sleep when I can. That is, when I
can’t see any smoke, I take a nap for half an hour, watch again, then
take another nap, and so on. But why not ride back with me? Never seen a
lookout station, have you?”
“Never, and I’d like to immensely. But let’s eat before we go.”
“It sure will be good to taste grub I haven’t cooked myself,” declared
Chester, as he ate with keen relish. “You’re some cook, if you made that
pie.”
“I didn’t. A friend of ours gave it to us.”
“Then you know Joy?”
“Yes. We were taken there after we had been drugged, and she kept us
several days.”
“Let’s be on our way,” said Chester, rising so suddenly that Ted looked
at him in surprise. But it was not until long afterwards, when the
lookout and the young homesteader were fast friends, that the boy
learned the action was caused by the knowledge that the girl had
bestowed some of her far-famed cooking upon strangers while she had
always refused to give any to Chester, whom she had known all her life.
“What a glorious view!” cried Ted, turning to look back as, for the
first time in his life, he passed beyond the timber-line of a mountain.
“It is superb. But wait until you get to my nest. It’s wonderful from
there.”
When they reached the summit, however, the wind was blowing so that they
lost no time in entering the octagonal cabin, one end of which was used
for a stable.
Extending full across each side, about four feet from the floor, was a
window, two feet high, enabling the lookout to sweep the country with
his telescope.
“I should think you could see better if the windows were taller,”
commented Ted.
“Some of the winds I get would break them in a minute. As it is, I often
am obliged to put up the shutters and stand outside.”
In the centre of the cabin was a big table upon which lay a quantity of
report blanks, paper, and a detail map of the country, within the radius
of the lookout’s station, showing ponds, lakes, rivers, towns, highways,
railroad tracks, homesteads, and lumber camps, and giving the names of
all settlers, with a code mark against those who had telephones. In
other places were instruments for measuring the velocity of the wind,
gauging the rainfall and the like.
Resting on a chair was a planed and polished piece of wood with a line
running through the centre lengthwise, and another crosswise, to which
an arrow, free to move in any direction, was attached.
“That’s a traverse board,” explained Chester. “I’ll show you how it
works. First look under the map. See those marks on the table? They are
the points of the compass. When you use the traverse board, you first
‘orient’ it, that is, place it that its bearing is true with the points
of the compass, the needle pointing north. Now sit down. Take my
telescope and look, say, south. Suppose you see smoke, but can’t exactly
locate it. You clamp the arrow to the traverse board, the point toward
the smudge, so. Next, you put the map with my station directly over the
centre of the traverse, that red dot which I’ve marked, so. Now stick a
pin through my lookout and into the centre of the board, then twist the
map until its north and south line covers the north and south line of
the board, so. Take the range-finder, place its bevelled edge against
the pin, raise the sight, no, keep the one with that upright hair away
from your eye, and look at your smoke again. With the tables and marks
you can quickly get the range and locate it on the map.”
For several minutes Ted squinted along the sights, glanced at the range
tables and then at the map.
“I should say it was about there,” he said, putting his finger on a spot
south of Bear Mountain.
“Too bad it isn’t pleasant, you might find a real fire to practise on.”
“But I have found one. My eye! but the smoke is getting thick. Yes, I’m
sure it’s where I pointed on the map.”
At first the lookout had believed his visitor to be pretending that he
had discovered a forest fire, but as he heard his last words, he pushed
him from the chair and sighted along the rangefinder.
“You’re right! You’ve located it, Porter. It’s on Carl Petersen’s
quarter.”
And springing to his telephone, Chester called for connection with the
man who was Jasper Jay’s nearest neighbour, with the exception of the
young homesteaders.