FIRE IN THE FOREST.
What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these?
Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys.
Locksley Hall.
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire!
The Bells.
Nat Wolfe and Buckskin Joe were traversing a wild pine forest on the
eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. As they came out on a projecting
ledge of rock from which they had a view of the mountain and plain
beneath them, they turned to look back over the ground they had passed.
Through the clear, bracing September air they distinctly saw where the
little cluster of cabins was gathered about Pike's Peak, twenty miles
away, by the smoke of the chimneys hovering over the settlement.
"We're purty nigh onto the spot now, if I recollect right," said Joe;
"it's over a year sence I was here. Let's eat our grub--here's a basin
of water in this rock a purpose for us to drink out of; after we've
rested a spell we'll push on and find the exact locality. Cur'us, isn't
it?--I didn't dream, when I traveled over this mountain the last time,
that so many thousand fools would have sot foot on it in less'n a year.
We made up our minds, then, me and Jim did, thar' was gold in this
region--and I ain't sartain but we're responsible for givin' the fever
to a good many," added the little old fellow, with a quiet chuckle.
"It's a mighty catchin' disease--took more easily than the small-pox.
The wust of it is, I'm afraid it'll prove fatal to a good many of them
poor, white-livered chaps as have come expecting to crowd their pockets
with rocks as big as goose-eggs, all ready picked up. I reckon Wright's
one of the wust-up of any. He ain't naterally got any pluck, and he's
out o' money and vittals, and instid of workin' for hisself and makin'
thirty or forty dollars a day, he's had to hire out for a dollar a
day and keepin.' I'm sorry for his wife, poor critter. But she's got
more sperit than he has, and 'll make more money. She's takin' in
washin' and cookin' for the men, and airns a good lot, I'll be bound.
I shouldn't wonder if _she_ got along and laid up money--which he'll
be sure to borrow and have 'the luck' to lose. Have some o' this dried
buffalo, Wolfe?--it's better'n your cold bacon.
"I don't wonder that saller-faced Doctor is anxious to get Miss
'Lizabeth away from such a hole as Pike's Peak," continued Joe, who
grew talkative over his dried meat and whisky and water, giving a keen
side-look at his companion as he spoke. "'Tain't no place for the likes
of her--eh, Nat, what do you think? They say he'll leave with the first
company that starts back, and take her along. I've a mind to hire out
as guide, and see 'em safely back as far as Nebraska City."
"I wish you would," was the hunter's brief reply.
"Why don't _you_ undertake the job, Wolfe?"
"I'm afraid my company wouldn't be agreeable," with a bitter laugh.
"Sho! it's the first time I ever knowed of _you_ playin' the sneak, Nat
Wolfe."
"What do you mean?" rather fiercely.
"You needn't turn on me like a trod nettle, Nat. I wouldn't like to
make you mad--cos we're alone out here in the woods and you're the
biggest, and nobody'd ever know what had become of Buckskin Joe if you
should chaw me up. But say, now, r'ally, I'll bet a thousand dollars,
to be paid the day after we _find our lead_, that you hain't never
asked that young lady whether she liked your comp'ny or not. Come, now,
own up the corn."
"I'm not so humble as to put myself in the way of being walked over,"
was the haughty reply.
"Oh--oh, jest as I 'spected. I ain't a ladies' man--that is, not
lately," said the little guide, running his fingers through his short
hair as if moved by ancient reminiscences, "but I allers thought it
didn't disgrace a feller if a purty woman did put her foot on his neck.
How in thunder do you expeck to know for sartain whether she likes you
or not, if you're too mean to ask her. P'raps you want _her_ to do
the courtin'! Mighty generous you be, ain't you. All I can say is, if
you let her go off without findin' out precisely her sentiments, you
deserve to lose her--and ought to be thrashed besides for breaking her
purty heart, Nat Wolfe!"
"Breaking her heart!" echoed Nat, in a softer voice, his eyes bent
wistfully upon the blue smoke wreathing the distant settlement.
"There's no danger of that--her heart's already mended, and stuffed
full of silk dresses and diamonds, young men and flattery, elegant
houses and rich friends."
"A woman wouldn't be a woman, if she didn't have a hankerin' after silk
and satin and other fixin's--specially if she's young and handsome. I
don't see any thing to prevent your supplyin' her with a fair share of
sech--particularly if we're lucky in findin' what we're after on this
tramp. As for that pesky father of hers, he'd no business poking along
here jest at this time--though he's a perfect gentleman, and we hain't
no reason to hate him as I knows on. 'Lizabeth's known you as long as
she has _him_--and unless Buckskin Joe misses his guess more'n usual,
she thinks a good deal more of the youngest one of the two. I should
like to know if you think it's fair not to give her a chance to speak
for herself?"
Nat smiled, rather sadly however, at the indignant, remonstrating tone
of the guide; he felt cheered by his words, though, and brightened
visibly, as he put away the remainder of his dinner in his wallet, and
sprung to his feet, saying:
"Come on, then, my friend. Let's try for the gold, first, seeing we've
come this far in search of it."
For a while they strode along in silence. The bracing air was fragrant
with resinous odors, the dead tassels of the pines made a soft carpet
under their feet; with rifles ready loaded to repel any wild animal
who might see fit to resent their intrusion into his solitudes, eager,
athletic, accustomed to the forest, they pressed onward with as little
hesitation as if following some well-known highway.
It was a wild and glittering hope which danced before these sober men,
leading them into the depths of mountain solitudes, hitherto trodden
by white men seldom or never. Gold, the all-fascinating siren, allured
them. Their hearts bounded, their pulses beat to the music of that
whisper; the winds breathed it through the tall pines murmuring above
them; the sunlight sparkled only to remind them of its glitter. Fond
master-passion of the universal heart! the love of gold, dearer even
than the love of woman, for it holds the key to that love, and to every
other earthly delight.
The little, quaint, withered guide was enough of a philosopher to pause
all of a sudden in their journey, and say, with that peculiar quirk of
the mouth:
"What in creation am _I_ chasing off here after a gold mine for?
S'posin' I should stumble on a few hundred thousands or millions, what
on airth would I do with my share? When I've plenty of tobaccy in my
box, meat in my wallet and powder in my flask, I'm happy. I couldn't
live without trampin' and huntin'. Yit here I am as crazy as the rest
of 'em. Fact is, we're all a set of fools.
"Tell you what I will do," he continued, a little later, having
evidently been dwelling on the subject: "if we strike a rich lead
I'll give my share to Miss 'Lizabeth. She'd know how to make it fly,
I reckon! As for me, I've neither wife nor child, and all I want is
enough to keep me in tobaccy."
Buckskin Joe had no need of riches; but when, an hour later, they
emerged from the woods into a wild and rock ravine, down the center of
which a little stream came dashing and roaring, leaping from rock to
rock, broken into foam one moment, and mended with silver bands the
next--when they emerged into this secluded place, over which great
masses of mountain hung threateningly, dark with frowning pines, rough
with water-washed rocks, he threw up his cap, and shouted aloud:
"Here's the spot, Wolfe! Unless I'm more mistaken than ever I war' in
my life, thar's gold enough in this ravine to pave the ground a mile
square for Miss 'Lizabeth to walk over. I'll show you my reasons in
less'n half an hour."
The hot blood rushed into the hunter's cheeks; a bright light danced in
his eye; his breath came more quick with the excitement of the hour.
Was he about to lay his hand on untold treasures? He believed so.
The circumstances which had brought the two adventurers to this remote
and unsuspected locality were these: Upon the previous year, Buckskin
Joe, crossing the mountains with a brother trapper, all alone, with
no other object but game, furs and "the fun of the thing," happened
upon this wild, romantic and picturesque spot. Resolved to follow the
ravine up the mountain side, they commenced the difficult work of
making their way from rock to rock, hight to hight, charmed with the
noisy play of the stream. Coming into a little dell where the water
was gathered into a basin worn in the rock, from which it overflowed
and tumbled down a moss-grown steep, Joe stooped to drink, when his
eyes caught the glitter of a large pebble lying in the bottom of the
basin. He plunged in his arm and brought up a lump of pure, soft gold,
nearly uncontaminated with other substances, and weighing nearly a
pound. They lingered around the spot several days, finding half a dozen
smaller specimens; then, having no way to bring off much treasure, and
Joe's companion here injuring himself by an accident with his rifle,
they were obliged to leave the mountains. They took their gold with
them, and their story spread like wild-fire; but they betrayed to no
one the exact locality of their discovery.
Another company made some discoveries in the same region that autumn.
The news traveled through the winter and spring, and the summer saw
people from all parts of the United States on their way to the new El
Dorado.
So tardy and indifferent had Buckskin Joe been about profiting further
by his good luck, that this was the first trip to the mountains since
the time of his fortunate visit; the companion of his former trip was
dead; he was sole possessor of the knowledge of a "lead" which, he was
convinced, after a few days' observation of the "diggins" about Pike's
Peak, was richer than any of them. He had come to the mature resolve
to take Nat Wolfe into confidence and partnership--especially since he
had observed the threatening clouds lowering about the two young people
since the advent of the father into the interests of the group.
The result of a talk he had held with the moody hunter, a fortnight
after the arrival of the company at their destination, was this private
expedition, upon which the two set off, unsuspected by others.
With his present increased knowledge of mining, Joe "calkilated" to
pick up enough stray nuggets in the quiet basins and gullies of the
stream to make the two men rich beyond their wishes, before it would
be necessary to take any trouble of machinery. He was sure that the
accumulated washings of centuries were lying ready to their hands.
With eager, watchful eyes and glowing veins the gold hunters pushed
forward up the difficult ravine. The stream was now dwindled to about
its slenderest proportions; it was an excellent season in which to
attempt their plans; but the brief September afternoon began to darken
before they had laid their hands upon any tangible evidence to give
substance to their brilliant dreams. The sun, sinking early behind the
mountains, threw their deep shadows over the way, often slippery and
uncertain.
"Wal, we're here, and all ready for work in the mornin' bright and
'arly," said Buckskin Joe, as the night drew closer. "Our best way is
to climb back into the woods ag'in; we can have a comfortable bed of
boughs and pine-tossels, and begin to-morrer. Thar's no hurry--nobody's
goin' to carry our fortins off in the night. So let's make ourselves
cosy. By this time to-morrer we'll be independent."
Clinging to roots of trees, washed bare by spring freshets, and to
ledges of dark and chilly rock, they swung themselves up out of the
cool ravine into the pleasant forest.
"We won't kindle a fire here in the midst of this pitchy stuff,"
remarked Joe; "the woods is jest like a match, ready to go off at the
least rub, at this season of the year. Otherwise we might kill a brace
of bird, and brile them for supper. As it is, we'll make out on a cold
smack."
By the time the repast was taken, evening had shut them in. The guide,
healthily fatigued after their long tramp, with a look to his knife and
rifle in case of a stray bear, composed himself soon upon his primeval
couch, and was breathing the deep and regular breath of a good sleeper
long before Nat could close his excited eyes. Dreams of the expected
successes of this search, mingled with softer dreams of the fair girl
from whom he seemed so far separated--as if she never had been near his
heart, and never could be--thronged upon his brain, as he looked up at
the great silver stars peering here and there through rifts of the pine
branches far overhead.
The wind, according to its nightly habit, began to rise, and to rush
roaring down the mountain side, kissing the dark boughs of the pines
till they wailed in unison. It was a solemn, sweet and mighty music,
pleasant to the soul and sense of the hunter as he lay there dreaming
of the woman he loved. But as the hours crept on to midnight, he, too,
slept.
* * * * *
Buckskin Joe, as he stirred uneasily in his sleep, had a strange,
disagreeable dream. He thought the water in the ravine began to rise
with an awful roar--to rise until it overflowed gully and wood--till
his ears were stunned by its tumult--till it reached and overflowed him
where he lay--he was drowning! and in the spasmodic efforts he made to
buffet the horrible stream, he finally awakened. Yes, he was awake; but
where he was, or what was the matter, he could not recall. He felt as
if a thousand pounds lay upon his chest, pressing him in the earth--he
heard a dull, curious, continuous roar, like the incessant discharge of
cannon, through which pierced sharp reports, as of volleys of musketry;
there was a lurid glare around him that was not the light of moon
or sun--for an instant the rough hunter thought of hell! A flake of
burning pine-cone falling upon his face revealed the truth. Great God,
the forest was on fire!
As the appalling conviction rushed upon him, he raised upon his
elbows and looked about. A sea of fire spread around him in every
direction--they were already ringed in that awful circle. High overhead
flew great sheets and banners of flame, snatched up by the wind and
flung from tree-top to tree-top, while a fiery shower fell constantly,
drifting down through the lower foliage, which here was not fully
kindled. Dense masses of hot and suffocating smoke now shut him in, and
were again lifted for a moment by the howling wind. His first thought
was of his companion.
He shouted, he felt about him, but obtained no response. Nat had gone
to sleep about five yards from him, to the left. He rolled himself over
and over until he reached what ought to be the spot, and here he groped
about in the blinding smoke, calling sharply upon his friend, who, he
was afraid, might be already overpowered. While he was making these
efforts he choked, his brain reeled--he felt consciousness slipping
from him as the dense vapor hung thicker and hotter about him. But
before he entirely lost himself in that deadly struggle, a fierce gush
of wind came rushing under the ocean of flame which roared far above.
It caught up and whirled away the smoke; he breathed comparatively free
again; and in that instant of salvation an instinct whispered to him of
the cool ravine, of the delicious waters only such a little distance
away. Better to fling himself down and be dashed to pieces on the rocks
than to die by this torturing element which threatened him.
He crept along the ground with his face close to the earth. Once or
twice the smoke grappled with him--as often a blessed breath of air
came creeping after. Suddenly a cold draft struck him on the brow: he
knew that it came up from the ravine. Gasping, exhausted, he made yet
another effort, reached the edge of the rock, dragged himself over,
hanging by his hands, and dropped, in the darkness, knowing nothing of
the distance beneath him, nor what cruel reception he might meet from
objects below.
For a short time after the fall he lay stunned by the shock, gradually
reviving to a sense of safety--that he was alive and whole. He could
hear the blessed music of the running stream; all was deep darkness
where he was, but he crept along until he could dip his hand in the
water, and cool his scorched face and parched tongue. Lifting up his
head, he could see the glare of the burning forest against the sky,
and the huge showers of sparks floating off into space. Men pray
instinctively in times of peril and preservation; Buckskin Joe, albeit
unused to prayer, uttered a fervent exclamation of thankfulness for his
escape. The next instant he buried his face in his hands with a groan.
He had thanked God for his own welfare, but he shuddered as the fate of
his companion rushed over him.
It seemed a long time to him before the break of day enabled him to
do any thing; it was hard work for him to remain idle while a chance
remained in favor of Nat's escape. The glorious September morning was
dull with hovering smoke in this vicinity; Joe discovered, by its
light, that he had dropped some thirty feet down a precipice and
lodged upon a shelf of rock so well cushioned with earth and moss that
he had escaped without broken bones.
As he stood up and essayed to walk, he found himself stiff with
bruises. Following the ledge upon which he was until he came around the
precipice to a now broken and uneven fork, which promised sufficient
foothold, he began to climb back to the forest. When he reached the
surface of the wood, he found the fire still burning; the tops of the
trees were consumed, but the trunks were standing like pillars of fire,
and the ground--covered inches thick with dry pine-tassels, cones and
other tinder-like combustibles--was now one mass of smoldering fire,
upon which it was impossible to set foot.
The smoke was suffocating, coming as it did from the green wood of the
trunks and branches, which were slowly charring without being consumed.
If Nat Wolfe had not escaped by such an almost miraculous chance as had
occurred to the guide, then he had indeed met a terrible death--nothing
but his ashes could now remain upon that vast bed of fire.
There was life nowhere but in the deep ravine; back to that Buckskin
Joe descended, with a heart of lead. Nearly all day he wandered up and
down its intricacies, calling aloud, and getting only mocking echoes
for answer.
He thought little of gold that day--he would have given a pound of gold
for a pound of bread; and he would have given all the treasures he ever
expected to find in the Rocky Mountains for a sight of his friend,
alive and well before him. His acquaintance with Nat Wolfe had not been
of long duration; but there was that in the stuff which Nat was made of
which had secured the old guide's warmest friendship and admiration.
As the day wore away he gradually abandoned the faint hope to which,
against reason, he had clung. Forlornly he set his face homeward. He
would starve to death if he did not make his way out of that barren
gully; there was no game, and if there had been, his rifle had been
left to destruction. It being impossible to attempt the forest, all
he could do was to follow the water course until he could reach some
track which was clear of the fire, through which he might strike for
the settlement. That night he lay on the damp rock; the next day,
hungry, rheumatic and low-spirited, he continued on a few miles, came
out upon the open mountain side, and, guided by the sun and his general
knowledge of the country, pushed forward for Pike's Peak. He could see
the forest-fires still raging to the south of him; but the wind had
carried them from his present vicinity. A few prickly pears from a tree
which he found on his way gave him a welcome though insufficient dinner.
About sunset he entered Pike's Peak settlement, which he startled with
the news of the fate of Nat Wolfe.