Bill found it rather hard to get to sleep. The pine needles were not
as soft as they seemed at first. Then there were the usual noises that
are ever prevalent in the forests. The creaking trees, falling
branches, small animals wandering through the darkness hunting for
food, and occasionally a larger animal coming down to the river for
water. Each in turn gave Breene a start and he was continually calling
to Bill.
“What’s that?” asked Breene on one of these instances.
“What and where?” asked Bill sleepily.
“There,” replied Breene, pointing into the darkness.
Bill looked in the direction which Breene pointed and saw a pair of
shining eyes. They had the bright shine and green tint of a cat’s
eyes. Coming out of the darkness they looked as large as two
baseballs. Bill was wide awake after looking a short time into those
luminous spots standing out against the otherwise dark background. The
impression that he received as he looked into those eyes was both
fascinating and terrifying. They must belong to one of the various
species of mountain lions, thought Bill.
“Maybe this will make him stop staring at us,” said Bill as he aimed
at the eyes with his pistol and pulled the trigger.
The roar of the explosion echoed back and forth through the woods and
broke the stillness of the night. Immediately following the sound of
the pistol the woods became alive with moving creatures. Apparently
the campfire had attracted all manner of animals which, at the sound
of the pistol, found business elsewhere which would tolerate no delay.
The shining eyes were gone.
“Go out and take a look to see if I hit him,” said Bill.
“Not on your life,” replied Breene. “I have a distinct aversion to
cats at night, more especially in the dark. It can wait until
morning.”
“I haven’t lost anything out there either,” said Bill as he moved a
bit closer to the fire.
Breene did not sleep much that night. Bill tried to sleep, but did not
have much luck as his bed was rather uncomfortable. Both were glad to
see the light break over the hills and know that the mysterious noises
of the forest would no longer bother them.
“I don’t know what you are going to do, Sergeant,” said Bill, “but I
am going to take one of the cakes of chocolate from my emergency
ration and make myself a cup of chocolate to drink.”
“I would greatly prefer coffee for breakfast, but I can stand
chocolate,” replied Breene.
They used the cups from their canteens and heated up their drinks. It
was rather a slim breakfast, but was better than none. A few minutes
later they were striking through the brush along the stream bank. The
stream became much larger as they progressed and they also encountered
an old trail which they found passable in spots. It was much better
than struggling through the virgin woods.
They had been traveling some four or five hours since leaving their
camp when Bill heard the drone of an airplane engine. He stopped and
listened. The stream they were following was deep down in a valley
with high hills on both sides. He could not possibly see that plane
unless it flew directly overhead. Bill thought that if he could get a
glimpse of the plane he could form an estimate of his present
location. It would not do much good in regard to cutting down the
distance which they still had to go but it would satisfy his
curiosity. The airplane apparently was still some distance away.
“Breene, I am going up on this mountain to see the course that plane
is flying,” said Bill. “You wait for me here at this stream junction.
I will be back in a short time.”
“I would have thought that you had seen enough airplanes in your life
without climbing mountains to see another,” said Breene. “I will wait
for you right here.”
Bill climbed up to the top of the ridge. He was afraid that he would
not reach the summit in time. The airplane was not far off when he had
first heard it and would probably be out of sight before he reached
the crest of the ridge. Bill crashed through the underbrush like a
scared deer. He reached the top of the ridge out of breath. He had not
stopped on the way up to listen for the plane, so had no idea whether
or not it was still within sight. He came out into an open space which
had recently been burned off and saw the plane.
The airplane was circling around a mountain top but a short distance
away. At first Bill could not figure out why it was circling. There
were no signs of forest fires, but when he studied that mountain the
reflection of the sun on a highly polished surface met his eyes. In a
few seconds it disappeared. He examined the top of the mountain very
carefully and was sure that there was a lookout station on the top of
that ridge. Bill wished that he had brought the airplane compass with
him so that he could get the bearing of the mountain. He estimated the
distance to the lookout to be anywhere from four to six miles, but
distances looking across depressions are very deceptive. Perhaps it
might be ten or twelve miles the way they would have to travel. In any
event, he was glad that the plane had circled the lookout to drop its
message, whatever it might have been. Perhaps the pilot was throwing
over a bundle of newspapers. Bill himself had often done that while on
patrol.
After carefully studying the topographical features of the mountain on
which the lookout station was located, Bill descended the ridge to
join Breene.
“Sergeant, there is a forestry lookout station not over ten or twelve
miles from here,” said Bill. “I think that we will head for that.”
“As far as I can see, that is more than we have been heading for
during the past twenty-four hours,” replied Breene. “Let’s go.”
They worked their way around the bottom of the ridge in an endeavor to
reach the opposite side without climbing to the top. Several times
Bill doubted the wisdom of the proceeding, but once having started,
was reluctant to change his plan. He found that he could not tell when
he had reached the other side, for there were so many small valleys
and gullies coming down from the top. Finally they reached the bottom
of a hog-back which Bill thought pointed in the direction in which the
lookout lay.
“Give me the compass, Breene,” said Bill. “I am going up on this
hog-back and get a bearing to the lookout.”
“I thought that you might ask for the compass when I hurled it at a
wild creature which was about to invade our camp last night,” replied
Breene. “I had every intention in the world of getting it this
morning, but with the making of chocolate and everything, I forgot all
about it, just the same as you did about that big cat which you shot
at last night.”
“I didn’t come within a mile of that cat when I shot last night,” said
Bill.
“I probably didn’t, either, when I hurled that compass,” replied
Breene.
“A fine woodsman you have turned out to be,” said Bill as he started
up the hill. “Wait for me right where you are.”
Once having reached the top of the ridge, Bill found it difficult to
find a space sufficiently open to get a good view. He tried one place
after another, but could not get a clear view through the trees.
Finally he thought that he had the lookout spotted, but was not sure.
The mountain upon which it was situated did not look the same from his
present position.
“I am not sure that I have it spotted,” said Bill when he returned.
“I know how we can get in touch with them,” said Breene.
“How?”
“Start a forest fire,” explained Breene.
“Yes, and pay a fifty-dollar fine,” said Bill. “Not for mine. Come on,
let’s go.”
Once more they started through the tangled underbrush. Bill tried to
keep the sun in the same relative position so that he could keep the
proper course. He was glad that the smoke pall did not extend over
this section of the state. He led Breene over ridges and valleys,
streams and gullies, and never deviated from what he thought was the
direct line to the lookout.
They reached the highest point on a ridge and Bill stopped. He wanted
to check up on his course. Once again he hunted for an open space and
came upon a rocky stretch where there was no foliage. He looked in all
directions, but could see no signs of the station.
He was lost. The station had disappeared as if by magic. He started
his search all over again. He made a careful scrutiny of the mountain
peaks in front of him, but could see no signs of the lookout. He was
about to give up and start for the Umpqua River when Breene called to
him from the other side of the ridge.
“That’s a funny-looking place for a homesteader to live,” said Breene
as Bill came up.
“Where?” asked Bill.
Breene pointed it out. Bill examined it carefully.
“Why, that’s the lookout!” he exclaimed. “It’s in exactly the opposite
direction from where I expected it to be.”
“Is that what you were hunting for?” asked Breene. “Why, I saw that a
quarter of an hour ago.”
“You would have saved me a lot of worry if you had told me when you
first saw it,” said Bill. “We can’t miss it now. Let’s go.”
The station was just across a valley and the going was not so
difficult, as they found a trail in the bottom of the valley which led
to the top of the mountain. It was late in the afternoon when they
came out into the open space which surrounded the lookout station.
They saw two buildings, the lookout tower and a small shack, evidently
used as living quarters. They walked up to the tower and Bill called
out, “Is anybody home?”
“There sure is; come right in,” replied a voice from within, but it
was a woman’s voice.
Bill and Breene entered the small one-room shack and saw a woman
sitting at a large table. The sides of the building were open,
enabling her to overlook the forest for miles in all directions.
“I believe that the lost are found,” she said when she turned and saw
Bill and Breene. “Are you the two aviators who dropped into the woods
near Diamond Lake yesterday? How did you find this place?”
“We are the same,” replied Bill. “I saw something shining in the
sunlight when I was on a mountain top about ten miles back there.”
“I have been receiving all kinds of messages about you ever since you
fell into the woods,” the lookout replied. “Telephone first and then
the airplane patrol came over this morning and dropped a message
concerning your disappearance at the same time he dropped my papers.
The shining light that you saw was from my hand mirror. I sent
reflections on the mountain sides on a chance that you might see them.
Sit down while I telephone in that you are O. K.”
While she was telephoning, Bill tried to remember her name. He had
heard that there was one woman lookout in the Forestry Service, but
had not paid much attention when he heard the name. Now it was gone.
The lookout gave him no clue when she telephoned. Her message was
simple: “Lookout on Black Rock Mountain speaking. The two aviators who
fell into the woods near Diamond Lake just reported in here. Neither
one hurt. I will start them down tomorrow morning. Send out someone to
meet them on the Tiller trail. Did you get that O. K.? Good-bye.”
“I don’t imagine that you have had much to eat,” she said. “One of you
sit here and watch for fires and I will get you some supper. I am
about famished myself.”
“I’ll take care of the station,” said Bill. “Breene, you help with
getting supper.”
When they had left the tower, Bill studied the map. He located Black
Rock Mountain and Tiller. They were safe as far as hunger was
concerned, but were still many miles from civilization. Just how long
it would take them to get back to Eugene he did not know, but he was
going to get something to eat soon. That was the big thing right
now—food. The trip down the mountains to the railroad could take care
of itself. Then Bill remembered the lookout’s name. It was Mollie.
Lady Luck was riding with him again, for they had found a lookout
station in the midst of the wilds of the forest. If Mollie had not
been throwing reflections with her hand mirror, he and Breene would
now be facing a cheerless, foodless night in the woods.