The Second Day Out
Ham was the first to awaken in the morning. A pair of saucy jays had
been gossiping about the little party for nearly an hour. At first they
just exchanged ideas, making their observations from a reasonable
distance. One perched on the topmost limb of a dead pine, the other
bobbing up and down on the slender twigs of a neighboring aspen.
"Those crazy jabberers would dispute the identity of their own mates,"
exclaimed Ham, as he pulled on his trousers and got into his high boots.
"They talk about some folks always having too much to say, but--O, shut
up, you noisy robbers!" He reached for a heavy stick, and sent it
flying into the air toward the aspen. There was a flapping of wings, a
harsh, scolding threat, and the jays retreated to talk it over.
Very soon the camp was all astir, and there was a general call for a
fire.
"You don't want to forget that we have the most important ceremony of
this entire trip to go through with here yet this morning before any of
us can eat breakfast. What's your hurry, anyway? Get busy here, Fat, and
get another armful of wood like this that I have. In about three shakes
we'll have an altar built and we'll have our oracle fire burning in less
than a jiffy. Be quick, now, but don't disturb the Spirit," cried Ham.
"Oracle fire, your grandmother," interrupted Phil. "I'm as hungry as a
pet lion, and it's breakfast for me, and that right soon; oatmeal, a
boiled egg, and some rye bread sounds about right!"
"Me, too," chimed in Fat, reaching for his haversack. "Hungry's no name,
and I don't believe I brought enough grub, either."
"Stop!" shouted Ham. "Now, Mr. Philip Dennis, Jr., hear your humble
servant, the Spook Doctor, for just about a second. Long, long ago, even
before our friend, Zebulon Pike, took his first peek at Pike's Peak,
there was a custom common to all the Indian tribes about us," making a
gesture to include all the surrounding country, "and it was believed
absolutely necessary to the happiness and well-being of their mighty
warriors to indulge in this orgy at stated seasons." Ham was making
wild gestures as he went on with his mock oratory. "Never was a hunt
started, never was a journey undertaken, never a distant quest sought
after, until the tribe had first slept, then gathered around the mystic
altar of the Spook Doctor."
"Ham, you're a regular heathen," called Mr. Allen from his blanket. "What
has the altar got to do with it, anyway?"
"Well, it's just like this," continued Ham. "After the first night's
slumbers we build an Indian signal fire just like this, then in bare feet
and empty stomachs we dance around the fire and implore the Mighty Night
Wind to interpret the dreams we have had during our first night out.
They never fail to disclose the outcome of the journey, whether it will
be a success or a failure." As he bent over and lighted the fire, he
said, "You may be seated."
The childishness of it all appealed to every one of them, and they did as
they were commanded. Then Ham solemnly and weirdly called, "Fat, you're
first. Hurry, while the smoke is curling, curling upward."
Fat arose and made mock obeisance to the fire.
"My dream was a very queer one, but most too short to have a real
meaning. I dreamed I was in a big barnyard and all I could see was
pigs--little pigs, big pigs, and all kinds of pigs--and they were all
standing around an empty trough. Now, Mr. Wise Man, tell me what that has
to do with a quest for a cabin site, will you?"
Phil rolled over and chuckled to himself. "Oho, Fat, you will eat bacon
for supper, will you? while your poor fellow-travelers sup on a rare and
expensive can of beans. Ha-ha-ha! Eat pork and you dream of pigs."
Ham looked long into the fire, then, turning, cried out:
"I have it, I have it, the Spirit speaks. Fat, you will run out of
provisions long before this journey is over. You will eat all you have by
to-morrow, and never think of the days to follow. Beware, for so the
Spirit tells me."
A roar of laughter went up from the others.
"Mr. Allen, your dream next," called Ham, mystically.
"Well, I dreamed of beautiful autumn days, spent in a splendid grove of
trees, cutting choice timbers for a cabin; and then I dreamed of a crowd
of old men, sitting before an open fire-place, telling about how they had
built a cabin long years before, when they were boys."
"That needs no interpreter. Phil, your dream is now demanded. Tell it
truly, lie and you will live to suffer. Careful, now, and do not hurry."
"Well, I dreamed a dandy," cried Phil. "I saw a crazy loon standing in
front of a fire, gazing into fiery embers, and--" There was a crackling
in the fire, a shower of sparks went up, and one of the altar stones
turned over.
"O, how sad," groaned Ham, "that such a man should lie so to the great
Spook Doctor. In wrath he tears down the altar--hisses forth his
disapproval in clouds of tiny spark-thoughts. Willis, you are next. Now,
do not rile the mighty Master." "Well," said Willis, "my dream was not so
strange. I just dreamed over and over the thoughts I took to bed with me.
I saw cabins and mines and tunnels and miners of all descriptions, only
that there was one that looked very familiar, and it was a very hard one
to find and get to." Ham had failed to replenish the fire, and it had
burned to a tiny, smoldering heap of ashes.
"I can not answer that one," said Ham, "for the Great Spirit has now left
me. Let's eat our breakfast, and I hope it will be more substantial than
these dreams."
Soon breakfast was under way. It was a simple meal and soon over with.
Cooking utensils were washed and packs rolled, ready for the day's
journey.
"What time of day?" asked Chuck.
"Seven-ten," promptly replied Willis, "and just the time to be starting
through the Park, if we want to see it before the dew is gone." At the
spring they stopped to drink and to examine the deer tracks in the soft,
black muck. From there the trail led off, zigzaging down the gentle
slope. On either side of the path the wild grasses and ferns grew in rank
profusion, while scattered here and there on the soft, green carpet were
great numbers of dainty Maraposa lilies. Now and then a tall, green
stalk of the columbine could be seen, and occasionally a wooly circle of
bracts on the stem of a late anemone. At intervals tall ferns bent over
the woodland pathway, as if to hide and protect it for the private use
of the many tiny wild feet that scampered over it daily.
"Isn't this great," cried Ham. "Just take a peek at that grove of trees.
I'll bet that grass is full of snakes and rabbits. I'd like to take a
shot at a big 'jack' this morning."
"It's an old swamp," replied Willis. "Perhaps there was once a little
lake here. Wouldn't it be a swell place for a shanty? I'll bet it's full
of grouse."
"I suppose it was once an Indian camping ground," suggested Mr. Allen.
"Just a little flat oasis on the summit of a granite mountain. Remember
where we came up last night? Now, look away off there," pointing his
finger. "We are ten thousand feet above the sea up here; up where we
can see how the world is made, and how beautiful it is."
Soon the little park came to an abrupt end, and great boulders began to
loom up on every side. They came to the edge of the cliff, and could look
far down into the valley below. Away to the west stood Black Mountain, a
rounded bluff, so densely covered with young timber that it seemed at a
distance to be a mountain of black dirt. Far below them could be seen the
silver thread of a tiny stream as it followed the canyon toward the sandy
plains. They had climbed out onto a great boulder, now, that overlooked
the canyon far below on one side and the level plains on the other. Here
they sat down to rest and talk.
"Do you see that hollow spot in the plain there, just at the foot of the
mountain?" Mr. Allen was saying. "It is what has been known for many
years as the Big Hollow Ranch. It was homesteaded in the early days,
before the war, by our friend, Daddy Wright. There is a story that tells
of how, in those days, the Indians would lie in wait and steal cattle
from the great Texas roundups as they passed, enroute to Kansas City, and
would drive large numbers of the cattle into that great hollow. After the
cattle were driven inside, a few men could guard the opening while the
other Indians drove the cattle off into lonely ravines."
"My! what a fire there must have been here sometime," exclaimed Willis,
noting the dead trees. "I have always wanted to see a forest fire; it
must be a grand sight."
"Yes, if you're far enough away to be safe," joined in Chuck. "I saw one
once, but it was several miles away. It looked fine from there. It was
the year we camped at the old hatcheries up in the Middle Park. Mount
Deception was very much like Black Mountain, then--very heavily timbered
with fine, large trees. As the years went by a very large slab pile began
to accumulate back of the mill. Some way, no one ever knew just how,
those slab piles got afire. It was on a very windy summer night, when
everything was as dry as chips and the hills were covered with heaps of
dry toppings and pine slash. Well, the fire got into a few piles of
toppings, and before the men at the mill realized that there was a fire,
it was running over the hills like a wild thing. The dry pine needles are
just like turpentine to burn, so in less than two hours there were
several square miles of timber land afire. The mill and hundreds of
thousands of feet of sawed lumber were burned, and an area of many square
miles stripped of every stick of wood, so far as value was concerned."
"Did you see them fight it?" asked Phil.
"No, I didn't see them, but I've heard them tell how they did it."
"I was in a forest fire once," said Mr. Allen. "It wasn't such an awfully
big one, but there was plenty of excitement while it did last, I tell you
that."
"Tell us about it," came in a chorus.
"It's pretty hard to describe a forest fire, but it was a very exciting
experience. It was up not many miles from Mount Deception, while I was
stopping with a friend at Manitou Park. We were eating our Sunday dinner,
when suddenly the door opened and in rushed the man from the adjoining
farm.
"'Fire, boys,' he called. 'I'm sorry to disturb you, but we need you, and
you know the law. I'll have the buggy ready in a shake, and you be
ready.' As he left, my friend cried, 'Come quick, Allen, into your old
clothes.' 'Why,' I said, 'we don't have to fight the forest fire, do we?'
He laughed aloud. 'Well, you just bet we do!' he cried. 'The law says
that every able-bodied man in reach of a forest fire must give his
services. If a fire starts on Government land and burns onto private
land, Uncle Sam has to pay for all the private loss. But if it starts on
private land and burns onto Government land, the land owner is
responsible.'
"I jumped into some old clothes, and was ready just as the buggy drove up
to the door. The man handed me a big brown jug and told me to fill it
with drinking water. Off to the north we saw a great cloud of gray smoke
rising from the forest, but no flame. The farmer handed my friend the
lines, told us to take the shortest route, and not to stop for anything,
that he would follow on horseback in a few moments. I never shall forget
how the little mare did go that day. We drove north on a county road
until we got even with the smoke, then we turned in directly toward it
through a very large potato field. After an hour's hard driving, we came
to the entrance of a narrow canyon. We tied the horse, and, with as many
shovels as I could carry on my shoulder, and with the jug, I followed my
friend, who had taken a couple of shovels and two heavy axes. It was a
sultry midsummer day, and how I did sweat!
"We hurried on, the smoke getting thicker and thicker, and still we could
see no flames. We went up a long, narrow canyon in which there was a tiny
stream, and about every hundred yards we stopped to drink. By and by we
came to the top of a low ridge, and the farmer met us.
"'Hurry, fellows, hurry!' he shouted. 'Give me a couple of those axes.
Report to the first man you meet, and come home in the buggy when you
can.' He swung his horse round, and in a moment was gone. I was tired out
already, and the jug of water was very heavy to carry by so small a
handle. As we got near the top of the ridge, we came to an old prospect
hole. An idea struck me. I would leave the jug there by the hole, and it
would be easy to find when I wanted it, and I would hurry on with the
shovels. As we reached the top of the ridge, the fire came into full
view. My, what a sight! A great sea of burning, crackling trees below,
and above an ocean of heavy smoke, floating upward in great billows. Far
away, at least it seemed so to me, I heard chopping, chopping. I don't
know how long I stood there wondering at the sight, but presently an old
man--he looked to me like a wild man, came toward me, eyeing me with a
scornful look.
"'Well, ye goin' to stand there all day with them implements, son?' He
mopped away the great beads of perspiration from his forehead with a big
blue bandanna handkerchief. A large Russian hound stood, panting, by his
side. Nearly a year afterwards I learned that the old man was no other
than Old Ben himself.
"'Where's that jug of water that Jim said ye was a bringin',' he howled
as he snatched the best shovel from my hands. I don't know what I said,
but I know that he cursed me roundly and I started for the prospect hole
to get the jug. I was excited to the limit. I came to the prospect hole,
and the jug was gone. I was starting back when I came to another hole,
then a third, then a fourth. I raised my eyes and surveyed the hillside.
There were at least a hundred prospect holes. Which one did I leave the
jug by? Was it lost, that precious jug of water? Would I ever find it?
The great clouds of smoke drifted past me and darkened the landscape;
then I began to hunt for the jug, one hole at a time. But I could find no
jug. While I was searching all over the hill, up rode the farmer. He
called for me to follow him. I tried to explain to him that I was looking
for the water, but I couldn't make him understand. When we got back to
the east of the fire, he handed me an ax and showed me what to do. They
were cutting an aisle down the south ridge. There were great trees
cracking and crashing to the ground all along the line and all around me.
I could not see more than a hundred feet ahead, but I worked like a Turk.
O, but I thought my ax was dull and the tree hard! It seemed that I could
never cut it through. I struck a heavy blow; there was a singing noise in
the air, and the head of my ax went flying somewhere into the brush. I
heard the farmer, chopping near me, yell something about a fool and a
greenhorn.
"'Go, bring the water,' he yelled. I asked what water, and he yelled
back, 'The jug, the brown jug.'
"I started again to find it. I don't know how long I looked, but by
accident I stumbled onto it. I raised it to my lips to drink, but the
water was warm and insipid. It made me feel faint. My head began to get
dizzy and everything looked burned. I straightened up and went back
toward the fire. When I reached the farmer, he gave me his ax and started
off with the jug. I chose my tree, and began to work. I had cut but one,
and was started on another, when a dozen rugged, sweating men passed me
on the run and shouted, 'Look out for the blast!' I dropped my ax and
followed them. The earth shook under my feet, as one after the other I
saw mighty pine trees rise into the air a few feet, then crash headlong
down the mountain into the flames. The fire was coming nearer. O, such a
sight! The heat was intense, but the coloring was beautiful. I followed
the men, but one man tripped and fell; the others hurriedly picked him
up, and we went onto a safe place. Then a hurried conference was held,
and orders given to cut the underbrush in a great circle around the
fire. By and by the wind changed, and soon the smoke cleared away from
where we were working. To my surprise, there were at least fifty sturdy
men--mountain ranchmen, most of them--cutting the underbrush ahead of me,
and just next to me worked Ben.
"We worked on until dark. My friend found me, and we started for the
buggy. We got home some way--he drove. I was exhausted. That was my only
forest fire experience, but I don't care for another. I was stiff and
sore for a week."
The little party worked its way into the gulch, and then proceeded up the
canyon on an old cattle trail in the second range. Every now and then
they would pass a prospect hole, which showed that they were not, by any
means, the first to tramp up the gulches and drink at the crystal
streams. On a great, flat stone, close by a tiny spring, they stopped to
eat their dinner and rest.
"Let's get as far as we can by night," suggested Phil, "for we'll never
find a cabin site here in this canyon. It's too far away. We'll have to
get in closer, near St. Peter's Dome."
"Let's make the Little Fountain by night. It must cross this canyon, and
perhaps it will yield us a trout for breakfast. What do you say?"
inquired Mr. Allen.
"Little Fountain, or bust," called Ham. "I'm in for it. Say, we ought to
find a few squirrels this afternoon up in this lonesome canyon. A
squirrel would taste pretty fine, stewed in a little rice, for supper.
I'll bet I get the first one."
"Got some salt in your pocket?" asked Willis.
"Salt, what do I want with salt? Just keep your eye on me. I'm
dead-shot at squirrels."
"Hello, here, what's this?" called out Mr. Allen about the middle of the
afternoon. "This looks interesting to me. See here, I've found a few
small pieces of aspen that have been cut by beaver." He held them up for
inspection. Sure enough, on the ends were the marks of the tiny chisel
teeth of the little water workmen. "I'd certainly like to see a real
beaver dam. I've seen pieces of dams and old, wrecked dams, but never a
real good one. Keep your eyes open for more sticks like this, and for
stumps along the stream. This ought to be good beaver country, because
it's wild and quiet."
"What do you suppose killed all those fine big trees in that valley?"
asked Willis.
They turned aside to examine the great dead trees.
"Hold on, there," said Ham in a whisper, as he held up his finger.
"There's my stew for to-night. Great Caesar's ghost! I'll bet these dead
trees are full of squirrels. Still, now, a moment."
The squirrel sat for an instant in plain view on a dead limb of a spruce;
then he barked and scampered around in great excitement, his tail bobbing
up and down in time to his movements. He would run, hide behind the great
tree trunk, then out again to jeer and scold and jerk his tail. As they
came nearer, a second one, perhaps his mate, joined him on the limb and
seconded everything he had to say. The barrel of Ham's gun was making
strange movements in the air. "Hey, there, sit still, you jumping jack,"
called Ham. The squirrels sat up and listened to his voice in such a way
that it appeared they perfectly understood the order to sit still. Fat
laughed a hearty laugh; the squirrels took it as a danger signal and were
gone. Ham lowered his gun.
"Fat, you stole my supper right out of my mouth," said Ham, gloomily.
"Oho," said Willis. "How do you suppose this happened? All of these big
trees are girdled. See, the bark has been cut clear around the trunk with
an ax, so as to cut off the supply of sap. Mr. Allen, what is your
explanation?"
"Well, I'm not just sure about it, Willis. Some one may have killed them
for timber or some one may have girdled them so as to be able to start a
big fire. It might have been the work of timber pirates. A man would get
a mighty severe punishment for that, if he were caught."
A little farther up the canyon they found traces of an old placer sluice,
and what remained of some of the old, homemade cradles for panning out
the gold.
"Gold, gold, gold; you find traces of it everywhere, and traces of the
men who sought it. A sight like that always makes me sorry for some old,
forlorn, disappointed miner," said Mr. Allen. "Of all the dilapidated,
blue-producing sights that I have ever seen, it's one of these old,
deserted mining camps, for they come as near representing a forlorn hope
as anything you can find.
"One time I was with a crowd of boys, and we made a detour to look over a
deserted mining camp. They called it Old North Cripple Creek. Years
before, shrewd individuals had salted prospect holes at that point, then
discovered their own gold. Of course there was a grand rush, and a boom
town resulted. Crude houses were built, stores and saloons erected, and
mining operations begun. A real, substantial log hotel was erected, and
I've heard that their charge was upwards of ten dollars a night, payable
in advance.
"But the camp died as quickly as it had been born, and the people, mostly
men, pushed on to other fields.
"It was a good many years after the place was deserted that I was there,
but it made a tremendous impression upon me. I had the blues for days
afterward. Old, tumbled-down houses, the windows knocked out and the
doors hanging on leather hinges. I remember one building that had been a
saloon. The great mirrors back of the bar had never been removed, and the
rains of many seasons had peeled the mercury from the plate glass and the
gilt frames were faded. We entered the old hotel, and were surprised to
find some of the fittings still there. In the attic we found an old chest
of letters--and, speaking of strange coincidences, a large number of
those letters were written and signed by Daddy Wright. Away up in the
back corner of the attic sat an old owl. He looked down on us from his
perch in a reproving manner, to think we would disturb the haunts of the
past in that crude way. He was a weird looking old fellow as he sat
there, blinking his big yellow eyes, and I couldn't help thinking that
the owl of wisdom perhaps a good many times might be found perched in the
dark attics of the past, instead of spending his time in the sunlight of
the great and active present."
The afternoon passed, and soon the sun began to settle behind the western
peaks. It was just six o'clock when the party came to the Little Fountain
and chose their camping spot on a little green knoll of high ground,
right by the water's edge. Some one suggested a dip, and so, in the quiet
coolness of a perfect summer twilight, with a cheerful fire burning on
the bank, clothes were stripped and a bath taken. Then came the evening
meal, the usual round of stories, the message from the letter of the
Great Spirit, then to sleep.
As Willis and Mr. Allen lay watching the firelight and listening to the
thousand sounds of the night, the night breeze began to rise and to sing
to them through the balsam boughs overhead.
"Do you know what I think of when I lie out in the woods on such a night
and listen to the gentle sighing of the night wind?" asked Mr. Allen.
"No," replied Willis. "What do you think of?"
"It is kind of fanciful, I suppose, but I like to believe that it is God
blowing His breath down on us just to let us know that He is very near
and cares for us." Willis did not answer; he was thinking.