Etext of The Young Forester
by Zane Grey




THE YOUNG FORESTER

By Zane Grey


I. CHOOSING A PROFESSION

I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in
when I tried to explain forestry to my brother.

"Hunting grizzlies!" he cried. "Why, Ken, father says you've been reading
dime novels."

"Just wait, Hal, till he comes out here. I'll show him that forestry isn't
just bear-hunting."

My brother Hal and I were camping a few days on the Susquehanna River, and
we had divided the time between fishing and tramping. Our camp was on the
edge of a forest some eight miles from Harrisburg. The property belonged to
our father, and he had promised to drive out to see us. But he did not come
that day, and I had to content myself with winning Hal over to my side.

"Ken, if the governor lets you go to Arizona can't you ring me in?"

"Not this summer. I'd be afraid to ask him. But in another year I'll do it."

"Won't it be great? But what a long time to wait! It makes me sick to think
of you out there riding mustangs and hunting bears and lions."

"You'll have to stand it. You're pretty much of a kid, Hal--not yet
fourteen. Besides, I've graduated."

"Kid!" exclaimed Hal, hotly. "You're not such a Methuselah yourself! I'm
nearly as big as you. I can ride as well and play ball as well, and I can
beat you all--"

"Hold on, Hal! I want you to help me to persuade father, and if you get
your temper up you'll like as not go against me. If he lets me go I'll
bring you in as soon as I dare. That's a promise. I guess I know how much
I'd like to have you."

"All right," replied Hal, resignedly. "I'll have to hold in, I suppose. But
I'm crazy to go. And, Ken, the cowboys and lions are not all that interest
me. I like what you tell me about forestry. But who ever heard of forestry
as a profession?"

"It's just this way, Hal. The natural resources have got to be conserved,
and the Government is trying to enlist intelligent young men in the work--
particularly in the department of forestry. I'm not exaggerating when I say
the prosperity of this country depends upon forestry."

I have to admit that I was repeating what I had read.

"Why does it? Tell me how," demanded Hal.

"Because the lumbermen are wiping out all the timber and never thinking of
the future. They are in such a hurry to get rich that they'll leave their
grandchildren only a desert. They cut and slash in every direction, and
then fires come and the country is ruined. Our rivers depend upon the
forests for water. The trees draw the rain; the leaves break it up and let
it fall in mists and drippings; it seeps into the ground, and is held by
the roots. If the trees are destroyed the rain rushes off on the surface
and floods the rivers. The forests store up water, and they do good in
other ways."

"We've got to have wood and lumber," said Hal.

"Of course we have. But there won't be any unless we go in for forestry.
It's been practiced in Germany for three hundred years."

We spent another hour talking about it, and if Hal's practical sense, which
he inherited from father, had not been offset by his real love for the
forests I should have been discouraged. Hal was of an industrious turn of
mind; he meant to make money, and anything that was good business appealed
strongly to him. But, finally, he began to see what I was driving at; he
admitted that there was something in the argument.

The late afternoon was the best time for fishing. For the next two hours
our thoughts were of quivering rods and leaping bass,

"You'll miss the big bass this August," remarked Hal, laughing. "Guess you
won't have all the sport."

"That's so, Hal," I replied, regretfully. "But we're talking as if it were
a dead sure thing that I'm going West. Well, I only hope so."

What Hal and I liked best about camping--of course after the fishing--was
to sit around the campfire. Tonight it was more pleasant than ever, and
when darkness fully settled down it was even thrilling. We talked about
bears. Then Hal told of mountain-lions and the habit they have of creeping
stealthily after hunters. There was a hoot-owl crying dismally up in the
woods, and down by the edge of the river bright-green eyes peered at us
from the darkness. When the wind came up and moaned through the trees it
was not hard to imagine we were out in the wilderness. This had been a
favorite game for Hal and me; only tonight there seemed some reality about
it. From the way Hal whispered, and listened, and looked, he might very
well have been expecting a visit from lions or, for that matter, even from
Indians. Finally we went to bed. But our slumbers were broken. Hal often
had nightmares even on ordinary nights, and on this one he moaned so much
and thrashed about the tent so desperately that I knew the lions were after
him.

I dreamed of forest lands with snow-capped peaks rising in the background;
I dreamed of elk standing on the open ridges, of white-tailed deer trooping
out of the hollows, of antelope browsing on the sage at the edge of the
forests. Here was the broad track of a grizzly in the snow; there on a
sunny crag lay a tawny mountain-lion asleep. The bronzed cowboy came in for
his share, and the lone bandit played his part in a way to make me shiver.
The great pines, the shady, brown trails, the sunlit glades, were as real
to me as if I had been among them. Most vivid of all was the lonely forest
at night and the campfire. I heard the sputter of the red embers and
smelled the wood smoke; I peered into the dark shadows watching and
listening for I knew not what.

On the next day early in the afternoon father appeared on the river road.

"There he is," cried Hal. "He's driving Billy. How he's coming"

Billy was father's fastest horse. It pleased me immensely to see the pace,
for father would not have been driving fast unless he were in a
particularly good humor. And when he stopped on the bank above camp I could
have shouted. He wore his corduroys as if he were ready for outdoor life.
There was a smile on his face as he tied Billy, and, coming down, he poked
into everything in camp and asked innumerable questions. Hal talked about
the bass until I was afraid he would want to go fishing and postpone our
forestry tramp in the woods. But presently he spoke directly to me.

"Well, Kenneth, are you going to come out with the truth about that
Wild-West scheme of yours? Now that you've graduated you want a fling. You
want to ride mustangs, to see cowboys, to hunt and shoot--all that sort of
thing."

When father spoke in such a way it usually meant the defeat of my schemes.
I grew cold all over.

"Yes, father, I'd like all that-- But I mean business. I want to be a
forest ranger. Let me go to Arizona this summer. And in the fall I'd--I'd
like to go to a school of forestry."

There! the truth was out, and my feelings were divided between relief and
fear. Before father could reply I launched into a set speech upon forestry,
and talked till I was out of breath.

"There's something in what you say," replied my father. "You've been
reading up on the subject?"

"Everything I could get, and I've been trying to apply my knowledge in the
woods. I love the trees. I'd love an outdoor life. But forestry won't be
any picnic. A ranger must be able to ride and pack, make trail and camp,
live alone in the woods, fight fire and wild beasts. Oh! It'd be great!"

"I dare say," said father, dryly; "particularly the riding and shooting.
Well, I guess you'll make a good-enough doctor to suit me."

"Give me a square deal," I cried, jumping up. "Mayn't I have one word to say
about my future? Wouldn't you rather have me happy and successful as a
forester, even if there is danger, than just an ordinary, poor doctor? Let's
go over our woodland. I'll prove that you are letting your forest run down.
You've got sixty acres of hard woods that ought to be bringing a regular
income. If I can't prove it, if I can't interest you, I'll agree to study
medicine. But if I do you're to let me try forestry."

"Well, Kenneth, that's a fair proposition," returned father, evidently
surprised at my earnestness "Come on. We'll go up in the woods. Hal, I
suppose he's won you over?"

"Ken's got a big thing in mind," replied Hal, loyally "It's just splendid."

I never saw the long, black-fringed line of trees without joy in the
possession of them and a desire to be among them. The sixty acres of timber
land covered the whole of a swampy valley, spread over a rolling hill
sloping down to the glistening river.

"Now, son? go ahead," said my father, as we clambered over a rail fence and
stepped into the edge of shade..

"Well, father--" I began, haltingly, and could not collect my thoughts.
Then we were in the cool woods. It was very still, there being only a faint
rustling of leaves and the mellow note of a hermit-thrush. The deep shadows
were lightened by shafts of sunshine which, here and there, managed to
pierce the canopy of foliage. Somehow, the feeling roused by these things
loosened my tongue.

"This is an old hard-wood forest," I began. "Much of the white oak,
hickory, ash, maple, is virgin timber. These trees have reached maturity;
many are dead at the tops; all of them should have been cut long ago. They
make too dense a shade for the seedlings to survive. Look at that bunch of
sapling maples. See how they reach up, trying to get to the light. They
haven't a branch low down and the tops are thin. Yet maple is one of our
hardiest trees. Growth has been suppressed. Do you notice there are no
small oaks or hickories just here? They can't live in deep shade. Here's
the stump of a white oak cut last fall. It was about two feet in diameter.
Let's count the rings to find its age--about ninety years. It flourished in
its youth and grew rapidly, but it had a hard time after about fifty years.
At that time it was either burned, or mutilated by a falling tree, or
struck by lightning."

"Now, how do you make that out?" asked father, intensely interested.

"See the free, wide rings from the pith out to about number forty-five. The
tree was healthy up to that time. Then it met with an injury of some kind,
as is indicated by this black scar. After that the rings grew narrower. The
tree struggled to live."

We walked on with me talking as fast as I could get the words out. I showed
father a giant, bushy chestnut which was dominating all the trees around
it, and told him how it retarded their growth. On the other hand, the other
trees were absorbing nutrition from the ground that would have benefited
the chestnut.

"There's a sinful waste of wood here," I said, as we climbed over and
around the windfalls and rotting tree-trunks. "The old trees die and are
blown down. The amount of rotting wood equals the yearly growth. Now, I
want to show you the worst enemies of the trees. Here's a big white oak, a
hundred and fifty years old. It's almost dead. See the little holes bored
in the bark. They were made by a beetle. Look!"

I swung my hatchet and split off a section of bark. Everywhere in the bark
and round the tree ran little dust-filled grooves. I pried out a number of
tiny brown beetles, somewhat the shape of a pinching-bug, only very much
smaller.

"There! You'd hardly think that that great tree was killed by a lot of
little bugs, would you? They girdle the trees and prevent the sap from
flowing."

I found an old chestnut which contained nests of the deadly white moths,
and explained how it laid its eggs, and how the caterpillars that came from
them killed the trees by eating the leaves. I showed how mice and squirrels
injured the forest by eating the seeds.

"First I'd cut and sell all the matured and dead timber. Then I'd thin out
the spreading trees that want all the light, and the saplings that grow too
close together. I'd get rid of the beetles, and try to check the spread of
caterpillars. For trees grow twice as fast if they are not choked or diseased.
Then I'd keep planting seeds and shoots in the open places, taking
care to favor the species best adapted to the soil, and cutting those that
don't grow well. In this way we'll be keeping our forest while doubling its
growth and value, and having a yearly income from it."

"Kenneth, I see you're in dead earnest about this business," said my
father, slowly. "Before I came out here today I had been looking up the
subject, and I believe, with you, that forestry really means the salvation
of our country. I think you are really interested, and I've a mind not to
oppose you."

"You'll never regret it. I'll learn; I'll work up. Then it's an outdoor
life--healthy, free--why! all the boys I've told take to the idea. There's
something fine about it." "Forestry it is, then," replied he. "I like the
promise of it, and I like your attitude. If you have learned so much while
you were camping out here the past few summers it speaks well for you. But
why do you want to go to Arizona?"

"Because the best chances are out West. I'd like to get a line on the
National Forests there before I go to college. The work will be different;
those Western forests are all pine. I've a friend, Dick Leslie, a fellow I
used to fish with, who went West and is now a fire ranger in the new
National Forest in Arizona--Penetier is the name of it. He has written me
several times to come out and spend a while with him in the woods."

"Penetier? Where is that--near what town?"

"Holston. It's a pretty rough country, Dick says; plenty of deer, bears,
and lions on his range. So I could hunt some while studying the forests. I
think I'd be safe with Dick, even if it is wild out there."

"All right, I'll let you go. When you return we'll see about the college."
Then he surprised me by drawing a letter from his pocket and handing it to
me. "My friend, Mr. White, got this letter from the department at
Washington. It may be of use to you out there."

So it was settled, and when father drove off homeward Hal and I went back
to camp. It would have been hard to say which of us was the more excited.
Hal did a war dance round the campfire. I was glad, however, that he did
not have the little twinge of remorse which I experienced, for I had not
told him or father all that Dick had written about the wilderness of
Penetier. I am afraid my mind was as much occupied with rifles and mustangs
as with the study of forestry. But, though the adventure called most
strongly to me, I knew I was sincere about the forestry end of it, and I
resolved that I would never slight my opportunities. So, smothering
conscience, I fell to the delight of making plans. I was for breaking camp
at once, but Hal persuaded me to stay one more day. We talked for hours.
Only one thing bothered me. Hal was jolly and glum by turns. He reveled in
the plans for my outfit, but he wanted his own chance. A thousand times I
had to repeat my promise, and the last thing he said before we slept was:
"Ken, you're going to ring me in next summer!"



II. THE MAN ON THE TRAIN

Travelling was a new experience to me, and on the first night after I left
home I lay awake until we reached Altoona. We rolled out of smoky Pittsburg
at dawn, and from then on the only bitter drop in my cup of bliss was that
the train went so fast I could not see everything out of my window.

Four days to ride! The great Mississippi to cross, the plains, the Rocky
Mountains, then the Arizona plateaus-a long, long journey with a wild pine
forest at the end! I wondered what more any young fellow could have wished.
With my face glued to the car window I watched the level country speed by.

There appeared to be one continuous procession of well-cultivated farms,
little hamlets, and prosperous towns. What interested me most, of course,
were the farms, for all of them had some kind of wood. We passed a zone of
maple forests which looked to be more carefully kept than the others. Then
I recognized that they were maple-sugar trees. The farmers had cleaned out
the other species, and this primitive method of forestry had produced the
finest maples it had ever been my good-fortune to see. Indiana was flatter
than Ohio, not so well watered, and therefore less heavily timbered. I saw,
with regret, that the woodland was being cut regularly, tree after tree,
and stacked in cords for firewood.

At Chicago I was to change for Santa Fe, and finding my train in the
station I climbed aboard. My car was a tourist coach. Father had insisted
on buying a ticket for the California Limited, but I had argued that a
luxurious Pullman was not exactly the thing for a prospective forester.
Still I pocketed the extra money which I had assured him he need not spend
for the first-class ticket.

The huge station, with its glaring lights and clanging bells, and the
outspreading city, soon gave place to prairie land.

That night I slept little, but the very time I wanted to be awake--when we
crossed the Mississippi--I was slumbering soundly, and so missed it.

"I'll bet I don't miss it coming back," I vowed.

The sight of the Missouri, however, somewhat repaid me for the loss. What a
muddy, wide river! And I thought of the thousands of miles of country it
drained, and of the forests there must be at its source. Then came the
never-ending Kansas corn-fields. I do not know whether it was their length
or their treeless monotony, but I grew tired looking at them.

From then on I began to take some notice of my fellow-travelers. The
conductor proved to be an agreeable old fellow; and the train-boy, though I
mistrusted his advances because he tried to sell me everything from
chewing-gum to mining stock, turned out to be pretty good company. The
Negro porter had such a jolly voice and laugh that I talked to him whenever
I got the chance. Then occasional passengers occupied the seat opposite me
from town to town. They were much alike, all sunburned and loud-voiced, and
it looked as though they had all bought their high boots and wide hats at
the same shop.

The last traveller to face me was a very heavy man with a great bullet head
and a shock of light hair. His blue eyes had a bold flash, his long
mustache drooped, and there was something about him that I did not like. He
wore a huge diamond in the bosom of his flannel shirt, and a leather
watch-chain that was thick and strong enough to have held up a town-clock.

"Hot," he said, as he mopped his moist brow.

"Not so hot as it was," I replied.

"Sure not. We're climbin' a little. He's whistlin' for Dodge City now."

"Dodge City?" I echoed, with interest. The name brought back vivid scenes
from certain yellow-backed volumes, and certain uncomfortable memories of
my father's displeasure. "Isn't this the old cattle town where there used
to be so many fights?"

"Sure. An' not so very long ago. Here, look out the window." He clapped his
big hand on my knee; then pointed. "See that hill there. Dead Man's Hill it
was once, where they buried the fellers as died with their boots on."

I stared, and even stretched my neck out of the window.

"Yes, old Dodge was sure lively," he continued, as our train passed on. "I
seen a little mix-up there myself in the early eighties. Five cow-punchers,
friends they was, had been visitin' town. One feller, playful-like, takes
another feller's quirt--that's a whip. An' the other feller, playful-like,
says, 'Give it back.' Then they tussles for it, an' rolls on the ground. I
was laughin', as was everybody, when, suddenly, the owner of the quirt
thumps his friend. Both cowboys got up, slow, an' watchin' of each other.
Then the first feller, who had started the play, pulls his gun. He'd hardly
flashed it when they all pulls guns, an' it was some noisy an' smoky. In
about five seconds there was five dead cowpunchers. Killed themselves, as
you might say, just for fun. That's what life was worth in old Dodge."
After this story I felt more kindly disposed ward my travelling companion,
and would have asked for more romances but the conductor came along and
engaged him in conversation. Then my neighbor across the aisle, a young
fellow not much older than myself, asked me to talk to him.

"Why, yes, if you like," I replied, in surprise. He was pale; there were
red spots in his cheeks, and dark lines under his weary eyes.

"You look so strong and eager that it's done me good to watch you," he
explained, with a sad smile. "You see--I'm sick."

I told him I was very sorry, and hoped he would get well soon.

"I ought to have come West sooner," he replied, "but I couldn't get the
money."

He looked up at me and then out of the window at the sun setting red across
the plains. I tried to make him think of something beside himself, but I
made a mess of it. The meeting with him was a shock to me. Long after dark,
when I had stretched out for the night, I kept thinking of him and
contrasting what I had to look forward to with his dismal future. Somehow
it did not seem fair, and I could not get rid of the idea that I was
selfish.

Next day I had my first sight of real mountains. And the Pennsylvania
hills, that all my life had appeared so high, dwindled to nothing. At
Trinidad, where we stopped for breakfast, I walked out on the platform
sniffing at the keen thin air. When we crossed the Raton Mountains into New
Mexico the sick boy got off at the first station, and I waved good-bye to
him as the train pulled out. Then the mountains and the funny little adobe
huts and the Pueblo Indians along the line made me forget everything else.

The big man with the heavy watch-chain was still on the train, and after he
had read his newspaper he began to talk to me.

"This road follows the old trail that the goldseekers took in forty-nine,"
he said. "We're comin' soon to a place, Apache Pass, where the Apaches used
to ambush the wagon-trains, It's somewheres along here."

Presently the train wound into a narrow yellow ravine, the walls of which
grew higher and higher.

"Them Apaches was the worst redskins ever in the West. They used to hide on
top of this pass an' shoot down on the wagon-trains."

Later in the day he drew my attention to a mountain standing all by itself.
It was shaped like a cone, green with trees almost to the summit, and
ending in a bare stone peak that had a flat top.

"Starvation Peak," he said. "That name's three hundred years old, dates
back to the time the Spaniards owned this land. There's a story about it
that's likely true enough. Some Spaniards were attacked by Indians an'
climbed to the peak, expectin' to be better able to defend themselves up
there. The Indians camped below the peak an' starved the Spaniards. Stuck
there till they starved to death! That's where it got its name."

"Those times you tell of must have been great," I said, regretfully. "I'd
like to have been here then. But isn't the country all settled now? Aren't
the Indians dead? There's no more fighting?"

"It's not like it used to be, but there's still warm places in the West.
Not that the Indians break out often any more. But bad men are almost as
bad, if not so plentiful, as when Billy the Kid run these parts. I saw two
men shot an' another knifed jest before I went East to St. Louis."

"Where?"

"In Arizona. Holston is the station where I get off, an' it happened near
there."

"Holston is where I'm going."

"You don't say. Well, I'm glad to meet you, young man. My name's Buell, an'
I'm some known in Holston. What's your name?"

He eyed me in a sharp but not unfriendly manner, and seemed pleased to
learn of my destination.

"Ward. Kenneth Ward. I'm from Pennsylvania."

"You haven't got the bugs. Any one can see that," he said, and as I looked
puzzled he went on with a smile, and a sounding rap on his chest: "Most
young fellers as come out here have consumption. They call it bugs. I
reckon you're seekin' your fortune."'

"Yes, in a way."

"There's opportunities for husky youngsters out here. What're you goin' to
rustle for, if I may ask?"

"I'm going in for forestry."

"Forestry? Do you mean lumberin'?"

"No. Forestry is rather the opposite of lumbering. I'm going in for
Government forestry--to save the timber, not cut it."

It seemed to me he gave a little start of surprise; he certainly
straightened up and looked at me hard.

"What's Government forestry?"

I told him to the best of my ability. He listened attentively enough, but
thereafter he had not another word for me, and presently he went into the
next car. I took his manner to be the Western abruptness that I had heard
of, and presently forgot him in the scenery along the line. At Albuquerque
I got off for a trip to a lunch-counter, and happened to take a seat next
to him.

"Know anybody in Holston?" he asked.

As I could not speak because of a mouthful of sandwich I shook my head. For
the moment I had forgotten about Dick Leslie, and when it did occur to me
some Indians offering to sell me beads straightway drove it out of my mind
again.

When I awoke the next day, it was to see the sage ridges and red buttes of
Arizona. We were due at Holston at eight o'clock, but owing to a crippled
engine the train was hours late. At last I fell asleep to be awakened by a
vigorous shake.

"Holston. Your stop. Holston," the conductor was saying.

"All right," I said, sitting up and then making a grab for my grip. "We're
pretty late, aren't we?"

"Six hours. It's two o'clock."

"Hope I can get a room," I said, as I followed him out on the platform. He
held up his lantern so that the light would shine in my face. "There's a
hotel down the street a block or so. Better hurry and look sharp. Holston's
not a safe place for a stranger at night."

I stepped off into a windy darkness. A lamp glimmered in the station
window. By its light I made out several men, the foremost of whom had a
dark, pointed face and glittering eyes. He wore a strange hat, and I knew
from pictures I had seen that he was a Mexican. Then the bulky form of
Buell loomed up. I called, but evidently he did not hear me. The men took
his grips, and they moved away to disappear in the darkness. While I
paused, hoping to see some one to direct me, the train puffed out, leaving
me alone on the platform.

When I turned the corner I saw two dim lights, one far to the left, the
other to the right, and the black outline of buildings under what appeared
to be the shadow of a mountain. It was the quietest and darkest town I had
ever struck.

I decided to turn toward the right-hand light, for the conductor had said
"down the street." I set forth at a brisk pace, but the loneliness and
strangeness of the place were rather depressing.

Before I had gone many steps, however, the sound of running water halted
me, and just in the nick of time, for I was walking straight into a ditch.
By peering hard into the darkness and feeling my way I found a bridge. Then
it did not take long to reach the light. But it was a saloon, and not the
hotel. One peep into it served to make me face about in double-quick time,
and hurry in the opposite direction.

Hearing a soft footfall, I glanced over my shoulder, to see the Mexican
that I had noticed at the station. He was coming from across the street. I
wondered if he were watching me. He might be. My heart began to beat
violently. Turning once again, I discovered that the fellow could not be
seen in the pitchy blackness. Then I broke into a run.



III. THE TRAIL

A short dash brought me to the end of the block; the side street was not so
dark, and after I had crossed this open space I glanced backward.

Soon I sped into a wan circle of light, and, reaching a door upon which was
a hotel sign, I burst in. Chairs were scattered about a bare office; a man
stirred on a couch, and then sat up, blinking.

"I'm afraid--I believe some one's chasing me," I said.

He sat there eying me, and then drawled, sleepily:

"Thet ain't no call to wake a feller, is it?"

The man settled himself comfortably again, and closed his eyes.

"Say, isn't this a hotel? I want a room!" I cried.

"Up-stairs; first door." And with that the porter went to sleep in good
earnest.

I made for the stairs, and, after a backward look into the street, I ran
up. A smelly lamp shed a yellowish glare along a hall. I pushed open the
first door, and, entering the room, bolted myself in. Then all the strength
went out of my legs. When I sat down on the bed I was in a cold sweat and
shaking like a leaf. Soon the weakness passed, and I moved about the room,
trying to find a lamp or candle. Evidently the hotel, and, for that matter,
the town of Holston, did not concern itself with such trifles as lights. On
the instant I got a bad impression of Holston. I had to undress in the
dark. When I pulled the window open a little at the top the upper sash slid
all the way down. I managed to get it back, and tried raising the lower
sash. It was very loose, but it stayed up. Then I crawled into bed.

Though I was tired and sleepy, my mind whirled so that I could not get to
sleep. If I had been honest with myself I should have wished myself back
home. Pennsylvania seemed a long way off, and the adventures that I had
dreamed of did not seem so alluring, now that I was in a lonely room in a
lonely, dark town. Buell had seemed friendly and kind--at least, in the
beginning. Why had he not answered my call? The incident did not look well
to me. Then I fell to wondering if the Mexican had really followed me. The
first thing for me in the morning would be to buy a revolver. Then if any
Mexicans--

A step on the tin roof outside frightened me stiff. I had noticed a porch,
or shed, under my window. Some one must have climbed upon it. I stopped
breathing to listen. For what seemed moments there was no sound. I wanted
to think that the noise might have been made by a cat, but I couldn't. I
was scared--frightened half to death.

If there had been a bolt on the window the matter would not have been so
disturbing. I lay there a-quiver, eyes upon the gray window space of my
room. Dead silence once more intervened. All I heard was the pound of my
heart against my ribs.

Suddenly I froze at the sight of a black figure against the light of my
window. I recognized the strange bat, the grotesque outlines. I was about
to shout for help when the fellow reached down and softly began to raise
the sash.

That made me angry. Jerking up in bed, I caught the heavy pitcher from the
wash-stand and flung it with all my might.

Crash!

Had I smashed out the whole side of the room it could scarcely have made
more noise. Accompanied by the clinking of glass and the creaking of tin,
my visitor rolled off the roof. I waited, expecting an uproar from the
other inmates of the hotel. No footstep, no call sounded within hearing.
Once again the stillness settled down.

Then, to my relief, the gray gloom lightened, and dawn broke. Never had I
been so glad to see the morning. While dressing I cast gratified glances at
the ragged hole in the window. With the daylight my courage had returned,
and I began to have a sort of pride in my achievement.

"If that fellow had known how I can throw a baseball he'd have been
careful," I thought, a little cockily.

I went down-stairs into the office. The sleepy porter was mopping the
floor. Behind the desk stood a man so large that he made Buell seem small.
He was all shoulders and beard.

"Can I get breakfast?"

"Nobody's got a half-hitch on you, has they?" he replied, jerking a
monstrous thumb over his shoulder toward a door.

I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I was
rather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room was
more attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linen was
clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served to several
rugged men gave forth a savory odor. But either the waiter was blind or he
could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention to me. I waited,
while trying to figure out the situation. Something was wrong, and,
whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. After about an
hour I got my breakfast. Then I went into the office, intending to be
brisk, businesslike, and careful about asking questions.

"I'd like to pay my bill, and also for a little damage," I said, telling
what had happened.

"Somebody'll kill thet Greaser yet," was all the comment the man made.

I went outside, not knowing whether to be angry or amused with these queer
people. In the broad light of day Holston looked as bad as it had made me
feel by night. All I could see were the station and freight-sheds, several
stores with high, wide signs, glaringly painted, and a long block of
saloons. When I had turned a street corner, however, a number of stores
came into view with some three-storied brick buildings, and, farther out,
many frame houses.

Moreover, this street led my eye to great snowcapped mountains, and I
stopped short in my tracks, for I realized they were the Arizona peaks. Up
the swelling slopes swept a black fringe that I knew to be timber. The
mountains appeared to be close, but I knew that even the foot-bills were
miles away. Penetier, I remembered from one of Dick's letters, was on the
extreme northern slope, and it must be anywhere from forty to sixty miles
off. The sharp, white peaks glistened in the morning sun; the air had a
cool touch of snow and a tang of pine. I drew in a full breath, with a
sense on being among the pines.

Now I must buy my outfit and take the trail for Penetier. This I resolved
to do with as few questions as possible. I never before was troubled by
sensitiveness, but the fact had dawned upon me that I did not like being
taken for a tenderfoot. So, with this in mind, I entered a general merchandise
store.

It was very large, and full of hardware, harness, saddles, blankets--
everything that cowboys and ranchmen use. Several men, two in
shirt-sleeves, were chatting near the door. They saw me come in, and then,
for all that it meant to them, I might as well not have been in existence
at all. So I sat down to wait, determined to take Western ways and things
as I found them. I sat there fifteen minutes by my watch. This was not so
bad; but when a lanky, red-faced, leather-legged individual came in to he
at once supplied with his wants, I began to get angry. I waited another
five minutes, and still the friendly chatting went on. Finally I could
stand it no longer.

"Will somebody wait on me?" I demanded.

One of the shirt-sleeved men leisurely got up and surveyed me.

"Do you want to buy something?" he drawled.

"Yes, I do."

"Why didn't you say so?"

The reply trembling on my lips was cut short by the entrance of Buell.

"Hello!" he said in a loud voice, shaking hands with me. "You've trailed
into the right place. Smith, treat this lad right. It's guns an' knives an'
lassoes he wants, I'll bet a hoss."

"Yes, I want an outfit," I said, much embarrassed. " I'm going to meet a
friend out in Penetier, a ranger--Dick Leslie."

Buell started violently, and his eyes flashed. "Dick--Dick Leslie!" he
said, and coughed loudly. "I know Dick. . . . So you're a friend of his'n?
. . . Now, let me help you with the outfit."

Anything strange in Buell's manner was forgotten, in the absorbing interest
of my outfit. Father had given me plenty of money, so that I had but to
choose. I had had sense enough to bring my old corduroys and boots, and I
had donned them that morning. One after another I made my
purchases--Winchester, revolver, bolsters, ammunition, saddle, bridle,
lasso, blanket. When I got so far, Buell said: "You'll need a mustang an' a
pack-pony. I know a feller who's got jest what you want." And with that he
led me out of the store.

"Now you take it from me," he went on, in a fatherly voice, "Holston people
haven't got any use for Easterners. An' if you mention your business--
forestry an' that--why, you wouldn't be safe. There's many in the
lumberin' business here as don't take kindly to the Government. See! That's
why I'm givin' you advice. Keep it to yourself an' hit the trail today,
soon as you can. I'll steer you right."

I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him.
However, be scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about the
townspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at a kind
of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies. The sight of them drove every
other thought out of my head.

"Mustangs!" I exclaimed.

"Sure. Can you ride?"

"Oh yes. I have a horse at home. . . . What wiry little fellows! They're so
wild-looking."

"You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here. He's
the man who owns this bunch."

It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye.
When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I was
trying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man.

"Thet your pick?" he asked, as I pointed. "Well, now, you're not so much of
a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much for him,
an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?"

"I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square," replied the owner.

This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about seventy-five
dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy the
mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.

"Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for him at
once." Then he turned to me. "Now some grub, an' a pan or two."

Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies. Buell, however, cut out
much that I wanted, saying the thing to think of was a light pack for the
pony.

"I'll hurry to the hotel and get my things," I said, "and meet you here.
I'll not be a moment."

But Buell said it would be better for him to go with me, though he did not
explain. He kept with me, still he remained in the office while I went
up-stairs. Somehow this suited me, for I did not want him to see the broken
window. I took a few things from my grip and rolled them in a bundle. Then
I took a little leather case of odds and ends I had always carried when
camping and slipped it into my pocket. Hurrying down-stairs I left my grip
with the porter, wrote and mailed a postal card to my father, and followed
the impatient Buell.

"You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to get there
before dark," he explained, kindly.

I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang saddled and
bridled.

"He's well broke," said Cless. "Keep his bridle down when you ain't in the
saddle. An' find a patch of grass fer him at night. The pony'll stick to
him."

Cless fell to packing a lean pack-pony.

"Watch me do this," said he; "you'll hev trouble if you don't git the hang
of the diamondhitch."

I watched him set the little wooden criss-cross on the pony's back, throw
the balance of my outfit (which he had tied up in a canvas) over the
saddle, and then pass a long rope in remarkable turns and wonderful loops
round pony and pack.

"What's the mustang's name?" I inquired.

"Never had any," replied the former owner.

"Then it's Hal." I thought how that name would please my brother at home.

"Climb up. Let's see if you fit the stirrups," said Cless. "Couldn't be
better."

"Now, young feller, you can hit the trail," put in Buell, with his big
voice. "An' remember what I told you. This country ain't got much use for a
feller as can't look out for himself."

He opened the gate, and led my mustang into the road and quite some
distance. The pony jogged along after us. Then Buell stopped with a finger
outstretched.

"There, at the end of this street, you'll find a trail. Hit it an' stick to
it. All the little trail's leadin' into it needn't bother you."

He swept his hand round to the west of the mountain. The direction did not
tally with the idea I had gotten from Dick's letter.

"I thought Penetier was on the north side of the mountains."

"Who said so?" he asked, staring. "Don't I know this country? Take it from
me."

I thanked him, and, turning, with a light heart I faced the black mountain
and my journey.

It was about ten o'clock when Hal jogged into a broad trail on the
outskirts of Holston. A gray flat lay before me, on the other side of which
began the slow rise of the slope. I could hardly contain myself. I wanted
to run the mustang, but did not for the sake of the burdened pony. That
sage-flat was miles wide, though it seemed so narrow. The back of the lower
slope began to change to a dark green, which told me I was surely getting
closer to the mountains, even if it did not seem so. The trail began to
rise, and at last I reached the first pine-trees. They were a
disappointment to me, being no larger than many of the white oaks at home,
and stunted, with ragged dead tops. They proved to me that trees isolated
from their fellows fare as poorly as trees overcrowded. Where pines grow
closely, but not too closely, they rise straight and true, cleaning
themselves of the low branches, and making good lumber, free of knots.
Where they grow far apart, at the mercy of wind and heat and free to spread
many branches, they make only gnarled and knotty lumber.

As I rode on the pines became slowly more numerous and loftier. Then, when
I had surmounted what I took to be the first foot-hill, I came upon a
magnificent forest. A little farther on the trail walled me in with great
seamed trunks, six feet in diameter, rising a hundred feet before spreading
a single branch.

Meanwhile my mustang kept steadily up the slow-rising trail, and the time
passed. Either the grand old forest had completely bewitched me or the
sweet smell of pine had intoxicated me, for as I rode along utterly content
I entirely forgot about Dick and the trail and where I was heading. Nor did
I come to my senses until Hal snorted and stopped before a tangled
windfall.

Then I glanced down to see only the clean, brown pine-needles. There was no
trail. Perplexed and somewhat anxious, I rode back a piece, expecting
surely to cross the trail. But I did not. I went to the left and to the
right, then circled in a wide curve. No trail! The forest about me seemed
at once familiar and strange.

It was only when the long shadows began to creep under the trees that I
awoke fully to the truth.

I had missed the trail! I was lost in the forest!



IV. LOST IN THE FOREST

For a moment I was dazed. And then came panic. I ran up this ridge and that
one, I rushed to and fro over ground which looked, whatever way I turned,
exactly the same. And I kept saying, "I'm lost! I'm lost!" Not until I
dropped exhausted against a pine-tree did any other thought come to me.

The moment that I stopped running about so aimlessly the panicky feeling
left me. I remembered that for a ranger to be lost in the forest was an
every-day affair, and the sooner I began that part of my education the
better. Then it came to me how foolish I had been to get alarmed, when I
knew that the general slope of the forest led down to the open country.

This put an entirely different light upon the matter. I still had some
fears that I might not soon find Dick Leslie, but these I dismissed for the
present, at least. A suitable place to camp for the night must be found. I
led the mustang down into the hollows, keeping my eye sharp for grass.
Presently I came to a place that was wet and soggy at the bottom, and,
following this up for quite a way, I found plenty of grass and a pool of
clear water.

Often as I had made camp back in the woods of Pennsylvania, the doing of it
now was new. For this was not play; it was the real thing, and it made the
old camping seem tame. I took the saddle off Hal and tied him with my
lasso, making as long a halter as possible. Slipping the pack from the pony
was an easier task than the getting it back again was likely to prove. Next
I broke open a box of cartridges and loaded the Winchester. My revolver was
already loaded, and hung on my belt. Remembering Dick's letters about the
bears and mountain-lions in Penetier Forest, I got a good deal of comfort
out of my weapons. Then I built a fire, and while my supper was cooking I
scraped up a mass of pine-needles for a bed. Never had I sat down to a meal
with such a sense of strange enjoyment.

But when I had finished and had everything packed away and covered, my mind
began to wander in unexpected directions. Why was it that the twilight
seemed to move under the giant pines and creep down the hollow? While I
gazed the gray shadows deepened to black, and night came suddenly. My
campfire seemed to give almost no light, yet close at hand the flickering
gleams played hide-and-seek among the pines and chased up the straight tree
trunks. The crackling of my fire and the light steps of the grazing
mustangs only emphasized the silence of the forest. Then a low moaning from
a distance gave me a chill. At first I had no idea what it was, but
presently I thought it must be the wind in the pines. It bore no
resemblance to any sound I had ever before heard in the woods. It would
murmur from different parts of the forest; sometimes it would cease for a
little, and then travel and swell toward me, only to die away again. But it
rose steadily, with shorter intervals of silence, until the intermittent
gusts swept through the tree-tops with a rushing roar. I had listened to
the crash of the ocean surf, and the resemblance was a striking one.

Listening to this mournful wind with all my ears I was the better prepared
for any lonesome cries of the forest; nevertheless, a sudden, sharp
"Ki-yi-i!" seemingly right at my back, gave me a fright that sent my tongue
to the roof of my mouth.

Fumbling at the hammer of my rifle, I peered into the black-streaked gloom
of the forest. The crackling of dry twigs brought me to my feet. At the
same moment the mustangs snorted. Something was prowling about just beyond
the light. I thought of a panther. That was the only beast I could think of
which had such an unearthly cry.

Then another bowl, resembling that of a dog, and followed by yelps and
barks, told me that I was being visited by a pack of coyotes. I spent the
good part of an hour listening to their serenade. The wild, mournful notes
sent quivers up my back. By-and-by they went away, and as my fire had
burned down to a red glow and the night wind had grown cold I began to
think of sleep.

But I was not sleepy. When I had stretched out on the soft bed of
pine-needles with my rifle close by, and was all snug and warm under the
heavy blanket, it seemed that nothing was so far away from me as sleep. The
wonder of my situation kept me wide awake, my eyes on the dim huge pines
and the glimmer of stars, and my ears open to the rush and roar of the
wind, every sense alert. Hours must have passed as I lay there living over
the things that had happened and trying to think out what was to come. At
last, however, I rolled over on my side, and with my hand on the rifle and
my cheek close to the sweet-smelling pine-needles I dropped asleep.

When I awoke the forest was bright and sunny.

"You'll make a fine forester," I said aloud, in disgust at my tardiness.
Then began the stern business of the day. While getting breakfast I turned
over in my mind the proper thing for me to do. Evidently I must pack and
find the trail. The pony had wandered off into the woods, but was easily
caught--a fact which lightened my worry, for I knew how dependent I was
upon my mustangs. When I had tried for I do not know how long to get my
pack to stay on the pony's back I saw where Mr. Cless had played a joke on
me. All memory of the diamond-hitch had faded into utter confusion. First
the pack fell over the off-side; next, on top of me; then the saddle
slipped awry, and when I did get the pack to remain stationary upon the
patient pony, how on earth to tie it there became more and more of a
mystery. Finally, in sheer desperation, I ran round the pony, pulled,
tugged, and knotted the lasso; more by luck than through sense I had
accomplished something in the nature of the diamond-hitch.

I headed Hal up the gentle forest slope, and began the day's journey
wherever chance might lead me. As confidence came, my enjoyment increased.
I began to believe I could take care of myself. I reasoned out that, as the
peaks were snow-capped, I should find water, and very likely game, up
higher. Moreover, I might climb a foothill or bluff from which I could get
my bearings.

It seemed to me that I passed more pine-trees than I could have imagined
there were in the whole world. Miles and miles of pines! And in every mile
they grew larger and ruggeder and farther apart, and so high that I could
hardly see the tips. After a time I got out of the almost level forest into
ground ridged and hollowed, and found it advisable to turn more to the
right. On the sunny southern slopes I saw trees that dwarfed the ones on
the colder and shady north sides. I also found many small pines and
seedlings growing in warm, protected places. This showed me the value of
the sun to a forest. Though I kept a lookout for deer or game of any kind,
I saw nothing except some black squirrels with white tails. They were
beautiful and very tame, and one was nibbling at what I concluded must have
been a seed from a pine-cone.

Presently I fancied that I espied a moving speck far down through the
forest glades. I stopped Hal, and, watching closely, soon made certain of
it. Then it became lost for a time, but reappeared again somewhat closer.
It was like a brown blur and scarcely moved. I reined Hal more to the
right. Not for quite a while did I see the thing again, and when I did it
looked so big and brown that I took up my Winchester. Then it disappeared
once more.

I descended into a hollow, and tying Hal, I stole forward on foot, hoping
by that means to get close to the strange object without being seen myself.

I waited behind a pine, and suddenly three horsemen rode across a glade not
two hundred yards away. The foremost rider was no other than the Mexican
whom I had reason to remember.

The huge trunk amply concealed me, but, nevertheless, I crouched down. How
strange that I should run into that Mexican again! Where was he going? Had
he followed me? Was there a trail?

As long as the three men were in sight I watched them. When the last brown
speck had flitted and disappeared far away in the forest I retraced my
steps to my mustang, pondering upon this new turn in my affairs.

"Things are bound to happen to me," I concluded, "and I may as well make up
my mind to that."

While standing beside Hal, undecided as to my next move, I heard a whistle.
It was faint, perhaps miles away, yet unmistakably it was the whistle of an
engine. I wondered if the railroad turned round this side of the peaks.
Mounting Hal, I rode down the forest to the point where I had seen the men,
and there came upon a trail. I proceeded along this in the direction the
men had taken. I had come again to the slow-rising level that I had noted
earlier in my morning's journey. After several miles a light or opening in
the forest ahead caused me to use more caution. As I rode forward I saw a
vast area of tree-tops far below, and then I found myself on the edge of a
foot-hill.

Right under me was a wide, yellow, bare spot, miles across, a horrible
slash in the green forest, and in the middle of it, surrounded by stacks on
stacks of lumber, was a great sawmill.

I stared in utter amazement. A sawmill on Penetier! Even as I gazed a train
of fresh-cut lumber trailed away into the forest.



V. THE SAWMILL

In my surprise I almost forgot the Mexican. Then I thought that if Dick
were there the Mexican would be likely to have troubles of his own. I
remembered Dick's reputation as a fighter. But suppose I did not find Dick
at the sawmill? This part of the forest was probably owned by private
individuals, for I couldn't imagine Government timber being cut in this
fashion. So I tied Hal and the pony amidst a thick clump of young pines,
and, leaving all my outfit except my revolver, I struck out across the
slash.

No second glance was needed to tell that the lumbering here was careless
and without thought for the future. It had been a clean cut, and what small
saplings had escaped the saw had been crushed by the dropping and hauling
of the large pines. The stumps were all about three feet high, and that
meant the waste of many thousands of feet of good lumber. Only the
straight, unbranched trunks had been used. The tops of the pines had not
been lopped, and lay where they had fallen. It was a wilderness of yellow
brush, a dry jungle. The smell of pine was so powerful that I could hardly
breathe. Fire must inevitably complete this work of ruin; already I was
forester enough to see that.

Presently the trail crossed a railroad track which appeared to have been
hastily constructed. Swinging along at a rapid step on the ties I soon
reached the outskirts of the huge stacks of lumber; I must have walked half
a mile between two yellow walls. Then I entered the lumber camp.

It was even worse-looking than the slash. Rows of dirty tents, lines of
squatty log-cabins, and many flat-board houses clustered around an immense
sawmill. Evidently I had arrived at the noon hour, for the mill was not
running, and many rough men were lounging about smoking pipes. At the door
of the first shack stood a fat, round-faced Negro wearing a long, dirty
apron.

"Is Dick Leslie here?" I asked.

"I dunno if Dick's come in yet, but I 'specks him," he replied. "Be you the
young gent Dick's lookin' fer from down East?"

"Yes."

"Come right in, sonny, come right in an' eat. Dick allus eats with me, an'
he has spoke often 'bout you." He led me in, and seated me at a bench where
several men were eating. They were brawny fellows, clad in overalls and
undershirts, and one, who spoke pleasantly to me, had sawdust on his bare
arms and even in his hair. The cook set before me a bowl of soup, a plate
of beans, potroast, and coffee, all of which I attacked with a good
appetite. Presently the men finished their meat and went outside, leaving
me alone with the cook.

"Many men on this job?" I asked.

"More'n a thousand. Buell's runnin' two shifts, day an' night."

"Buell? Does he own this land?"

"No. He's only the agent of a 'Frisco lumber company, an' the land belongs
to the Government. Buell's sure slashin' the lumber off, though. Two
freight-trains of lumber out every day."

"Is this Penetier Forest?" I queried, carelessly, but I had begun to think
hard.

"Sure."

I wanted to ask questions, but thought it wiser to wait. I knew enough
already to make out that I had come upon the scene of a gigantic lumber
steal. Buell's strange manner on the train, at the station, and his
eagerness to hurry me out of Holston now needed no more explanation. I
began to think the worst of him.

"Did you see a Mexican come into camp?" I inquired of the Negro.

"Sure. Greaser got here this mornin'."

"He tried to rob me in Holston."

"'Tain't nothin' new fer Greaser. He's a thief, but I never heerd of him
holdin' anybody up. No nerve 'cept to knife a feller in the back."

"What'll I do if I meet him here?"

"Slam him one! You're a strappin' big lad. Slam him one, an' flash your gun
on him. Greaser's a coward. I seen a young feller he'd cheated make him
crawl. Anyway, it'll be all day with him when Dick finds out he tried to
rob you. An' say, stranger, if a feller stays sober, this camp's safe
enough in daytime, but at night, drunk or sober, it's a tough place."

Before I had finished eating a shrill whistle from the sawmill called the
hands to work; soon it was followed by the rumble of machinery and the
sharp singing of a saw.

I set out to see the lumber-camp, and although I stepped forth boldly, the
truth was that with all my love for the Wild West I would have liked to be
at home. But here I was, and I determined not to show the white feather.

I passed a row of cook-shacks like the one I had been in, and several
stores and saloons. The lumber-camp was a little town. A rambling log cabin
attracted me by reason of the shaggy mustangs standing before it and the
sounds of mirth within. A peep showed me a room with a long bar, where men
and boys were drinking. I heard the rattle of dice and the clink of silver.
Seeing the place was crowded, I thought I might find Dick there, so I
stepped inside. My entrance was unnoticed, so far as I could tell; in fact,
there seemed no reason why it should be otherwise, for, being roughly
dressed, I did not look very different from the many young fellows there. I
scanned all the faces, but did not see Dick's, nor, for that matter, the
Mexican's. Both disappointed and relieved, I turned away, for the picture
of low dissipation was not attractive.

The hum of the great sawmill drew me like a magnet. I went out to the
lumber-yard at the back of the mill, where a trestle slanted down to a pond
full of logs. A train loaded with pines had just pulled in, and dozens of
men were rolling logs off the flat-cars into a canal. At stations along the
canal stood others pike-poling the logs toward the trestle, where an
endless chain caught them with sharp claws and hauled them up. Half-way
from, the ground they were washed clean by a circle of water-spouts.

I walked up the trestle and into the mill. Tho noise almost deafened me.
High above all other sounds rose the piercing song of the saw, and the
short intervals when it was not cutting were filled with a thunderous crash
that jarred the whole building. After a few confused glances I got the
working order into my head, and found myself in the most interesting place
I had ever seen.

As the stream of logs came up into the mill the first log was shunted off
the chain upon a carriage. Two men operated this carriage by levers, one to
take the log up to the saw, and the other to run it back for another cut.
The run back was very swift. Then a huge black iron head butted up from
below and turned the log over as easily as if it had been a straw. This was
what made the jar and crash. On the first cut the long strip of bark went
to the left and up against five little circular saws. Then the five pieces
slipped out of sight down chutes. When the log was trimmed a man stationed
near the huge band-saw made signs to those on the carriage, and I saw that
they got from him directions whether to cut the log into timbers, planks,
or boards. The heavy timbers, after leaving the saw, went straight down the
middle of the mill, the planks went to the right, the boards in another
direction. Men and boys were everywhere, each with a lever in hand. There
was not the slightest cessation of the work. And a log forty feet long and
six feet thick, which had taken hundreds of years to grow, was cut up in
just four minutes.

The place fascinated me. I had not dreamed that a sawmill could be brought
to such a pitch of mechanical perfection, and I wondered how long the
timber would last at that rate of cutting. The movement and din tired me,
and I went outside upon a long platform. Here workmen caught the planks and
boards as they came out, and loaded them upon trucks which were wheeled
away. This platform was a world in itself. It sent arms everywhere among
the piles of lumber, and once or twice I was as much lost as I had been up
in the forest.

While turning into one of these byways I came suddenly upon Buell and
another man. They were standing near a little house of weather-strips,
evidently an office, and were in their shirt-sleeves. They had not seen or
heard me. I dodged behind a pile of planks, intending to slip back the way
I had come. Before I could move Buell's voice rooted me to the spot.

"His name's Ward. Tall, well-set lad. I put Greaser after him the other
night, hopin' to scare him back East. But nix!"

"Well, he's here now--to study forestry! Ha! ha!" said the other.

"You're sure the boy you mean is the one I mean?"

"Greaser told me so. And this boy is Leslie's friend."

"That's the worst of it," replied Buell, impatiently. "I've got Leslie
fixed as far as this lumber deal is concerned, but he won't stand for any
more. He was harder to fix than the other rangers, an' I'm afraid of him."
he's grouchy now.

"You shouldn't have let the boy get here."

"Stockton, I tried to prevent it. I put Greaser with Bud an' Bill on his
trail. They didn't find him, an' now here he turns up."

"Maybe he can be fixed."

"Not if I know my business, he can't; take that from me. This kid is
straight. He'll queer my deal in a minute if he gets wise. Mind you, I'm
gettin' leary of Washington. We've seen about the last of these lumber
deals. If I can pull this one off I'll quit; all I want is a little more
time. Then I'll fire the slash, an' that'll cover tracks."

"Buell, I wouldn't want to be near Penetier when you light that fire. This
forest will burn like tinder."

"It's a whole lot I care then. Let her burn. Let the Government put out the
fire. Now, what's to be done about this boy?"

"I think I'd try to feel him out. Maybe he can be fixed. Boys who want to
be foresters can't be rich. Failing that--you say he's a kid who wants to
hunt and shoot--get some one to take him up on the mountain."

"See here, Stockton. This young Ward will see the timber is bein' cut
clean. If it was only a little patch I wouldn't mind. But this slash an'
this mill! He'll know. More'n that, he'll tell Leslie about the Mexican.
Dick's no fool. We're up against it."

"It's risky, Buell. You remember the ranger up in Oregon."

"Then we are to fall down on this deal all because of a fresh tenderfoot
kid?" demanded Buell.

"Not so loud. . . . We'll not fall down. But caution--use caution. You made
a mistake in trusting so much to the Greaser."

"I know, an' I'm afraid of Leslie. An' that other fire-ranger, Jim
Williams, he's a Texan, an' a bad man. The two of them could about trim up
this camp. They'll both fight for the boy; take that from me."

"We are sure up against it. Think now, and think quick."

"First, I'll try to fix the boy. If that won't work . . . we'll kidnap him.
Then we'll take no chances with Leslie. There's a cool two hundred an'
fifty thousand in this deal for us, an' we're goin' to get it."

With that Buell went into his office and closed the door; the other man,
Stockton, walked briskly down the platform. I could not resist peeping from
my hiding-place as he passed. He was tall and had a red beard, which would
enable me to recognize him if we met.

I waited there for some little time. Then I saw that by squeezing between
two plies of lumber could reach the other side of the platform. When I
reached the railing I climbed over, and, with the help of braces and posts,
soon got to where I could drop down. Once on the ground I ran along under
the platform until I saw a lane that led to the street. My one thought was
to reach the cabin where the Negro cook stayed and ask him if Dick Leslie
had come to camp. If he had not arrived, then I intended to make a bee-line
for my mustang.



VI. DICK LESLIE, RANGER

Which end of the street I entered I had no idea. The cabins were all alike,
and in my hurry I would have passed the cook's shack had it not been for
the sight of a man standing in the door. That stalwart figure I would have
known anywhere.

"Dick!" I cried, rushing at him.

What Dick's welcome was I did not hear, but judging from the grip he put on
my shoulders and then on my hands, he was glad to see me.

"Ken, blessed if I'd have known you," he said, shoving me back at
arm's-length. "Let's have a look at you. . . . Grown I say, but you're a
husky lad!"

While he was looking at me I returned the scrutiny with interest. Dick had
always been big, but now he seemed wider and heavier. Among these bronzed
Westerners he appeared pale, but that was only on account of his fair skin.

"Ken, didn't you get my letter--the one telling you not to come West yet a
while?"

"No," I replied, blankly. "The last one I got was in May--about the middle.
I have it with me. You certainly asked me to come then. Dick, don't you
want me--now?"

Plain it was that my friend felt uncomfortable; he shifted from one foot to
another, and a cloud darkened his brow. But his blue eyes burned with a
warm light as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Ken, I'm glad to see you," he said, earnestly. "It's like getting a
glimpse of home. But I wrote you not to come. Conditions have changed--
there's something doing here--I'll--"

"You needn't explain, Dick," I replied, gravely. "I know. Buell and--" I waved
my hand from the sawmill to the encircling slash.

Dick's face turned a fiery red. I believed that was the only time Dick
Leslie ever failed to look a fellow in the eye.

"Ken! . . . You're on," he said, recovering his composure. "Well, wait till
you hear-- Hello! here's Jim Williams, my pardner."

A clinking of spurs accompanied a soft step.

"Jim, here's Ken Ward, the kid pardner I used to have back in the States,"
said Dick. "Ken, you know Jim."

If ever I knew anything by heart it was what Dick had written me about this
Texan, Jim Williams.

"Ken, I shore am glad to see you," drawled Jim, giving my hand a squeeze
that I thought must break every bone in it.

Though Jim Williams had never been described to me, my first sight of him
fitted my own ideas. He was tall and spare; his weather-beaten face seemed
set like a dark mask; only his eyes moved, and they had a quivering
alertness and a brilliancy that made them hard to look into. He wore a wide
sombrero, a blue flannel shirt with a double row of big buttons, overalls,
top-boots with very high heels, and long spurs. A heavy revolver swung at
his hip, and if I had not already known that Jim Williams had fought
Indians and killed bad men, I should still have seen something that awed me
in the look of him.

I certainly felt proud to be standing with those two rangers, and for the
moment Buell and all his crew could not have daunted me.

"Hello! what's this?" inquired Dick, throwing back my coat; and, catching
sight of my revolver, he ejaculated: "Ken Ward!"

"Wal, Ken, if you-all ain't packin' a gun!" said Jim, in his slow, careless
drawl. "Dick, he shore is!"

It was now my turn to blush.

"Yes, I've got a gun," I replied, "and I ought to have had it the other
night."

"How so?" inquired Dick, quickly.

It did not take me long to relate the incident of the Mexican.

Dick looked like a thunder-cloud, but Jim swayed and shook with laughter.

"You knocked him off the roof? Wal, thet shore is dee-lightful. It shore
is!"

"Yes; and, Dick," I went on, breathlessly, "the Greaser followed me, and if
I hadn't missed the trail, I don't know what would have happened. Anyway,
he got here first."

"The Greaser trailed you?" interrupted Dick, sharply.

When I replied he glanced keenly at me. "How do you know?"

"I suspected it when I saw him with two men in the forest. But now I know
it."

"How?"

"I beard Buell tell Stockton he had put the Greaser on my trail."

"Buell--Stockton!" exclaimed Dick. "What'd they have to do with the
Greaser?"

"I met Buell on the train. I told him I had come West to study forestry.
Buell's afraid I'll find out about this lumber steal, and he wants to shut
my mouth."

Dick looked from me to Jim, and Jim slowly straitened his tall form. For a
moment neither spoke. Dick's white face caused me to look away from him.
Jim put a hand on my arm.

"Ken, you shore was lucky; you shore was."

"I guess he doesn't know how lucky," added Dick, somewhat huskily. "Come
on, we'll look up the Mexican."

"It shore is funny how bad I want to see thet Greaser."

Dick's hard look and tone were threatening enough, yet they did not affect
me so much as the easy, gay manner of the Texan. Little cold quivers ran
over me, and my knees knocked together. For the moment my animosity toward
the Mexican vanished, and with it the old hunger to be in the thick of Wild
Western life. I was afraid that I was going to see a man killed without
being able to lift a hand to prevent it.

The rangers marched me between them down the street and into the corner
saloon. Dick held me half behind him with his left hand while Jim sauntered
ahead. Strangest of all the things that had happened was the sudden
silencing of the noisy crowd.

The Mexican was not there. His companions, Bud and Bill, as Buell had
called them, were sitting at a table, and as Jim Williams walked into the
center of the room they slowly and gradually rose to their feet. One was a
swarthy man with evil eyes and a scar on his cheek; the other had a brick-
red face and a sandy mustache with a vicious curl. Neither seemed to be
afraid, only cautious.

"We're all lookin' for thet Greaser friend of yourn," drawled Jim. "I shore
want to see him bad."

"He's gone, Williams," replied one. "Was in somethin' of a rustle, an'
didn't leave no word."

"Wal, I reckon he's all we're lookin' for this pertickler minnit."

Jim spoke in a soft, drawling voice, and his almost expressionless tone
seemed to indicate pleasant indifference; still, no one could have been
misled by it, for the long, steady gaze he gave the men and his cool
presence that held the room quiet meant something vastly different. No
reply was offered. Bud and Bill sat down, evidently to resume their
card-playing. The uneasy silence broke to a laugh, then to subdued voices,
and finally the clatter and hum began again. Dick led me outside, where we
were soon joined by Jim.

"He's holed up," suggested Dick.

"Shore. I don't take no stock in his hittin' the trail. He's layin' low."

"Let's look around a bit, anyhow."

Dick took me back to the cook's cabin and, bidding me remain inside, strode
away. I beard footsteps so soon after his departure that I made certain he
had returned, but the burly form which blocked the light in the cabin door
was not Dick's. I was astounded to recognize Buell.

"Hello!" he said, in his blustering voice. "Heard you had reached camp, an'
have been huntin' you up."

I greeted him pleasantly enough--more from surprise than from a desire to
mislead him. It seemed to me then that a child could have read Buell. He'd
an air of suppressed excitement; there was a glow on his face and a kind of
daring flash in his eyes. He seemed too eager, too glad to see me.

"I've got a good job for you," he went on, glibly. "jest what you want, an'
you're jest what I need. Come into my office an' help me. There'll be
plenty of outside work--measurin' lumber, markin' trees, an' such."

"Why, Mr. Buell--I--you see, Dick--he might not--"

I hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. But at my halting speech Buell
became even more smiling and voluble.

"Dick? Oh, Dick an' I stand all right; take thet from me. Dick'll agree to
what I want. I need a young feller bad. Money's no object. You're a bright
youngster. You'll look out for my interests. Here!" He pulled out a large
wad of greenbacks, and then spoke in a lower voice. "You understand that
money cuts no ice 'round this camp. We've a big deal. We need a smart young
feller. There's always some little irregularities about these big timber
deals out West. But you'll wear blinkers, an' make some money while you're
studyin' forestry. See?"

"Irregularities? What kind of irregularities?"

For the life of me I could not keep a little scorn out of my question.
Buell slowly put the bills in his pocket while his eyes searched; I could
not control my rising temper.

"You mean you want to fix me?"

He made no answer, and his face stiffened.

"You mean you want to buy my silence, shut my mouth about this lumber
steal?"

He drew in his breath audibly, yet still he did not speak. Either he was
dull of comprehension or else he was astonished beyond words. I knew I was
mad to goad him like that, but I could not help it. I grew hot with anger,
and the more clearly I realized that he had believed he could "fix" me with
his dirty money the hotter I got.

"You told Stockton you were leary of Washington, and were afraid I'd queer
your big deal. . . . Well, Mr. Buell, that's exactly what I'm going to do--
queer it!"

He went black in the face, and, cursing horribly, grasped me by the arm. I
struggled, but I could not loose that iron hand. Suddenly I felt a violent
wrench that freed me. Then I saw Dick swing back his shoulder and shoot out
his arm. He knocked Buell clear across the room, and when the man fell I
thought the cabin was coming down in the crash. He appeared stunned, for he
groped about with his hands, found a chair, and, using it as a support,
rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

"Leslie, I'll get you for this--take it from me," he muttered.

Dick's lips were tight, and he watched Buell with flaming eyes. The
lumberman lurched out of the door, and we heard him cursing after he had
disappeared. Then Dick looked at me with no little disapproval.

"What did you say to make Buell wild like that?"

I told Dick, word for word. First he looked dumfounded, then angry, and he
ended up with a grim laugh.

"Ken, you're sure bent on starting something, as Jim would say. You've
started it all right. And Jim'll love you for it. But I'm responsible to
your mother. Ken, I remember your mother--and you're going back home."

"Dick!"

"You're going back home as fast as I can get you to Holston and put you on
a train, that's all."

"I won't go!" I cried.

Without any more words Dick led me down the street to a rude corral; here
he rapidly saddled and packed his horses. The only time he spoke was when
he asked me where I had tied my mustangs. Soon we were hurrying out through
the slash toward the forest. Dick's troubled face kept down my resentment,
but my heart grew like lead. What an ending to my long-cherished trip to
the West! It had lasted two days. The disappointment seemed more than I
could bear.

We found the mustangs as I had left them, and the sight of Hal and the
feeling of the saddle made me all the worse. We did not climb the foot-hill
by the trail which the Mexican had used, but took a long, slow ascent far
round to the left. Dick glanced back often, and when we reached the top he
looked again in a way to convince me that he had some apprehensions of
being followed.

Twilight of that eventful day found us pitching camp in a thickly timbered
hollow. I could not help dwelling on how different my feelings would have
been if this night were but the beginning of many nights with Dick. It was
the last, and the more I thought about it the more wretched I grew. Dick
rolled in his blanket without saying even good-night, and I lay there
watching the veils and shadows of firelight flicker on the pines, and
listening, to the wind. Gradually the bitterness seemed to go away; my body
relaxed and sank into the soft, fragrant pine-needles; the great shadowy
trees mixed with the surrounding darkness. When I awoke it was broad
daylight, and Dick was shaking my arm.

"Hunt up the horses while I get the grub ready," he said, curtly.

As the hollow was carpeted with thick grass our horses had not strayed. I
noticed that here the larger trees had been cut, and the forest resembled a
fine park. In the sunny patches seedlings were sprouting, many little bushy
pines were growing, and the saplings had sufficient room and light to
prosper. I commented to Dick upon the difference between this part of
Penetier and the hideous slash we had left.

"There were a couple of Government markers went through here and marked the
timber to be cut," said Dick.

"Was the timber cut in the mill I saw?"

"No. Buell's just run up that mill. The old one is out here a ways, nearer
Holston."

"Is it possible, Dick, that any of those loggers back there don't know the
Government is being defrauded?"

"Ken, hardly any of them know it, and they wouldn't care if they did. You
see, this forest-preserve business is new out here. Formerly the lumbermen
bought so much land and cut over it--skinned it. Two years ago, when the
National Forests were laid out, the lumbering men--that is, the loggers,
sawmill hands, and so on--found they did not get as much employment as
formerly. So generally they're sore on the National Forest idea."

"But, Dick, if they understand the idea of forestry they'd never oppose
it."

"Maybe. I don't understand it too well myself. I can fight fire--that's my
business; but this ranger work is new. I doubt if the Westerners will take
to forestry. There've been some shady deals all over the West because of
it. Buell, now, he's a timber shark. He bought so much timber from the
Government, and had the markers come in to mark the cut; then after they
were gone, he rushed up a mill and clapped on a thousand hands."

"And the rangers stand for it? Where'll their jobs be when the Government
finds out?"

"I was against it from the start. So was Jim, particularly. But the other
rangers persuaded us."

It began to dawn upon me that Dick Leslie might, after all, turn out to be
good soil in which to plant some seeds of forestry. I said no more then, as
we were busy packing for the start, but when we had mounted I began to
talk. I told him all I had learned about trees, how I loved them, and how I
had determined to devote my life to their study, care, and development. As
we rode along under the wide-spreading pines I illustrated my remarks by
every example I could possibly use. The more I talked the more interested
Dick became, and this spurred me on. Perhaps I exaggerated, but my
conscience never pricked me. He began to ask questions.

We reached a spring at midday, and halted for a rest. I kept on pleading,
and presently I discovered, to my joy, that I had made a strong impression
upon Dick. It seemed a strange thing for me to be trying to explain
forestry to a forest ranger, but so it was.

"Ken, it's all news to me. I've been on Penetier about a year, and I never
heard a word of what you've been telling me. My duties have been the
practical ones that any woodsman knows. Jim and the other rangers--why,
they don't know any more than I. It's a great thing, and I've queered my
chance with the Government."

"No, you haven't--neither has Jim--not if you'll be straight from now on.
You can't keep faith with Buell. He tried to kidnap me. That lets you out.
We'll spoil Buell's little deal and save Penetier. A letter to father will
do it. He has friends in the Forestry Department at Washington. Dick, what
do you say? It's not too late!"

The dark shade lifted from the ranger's face, and he looked at me with the
smile of the old fishing days.

"Say? I say yes!" he exclaimed, in ringing voice, "Ken, you've made a man
of me!"



VI. BACK TO HOLSTON

Soon we were out of the forest, and riding across the sage-flat with
Holston in sight. Both of us avoided the unpleasant subject of my enforced
home-going. Evidently Dick felt cut up about it, and it caused me such a
pang that I drove it from my mind. Toward the end of our ride Dick began
again to talk of forestry.

"Ken, it's mighty interesting--all this you've said about trees. Some of
the things are so simple that I wonder I didn't hit on them long ago; in
fact, I knew a lot of what you might call forestry, but the scientific
ideas--they stump me. Now, what you said about a pine-tree cleaning
itself--come back at me with that."

"Why, that's simple enough, Dick," I answered. "Now, say here we have a
clump of pine saplings. They stand pretty close--close enough to make dense
shade, but not too crowded. The shade has prevented the lower branches from
producing leaves. As a consequence these branches die. Then they dry, rot,
and fall off, so when the trees mature they are clean-shafted. They have
fine, clear trunks. They have cleaned themselves, and so make the best of
lumber, free from knots."

So our talk went on. Once in town I was impatient to write to my father,
for we had decided that we would not telegraph. Leaving our horses in
Cless's corral, we went to the hotel and proceeded to compose the letter.
This turned out more of a task than we had bargained for. But we got it
finished at last, not forgetting to put in a word for Jim Williams, and
then we both signed it.

"There!" I cried. "Dick, something will be doing round Holston before many
days."

"That's no joke, you can bet," replied Dick, wiping his face. "Ken, it's
made me sweat just to see that letter start East. Buell is a tough sort,
and he'll make trouble. Well, he wants to steer clear of Jim and me."

After that we fell silent, and walked slowly back toward Cless's corral.
Dick's lips were closed tight, and he did not look at me. Evidently he did
not intend to actually put me aboard a train, and the time for parting had
come. He watered his horses at the trough, and fussed over his pack and
fumbled with his saddle-girths. It looked to me as though he had not the
courage to say goodby.

"Ken, it didn't look so bad--so mean till now," he said. "I'm all broken
up. . . . To get you way out here! Oh! what's the use? I'm mighty sorry. .
. . Good-bye--maybe-"

He broke off suddenly, and, wringing my hand, he vaulted into the saddle.
He growled at his pack-pony, and drove him out of the corral. Then he set
off at a steady trot down the street toward the open country.

It came to me in a flash, as I saw him riding farther and farther away,
that the reason my heart was not broken was because I did not intend to go
home. Dick had taken it for granted that I would board the next train for
the East. But I was not going to do anything of the sort. To my amaze I
found my mind made up on that score. I had no definite plan, but I was
determined to endure almost anything rather than give up my mustang and
outfit.

"It's shift for myself now," I thought, soberly. "I guess I can make good.
. . . I'm going back to Penetier."

Even in the moment of impulse I knew how foolish this would be. But I could
not help it. That forest had bewitched me. I meant to go back to it.

"I'll stay away from the sawmill," I meditated, growing lighter of heart
every minute. "I'll keep out of sight of the lumbermen. I'll go higher up
on the mountain, and hunt, and study the trees. . . . I'll do it."

Whereupon I marched off at once to a store and bought the supply of
provisions that Buell had decided against when he helped me with my outfit.
This addition made packing the pony more of a problem than ever, but I
contrived to get it all on to my satisfaction. It was nearing sunset when I
rode out of Holston this second time. The sage flat was bare and gray. Dick
had long since reached the pines, and would probably make camp at the spring
where we had stopped for lunch. I certainly did not want to catch up with
him, but as there was small chance of that; it caused me no concern.

Shortly after sunset twilight fell, and it was night when I reached the
first pine-trees. Still, as the trail was easily to be seen, I kept on, for
I did not want to camp without water. The forest was very dark, in some
places like a huge black tent, and I had not ridden far when the old fear
of night, the fancy of things out there in the darkness, once more
possessed me. It made me angry. Why could I not have the same confidence
that I had in the daytime? It was impossible. The forest was full of moving
shadows. When the wind came up to roar in the pine-tips it was a relief
because it broke the silence.

I began to doubt whether I could be sure of locating the spring, and I
finally decided to make camp at once. I stopped Hal, and had swung my leg
over the pommel when I saw a faint glimmer of light far ahead. It twinkled
like a star, but was not white and cold enough for a star.

"That's Dick's campfire," I said. "I'll have to stop here. Maybe I'm too
close now."

I pondered the question. The blaze was a long way off, and I concluded I
could risk camping on the spot, provided I did not make a fire. Accordingly
I dismounted, and was searching for a suitable place when I happened to
think that the campfire might not be Dick's, after all. Perhaps Buell had
sent the Mexican with Bud and Bill on my trail again. This would not do.
But I did not want to go back or turn off the trail.

"I'll slip up and see who it is," I decided.

The idea pleased me; however, I did not yield to it without further
consideration. I had a clear sense of responsibility. I knew that from now
on I should be called upon to reason out many perplexing things. I did not
want to make any mistakes. So I tied Hal and the pack-pony to a bush
fringing the trail, and set off through the forest.

It dawned upon me presently that the campfire was much farther away than it
appeared. Often it went out of sight behind trees. By degrees it grew
larger and larger. Then I slowed down and approached more cautiously. Once
when the trees obscured it I traveled some distance without getting a good
view of it. Passing down into a little hollow I lost it again. When I
climbed out I hauled up short with a sharp catch of my breath. There were
several figures moving around the campfire. I had stumbled on a camp that
surely was not Dick Leslie's.

The ground was as soft as velvet, and my footsteps gave forth no sound.
When the wind lulled I paused behind a tree and waited for another gusty
roar. I kept very close to the trail, for that was the only means by which
I could return to my horses. I felt the skin tighten on my face. Suddenly,
as I paused, I beard angry voices, pitched high. But I could not make out
the words.

Curiosity got the better of me. If the men were hired by Buell I wanted to
know what they were quarrelling about. I stole stealthily from tree to
tree, and another hollow opened beneath me. It was so wide and the pines so
overshadowed it that I could not tell how close the opposite side might be
to the campfire. I slipped down along the edge of the trail. The blaze
disappeared. Only a faint arc of light showed through the gloom.

I peered keenly into the blackness. At length I reached the slope. Here I
dropped to my hands and knees.

It was a long crawl to the top. Reaching it, I cautiously peeped over.
There were trees hiding the fire. But it was close. I heard the voices of
men. I backed down the slope, crossed the trail, and came up on the other
side. Pines grew thick on this level, and I stole silently from one to
another. Finally I reached the black trunk of a tree close to the campfire.

For a moment I lay low. I did not seem exactly afraid, but I was all tense
and hard, and my heart drummed in my ears. There was something ticklish
about this scouting. Then I peeped out.

It added little to my excitement to recognize the Mexican. He sat near the
fire smoking a cigarette. Near him were several men, one of whom was Bill.
Facing them sat a man with his back to a small sapling. He was tied with a
lasso.

One glance at his white face made me drop behind the tree, where I lay
stunned and bewildered--for that man was Dick Leslie.



VIII. THE LUMBERMEN

For a full moment I just lay still, hugging the ground, and I did not seem
to think at all. Voices loud in anger roused me. Raising myself, I
guardedly looked from behind the tree.

One of the lumbermen threw brush on the fire, making it blaze brightly. He
was tall and had a red beard. I recognized Stockton, Buell's right hand in
the lumber deal.

"Leslie, you're a liar!" he said.

Dick's eyes glinted from his pale face.

"Yes, that's your speed, Stockton," he retorted. "You bring your thugs into
my camp pretending to be friendly. You grab a fellow behind his back, tie
him up, and then call him a liar. Wait, you timber shark!"

"You're lying about that kid, Ward," declared the other. "You sent him back
East, that's what. He'll have the whole forest service down here. Buell
will be wild. Oh, he won't do a thing when he learns Ward has given us the
slip!"

"I tell you, Ken Ward gave me the slip," replied Dick. "I'll admit I meant
to see him safe in Holston. But he wouldn't go. He ran off from me right
here in this forest."

What could have been Dick's object in telling such a lie? It made me
wonder. Perhaps these lumbermen were more dangerous than I had supposed,
and Dick did not wish them to believe I had left Penetier. Maybe he was
playing for time, and did not want them to get alarmed and escape before
the officers came.

"Why did he run off?" asked Stockton.

"Because I meant to send him home, and he didn't want to go. He's crazy to
camp out, to hunt and ride."

"If that's true, Leslie, there's been no word sent to Washington."

"How could there be?"

"Well, I've got to hold you anyway till we see Buell. His orders were to
keep you and Ward prisoners till this lumber deal is pulled off. We're not
going to be stopped now."

Leslie turned crimson, and strained on the lasso that bound him to the
sapling. "Somebody is going to pay for this business!" he declared,
savagely. "You forget I'm an officer in this forest."

"I'll hold you, Leslie, whatever comes of it," answered the lumberman. "I'd
advise you to cool down."

"You and Buell have barked up the wrong tree, mind that, Stockton. Jim
Williams, my pardner, is wise. He expects me back tomorrow."

"See hyar, Stockton," put in Bill, "you're new in Arizona, an' I want to
give you a hunch. If Jim Williams hits this trail, you ain't goin' to be
well enough to care about any old lumber steal."

"Jim hit the trail all right," went on Dick. "He's after Greaser. It'd go
hard with you if Jim happened to walk in now."

"I don't want to buck against Williams, that's certain," replied Stockton.
"I know his record. But I'll take a chance--anyway, till Buell knows. It's
his game."

Dick made no answer, and sat there eyeing his captors. There was little
talk after this. Bud threw a log on the fire. Stockton told the Mexican to
take a look at the horses. Greaser walked within twenty feet of where I
lay, and I held my breath while be passed. The others rolled in their
blankets. It was now so dark that I could not distinguish anything outside of
the campfire circle. But I heard Greaser's soft, shuffling footsteps as he
returned. Then his dark, slim figure made a shadow between me and the
light. He sat down before the fire and began to roll a cigarette. He did
not seem sleepy.

A daring scheme flashed into my mind. I would crawl into camp and free
Dick. Not only would I outwit the lumber thieves, but also make Dick think
well of me. What would Jim Williams say of a trick like that? The thought
of the Texan banished what little hesitation I felt. Glancing round the
bright circle, I made my plan; it was to crawl far back into the darkness,
go around to the other side of the camp, and then slip up behind Dick.
Already his head was nodding on his breast. It made me furious to see him
sitting so uncomfortably, sagging in the lasso.

I tried to beat down my excitement, but there was a tingling all over me
that would not subside. But I soon saw that I might have a long wait. The
Mexican did not go to sleep, so I had time to cool off.

The campfire gradually burned out, and the white glow changed to red. One
of the men snored in a way that sounded like a wheezy whistle. Coyotes
howled in the woods, and the longer I listened to the long, strange howls
the better I liked them. The roar in the wind had died down to a moaning. I
thought of myself lying there, with my skin prickling and my eyes sharp on
the darkening forms. I thought of the nights I had spent with Hal in the
old woods at home. How full the present seemed! My breast swelled, my hand
gripped my revolver, my eyes pierced the darkness, and I would not have
been anywhere else for the world.

Greaser smoked out his cigarette, and began to nod. That was the signal for
me. I crawled noiselessly from the tree. When I found myself going down
into the hollow, I stopped and rose to my feet. The forest was so pitchy
black that I could not tell the trees from the darkness. I groped to the
left, trying to circle. Once I snapped a twig; it cracked like a
pistol-shot, and my heart stopped beating, then began to thump. But Greaser
never stirred as he sat in the waning light. At last I had half circled the
camp.

After a short rest I started forward, slow and stealthy as a creeping cat.
When within fifty feet of the fire I went down on all-fours and began to
crawl. Twice I got out of line. But at last Dick's burly shoulders loomed
up between me and the light.

Then I halted. My breast seemed bursting, and I panted so hard that I was
in a terror lest I should awaken some one. Again I thought of what I was
doing, and fought desperately to gain my coolness,

Now the only cover I had was Dick's broad back, for the sapling to which he
was tied was small. I drew my hunting-knife. One more wriggle brought me
close to Dick, with my face near his hands, which were bound behind him. I
slipped the blade under the lasso, and cut it through.

Dick started as if he had received an electric shock. He threw back his
head and uttered a sudden exclamation.

Although I was almost paralyzed with fright I put my hand on his shoulder
and whispered: "S-s-s-h! It's Ken!"

Greaser uttered a shrill cry. Dick leaped to his feet. Then I grew dizzy,
and my sight blurred. I heard hoarse shouts and saw dark forms rising as if
out of the earth. All was confusion. I wanted to run, but could not get up.
There was a wrestling, whirling mass in front of me.

But this dimness of sight and weakness of body did not last. I saw two men
on the ground, with Dick standing over them. Stockton was closing in.
Greaser ran around them with something in his hand that glittered in the
firelight. Stockton dived for Dick's legs and upset him. They went down
together, and the Mexican leaped on them, waving the bright thing high over
his head.

I bounded forward, and, grasping his wrist with both hands, I wrenched his
arm with all my might. Some one struck me over the head. I saw a million
darting points of light--then all went black.

When I opened my eyes the sun was shining. I had a queer, numb feeling all
over, and my head hurt terribly. Everything about me was hazy. I did not
know where I was. After a little I struggled to sit up, and with great
difficulty managed it. My hands were tied. Then it all came back to me.
Stockton stood before me holding a tin cup of water toward my lips. My
throat was parched, and I drank. Stockton had a great bruise on his
forehead; his nostrils were crusted with blood, and his shirt was half torn
off.

"You're all right?" he said.

"Sure," I replied, which was not true.

I imagined that a look of relief came over his face. Next I saw Bill
nursing his eye, and bathing it with a wet handkerchief. It was swollen
shut, puffed out to the size of a goose-egg, and blue as indigo. Dick had
certainly landed hard on Bill. Then I turned round to see Dick sitting
against the little sapling, bound fast with a lasso. His clean face did not
look as if he had been in a fight; he was smiling, yet there was anxiety in
his eyes.

"Ken, now you've played hob," he said. It was a reproach, but his look made
me proud.

"Oh, Dick, if you hadn't called out!" I exclaimed.

"Darned if you're not right! But it was a slick job, and you'll tickle Jim
to death. I was an old woman. But that cold knife-blade made me jump."

I glanced round the camp for the Mexican and Bud and the fifth man, but
they were gone. Bill varied his occupation of the moment by kneading
biscuit dough in a basin. Then there came such a severe pain in my head
that I went blind for a little while. "What's the matter with my head?
Who hit me?" I cried.

"Bud slugged you with the butt of his pistol," said Dick. "And, Ken, I
think you saved me from being knifed by the Greaser. You twisted his arm
half off. He cursed all night. . . . Ha! there he comes now with your
outfit."

Sure enough, the Mexican appeared on the trail, leading my horses. I was so
glad to see Hal that I forgot I was a prisoner. But Greaser's sullen face
and glittering eyes reminded me of it quickly enough. I read treachery in
his glance.

Bud rode into camp from the other direction, and he brought a bunch of
horses, two of which I recognized as Dick's. The lumbermen set about
getting breakfast, and Stockton helped me to what little I could eat and
drink. Now that I was caught he did not appear at all mean or harsh. I did
not shrink from him, and had the feeling that he meant well by me.

The horses were saddled and bridled, and Dick and I, still tied, were
bundled astride our mounts. The pack-ponies led the way, with Bill
following; I came next, Greaser rode behind me, and Dick was between Bud
and Stockton. So we traveled, and no time was wasted. I noticed that the
men kept a sharp lookout both to the fore and the rear. We branched off the
main trail and took a steeper one leading up the slope. We rode for hours.
There were moments when I reeled in my saddle, but for the greater while I
stood my pain and weariness well enough. Some time in the afternoon a
shrill whistle ahead attracted my attention. I made out two horsemen
waiting on the trail.

"Huh! about time!" growled Bill. "Hyar's Buell an' Herky-Jerky."

As we approached I saw Buell, and the fellow with the queer name turned out
to be no other than the absent man I had been wondering about. He had been
dispatched to fetch the lumberman.

Buell was superbly mounted on a sleek bay, and he looked very much the same
jovial fellow I had met on the train. He grinned at the disfigured men.

"Take it from me, you fellers wouldn't look any worse bunged up if you'd
been jolted by the sawlogs in my mill."

"We can't stand here to crack jokes," said Stockton, sharply. "Some ranger
might see us. Now what?"

"You ketched the kid in time. That's all I wanted. Take him an' Leslie up in
one of the canyons an' keep them there till further orders. You needn't
stay, Stockton, after you get them in a safe place. An' you can send up
grub."

Then he turned to me.

"You'll not be hurt if--"

"Don't you speak to me!" I burst out. It was on my lips to tell him of the
letter to Washington, but somehow I kept silent.

"Leslie," went on Buell, "I'll overlook your hittin' me an' let you go if
you'll give me your word to keep mum about this."

Dick did not speak, but looked at the lumberman with a dark gleam in his
eyes.

"There's one thing, Buell," said Stockton. "Jim Williams is wise. You've got
to look out for him."

Buell's ruddy face blanched. Then, without another word, he waved his hand
toward the slope, and, wheeling his horse, galloped down the trail.



IX. TAKEN INTO THE MOUNTAINS

We climbed to another level bench where we branched off the trail. The
forest still kept its open, park-like character. Under the great pines the
ground was bare and brown with a thick covering of pine-needles, but in the
glades were green grass and blue flowers.

Once across this level we encountered a steeper ascent than any I had yet
climbed. Here the character of the forest began to change. There were other
trees than pines, and particularly one kind, cone-shaped, symmetrical, and
bright, which Dick called a silver spruce. I was glad it belonged to the
conifers, or pine-tree family, because it was the most beautiful tree I had
ever seen. We climbed ridges and threaded through aspen thickets in hollows
till near sunset. Then Stockton ordered a halt for camp.

It came none too soon for me, and I was so exhausted that I had to be
helped off my mustang. Stockton arranged my blankets, fed me, and bathed
the bruise on my head, but I was too weary and sick to be grateful or to
care about anything except sleep. Even the fact that my hands were
uncomfortably bound did not keep me awake.

When some one called me next morning my eyes did not want to stay open. I
had a lazy feeling and a dull ache in my bones, but the pain had gone from
my head. That made everything else seem all right.

Soon we were climbing again, and my interest in my surroundings grew as we
went up. For a while we brushed through thickets of scrub oak. The whole
slope of the mountain was ridged and hollowed, so that we were always going
down and climbing up. The pines and spruces grew smaller, and were more
rugged and gnarled.

"Hyar's the canyon!" sang out Bill, presently.

We came out on the edge of a deep hollow. It was half a mile wide. I looked
down a long incline of sharp tree-tips. The roar of water rose from below,
and in places a white rushing torrent showed. Above loomed the snow-clad
peak, glistening in the morning sun. How wonderfully far off and high it
still was!

To my regret it was shut off from my sight as we descended into the canyon.
However, I soon forgot that. I saw a troop of coyotes, and many black and
white squirrels. From time to time huge birds, almost as big as turkeys,
crashed out of the thickets and whirred away. They flew swift as pheasants,
and I asked Dick what they were.

"Blue grouse," he replied. "Look sharp now, Ken, there are deer ahead of
us. See the tracks?"

Looking down I saw little, sharp-pointed, oval tracks. Presently two foxes
crossed an open patch not fifty yards from us, but I did not get a glimpse
of the deer. Soon we reached the bottom of the canyon, and struck into
another trail. The air was full of the low roar of tumbling water. This
mountain-torrent was about twenty feet wide, but its swiftness and foam
made it impossible to tell its depth. The trail led up-stream, and turned
so constantly that half the time Bill, the leader, was not in sight. Once
the sharp crack of his rifle halted the train. I heard crashings in the
thicket. Dick yelled for me to look up the slope, and there I saw three
gray deer with white tails raised. I heard a strange, whistling sound.

On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it on
his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower, and soon we
entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was exceedingly
rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was amazed to see the
gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several hundred feet across. The
walls were steep, and one side shelved out, making a long, shallow cave, In
the center of this amphitheatre was a deep hole from which the mountain
stream boiled and bubbled.

"Hyar we are," said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men
followed suit, and helped Dick and me down. Stockton untied our hands,
saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we were.
My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the Mexican to keep
guard over us.

"Ken, I've heard of this place," said Dick. "How's that for a spring?
Twenty yards wide, and no telling how deep! This is snow-water straight
from the peaks. We're not a thousand feet below the snow-line."

"I can tell that. Look at those Jwari pines," I replied, pointing up over
the wall. A rugged slope rose above our camp-site, and it was covered with
a tangled mass of stunted pines. Many of them were twisted and misshapen;
some were half dead and bleached white at the tops. "It's my first sight of
such trees," I went on, "but I've studied about them. Up here it's not lack
of moisture that stunts and retards their growth. It's fighting the
elements--cold, storm-winds, snowslides. I suppose not one in a thousand
seedlings takes root and survives. But the forest fights hard to live."

"Well, Ken, we may as well sit back now and talk forestry till Buell skins
all he wants of Penetier," said Dick. "It's really a fine camping-spot.
Plenty of deer up here and bear, too."

"Dick, couldn't we escape?" I whispered.

"We're not likely to have a chance. But I say, Ken, how did you happen to
turn up? I thought you were going to hop on the first train for home."

"Dick, you had another think coming. I couldn't go home. I'll have a great
time yet--I'm having it now."

"Yes, that lump on your head looks like it," replied Dick, with a laugh.
"If Bud hadn't put you out we'd have come closer to licking this bunch.
Ken, keep your eye on Greaser. He's treacherous. His arm's lame yet."

"We've had two run-ins already," I said. "The third time is the worst, they
say. I hope it won't come. . . . But, Dick, I'm as big--I'm bigger than he
is."

"Hear the kid talk! I certainly ought to have put you on that train--"

"What train?" asked Stockton, sharply, from our rear. He took us in with
suspicious eyes.

"I was telling Ken I ought to have put him on a train for home," answered
Dick.

Stockton let the remark pass without further comment; still, he appeared to
be doing some hard thinking. He put Dick at one end of the long cave, me at
the other. Our bedding was unpacked and placed at our disposal. We made our
beds. After that I kept my eyes open and did not miss anything.

"Leslie, I'm going to treat you and Ward white," said Stockton. "You'll
have good grub. Herky-Jerky's the best cook this side of Holston, and
you'll be left untied in the daytime. But if either of you attempts to get
away it means a leg shot off. Do you get that?"

"All right, Stockton; that's pretty square of you, considering," replied
Dick. "You're a decent sort of chap to be mixed up with a thief like Buell.
I'm sorry."

Stockton turned away at this rather abruptly. Then Bill appeared on the
wall above, and began to throw down firewood. Bud returned from the canyon,
where he had driven the horses. Greaser sat on a stone puffing a cigarette.
It was the first time I had taken a good look at him. He was smaller than I
had fancied; his feet and hands and features resembled those of a woman,
but his eyes were live coals of black fire. In the daylight I was not in
the least afraid of him.

Herky-Jerky was the most interesting one of our captors. He had a short,
stocky figure, and was the most bow-legged man I ever saw. Never on earth
could he have stopped a pig in a lane. A stubby beard covered the lower
half of his brick-red face. The most striking thing about Herky-Jerky,
however, was his perpetual grin. He looked very jolly, yet every time he
opened his mouth it was to utter bad language. He cursed the fire, the
pans, the coffee, the biscuits, all of which he handled most skillfully. It
was disgusting, and yet aside from this I rather liked him.

It grew dark very quickly while we were eating, and the wind that dipped
down into the gorge was cold. I kept edging closer and closer to the
blazing campfire. I had never tasted venison before, and rather disliked it
at first. But I soon cultivated a liking for it.

That night Stockton tied me securely, but in a way which made it easy for
me to turn. I slept soundly and awoke late. When I sat up Stockton stood by
his saddled horse, and was giving orders to the men. He spoke sharply. He
made it clear that they were not to be lax in their vigilance. Then,
without a word to Dick or me, he rode down the gorge and disappeared behind
a corner of yellow wall.

Bill untied the rope that held Dick's arms, but left his feet bound. I was
freed entirely, and it felt so good to have the use of all my limbs once
more that I pranced round in a rather lively way. Either my antics annoyed
Herky-Jerky or he thought it a good opportunity to show his skill with a
lasso, for he shot the loop over me so hard that it stung my back.

"I'm all there as a roper!" he said, pulling the lasso tight round my
middle. The men all laughed as I tumbled over in the gravel.

"Better keep a half-hitch on the colt," remarked Bud.

So they left the lasso fast about my waist, and it trailed after me as I
walked. Herky-Jerky put me to carrying Dick's breakfast from the campfire
up into the cave. This I did with alacrity. Dick and I exchanged
commonplace remarks aloud, but we had several little whispers.

"Ken, we may get the drop on them or give them the slip yet," whispered
Dick, in one of these interludes.

This put ideas into my head. There might be a chance for me to escape, if
not for Dick. I made up my mind to try if a good chance offered, but I did
not want to go alone down that canyon without a gun. Stockton had taken my
revolver and hunting-knife, but I still had the little leather case which
Hal and I had used so often back on the Susquehanna. Besides a pen-knife
this case contained salt and pepper, fishing hooks and lines, matches--a
host of little things that a boy who had never been lost might imagine he
would need in an emergency. While thinking and planning I sat on the edge
of the great hole where the spring was. Suddenly I saw a swirl in the
water, and then a splendid spotted fish. It broke water twice. It was two
feet long.

"Dick, there's fish in this hole!" I yelled, eagerly.

"Shouldn't wonder," replied he. "Sure, kid, thet hole's full of trout--
speckled trout," said Herky-Jerky. "But they can't be ketched."

"Why not?" I demanded. I had not caught little trout in the Pennsylvania
hills for nothing. "They eat, don't they? That fish I saw was a whale, and
he broke water for a bug. Get me a pole and some bugs or worms!"

When I took out my little case and showed the fishing-line, Herky-Jerky
said he would find me some bait.

While he was absent I studied that spring with new and awakened eyes. It
was round and very deep, and the water bulged up in great greenish swirls.
The outlet was a narrow little cleft through which the water flowed slowly,
as though it did not want to take its freedom. The rush and roar came from
the gorge below.

Herky-Jerky returned with a long, slender pole. It was as pliant as a
buggy-whip, and once trimmed and rigged it was far from being a poor
tackle. Herky-Jerky watched me with extreme attention, all the time
grinning. Then he held out a handful of grubs.

"If you ketch a trout on thet I'll swaller the pole!" he exclaimed.

I stooped low and approached the spring, being careful to keep out of
sight.

"You forgot to spit on yer bait, kid," said Bill.

They all laughed in a way to rouse my ire. But despite it I flipped the
bait into the water with the same old thrilling expectancy.

The bait dropped with a little spat. An arrowy shadow, black and gold,
flashed up. Splash! The line hissed. Then I jerked hard. The pole bent
double, wobbled, and swayed this way and that. The fish was a powerful one;
his rushes were like those of a heavy bass. But never had a bass given me
such a struggle. Every instant I made sure the tackle would be wrecked.
Then, just at the breaking-point, the fish would turn. At last he began to
tire. I felt that he was rising to the surface, and I put on more strain.
Soon I saw him; then he turned, flashing like a gold bar. I led my captive
to the outlet of the spring, where I reached down and got my fingers in his
gills. With that I lifted him. Dick whooped when I held up the fish; as for
me, I was speechless. The trout was almost two feet long, broad and heavy,
with shiny sides flecked with color.

Herky-Jerky celebrated my luck with a generous outburst of enthusiasm,
whereupon his comrades reminded him of his offer to swallow my fishing
pole.

I put on a fresh bait and instantly hooked another fish, a smaller one,
which was not so bard to land. The spring hole was full of trout. They made
the water boil when I cast. Several large ones tore the hook loose; I had
never dreamed of such fishing. Really it was a strange situation. Here I
was a prisoner, with Greaser or Bud taking turns at holding the other end
of the lasso. More than once they tethered me up short for no other reason
than to torment me. Yet never in my life had I so enjoyed fishing.

By-and-by Bill and Herky-Jerky left the camp. I heard Herky tell Greaser to
keep his eye on the stew-pots, and it occurred to me that Greaser had
better keep his eye on Ken Ward. When I saw Bud lie down I remembered what
Dick had whispered. I pretended to be absorbed in my fishing, but really I
was watching Greaser. As usual, he was smoking, and appeared listless, but
he still held on to the lasso.

Suddenly I saw a big blue revolver lying on a stone and I could even catch
the glint of brass shells in the cylinder. It was not close to Bud nor so
very close to Greaser. If he should drop the lasso! A wild idea possessed
me--held me in its grip. just then the stew-pot boiled over. There was a
sputter and a cloud of steam, Greaser lazily swore in Mexican; he got up to
move the stew-pot and dropped the lasso.

When he reached the fire I bounded up, jerking the lasso far behind me. I
ran and grabbed the revolver. Greaser heard me and wheeled with a yell. Bud
sat up quickly. I pointed the revolver at him, then at Greaser, and kept
moving it from one side to the other.

"Don't move! I'll shoot!" I cried.

"Good boy!" yelled Dick. "You've got the drop. Keep it, Ken, keep it! Don't
lose your nerve. Edge round here and cut me loose. . . . Bud, if you move
I'll make him shoot. Come on, Ken."

"Greaser, cut him loose!" I commanded the snarling Mexican.

I trembled so that the revolver wabbled in my hand. Trying to hold it
steadied, I squeezed it hard. Bang! It went off with a bellow like a
cannon. The bullet scattered the gravel near Greaser. His yellow face
turned a dirty white. He jumped straight up in his fright.

"Cut him loose!" I ordered.

Greaser ran toward Dick.

"Look out, Ken! Behind you! Quick!" yelled Dick.

I beard a crunching of gravel. Even as I wheeled I felt a tremendous pull
on the lasso and I seemed to be sailing in the air. I got a blurred glimpse
of Herky-Jerky leaning back on the taut lasso. Then I plunged down, slid
over the rocks, and went souse into the spring.



X. ESCAPE

Down, down I plunged, and the shock of the icy water seemed to petrify me.
I should have gone straight to the bottom like a piece of lead but for the
lasso. It tightened around my chest, and began to haul me up.

I felt the air and the light, and opened my eyes to see Herky-Jerky hauling
away on the rope. When he caught sight of me he looked as if ready to dodge
behind the bank.

"Whar's my gun?" he yelled.

I had dropped it in the spring. He let the lasso sag, and I had to swim.
Then, seeing that my hands were empty, he began to swear and to drag me
round and round in the pool. When he had pulled me across he ran to the
other side and jerked me back. I was drawn through the water with a force
that I feared would tear me apart. Greaser chattered like a hideous monkey,
and ran to and fro in glee. Herky-Jerky soon had me sputtering, gasping,
choking. When he finally pulled me out of the hole I was all but drowned.

"You bow-legged beggar!" shouted Dick, "I'll fix you for that."

"Whar's my gun?" yelled Herky, as I fell to the ground.

"I lost--it," I panted.

He began to rave. Then I half swooned, and when sight and hearing fully
returned I was lying in the cave on my blankets. A great lassitude weighted
me down. The terrible thrashing about in the icy water had quenched my
spirit. For a while I was too played out to move, and lay there in my wet
clothes. Finally I asked leave to take them off. Bud, who had come back in
the meantime, helped me, or I should never have got out of them. Herky
brought up my coat, which, fortunately, I had taken off before the ducking.
I did not have the heart to speak to Dick or look at him, so I closed my
eyes and fell asleep.

It was another day when I awoke. I felt all right except for a soreness
under my arms and across my chest where the lasso had chafed and bruised
me. Still I did not recover my good spirits. Herky-Jerky kept on grinning
and cracking jokes on my failure to escape. He had appropriated my revolver
for himself, and he asked me several times if I wanted to borrow it to
shoot Greaser.

That day passed quietly, and so did the two that followed. The men would
not let me fish nor move about. They had been expecting Stockton, and as he
did not come it was decided to send Bud down to the mill; in fact, Bud
decided the matter himself. He warned Greaser and Herky to keep close watch
over Dick and me. Then he rode away. Dick and I resumed our talk about
forestry, and as we were separated by the length of the cave it was
necessary to speak loud. So our captors heard every word we said.

"Ken, what's the difference between Government forestry out here and, say,
forestry practiced by a farmer back in Pennsylvania?" asked Dick.

"There's a big difference, I imagine. Forestry is established in some parts
of the East; it's only an experiment out here."

Then I went on to tell him about the method of the farmer. He usually had a
small piece of forest, mostly hard wood. When the snow was on he cut
firewood, fence-rails, and lumber for his own use in building. Some seasons
lumber brought high prices; then he would select matured logs and haul them
to the sawmill. But he would not cut a great deal, and he would use care in
the selection. It was his aim to keep the land well covered with forest. He
would sow as well as harvest.

"Now the Government policy is to preserve the National Forests for the use
of the people. The soil must be kept productive. Agriculture would be
impossible without water, and the forests hold water. The West wants people
to come to stay. The lumberman who slashes off the timber may get rich
himself, but he ruins the land."

"What's that new law Congress is trying to pass?" queried Dick.

I was puzzled, but presently I caught his meaning. Bill and Herky-Jerky
were hanging on our words with unconcealed attention. Even the Mexican was
listening. Dick's cue was to scare them, or at least to have some fun at
their expense.

"They've passed it," I replied. "Fellows like Buell will go to the
penitentiary for life. His men'll get twenty years on bread and water. No
whiskey! Serves 'em right."

"What'll the President do when he learns these men kidnapped you?"

"Do? He'll have the whole forest service out here and the National Guard.
He's a friend of my father's. Why, these kidnappers will be hanged!"

"I wish the Guard would come quick. Too bad you couldn't have sent word!
I'd enjoy seeing Greaser swing. Say, he hasn't a ghost of a chance, with
the President and Jim Williams after him."

"Dick, I want the rings in Greaser's ears."

"What for? They're only brass."

"Souvenirs. Maybe I'll have watch-charms made of them. Anyway, I can show
them to my friends back East."

"It'll be great--what you'll have to tell," went on Dick. "It'll be funny,
too."

Greaser had begun to snarl viciously, and Herky and Bill looked glum and
thoughtful. The arrival of Bud interrupted the conversation and put an end
to our playful mood. We heard a little of what he told his comrades, and
gathered that Jim Williams had met Stockton and had asked questions hard to
answer. Dick flashed me a significant look, which was as much as to say
that Jim was growing suspicious. Bud had brought a store of whiskey, and
his companions now kept closer company with him than ever before. But from
appearances they did not get all they wanted.

"We've got to move this here camp," said Bud.

Bud and Bill and Herky walked off down the gorge. Perhaps they really went
to find another place for the camp, for the present spot was certainly a
kind of trap. But from the looks of Greaser I guessed that they were
leaving him to keep guard while they went off to drink by themselves.
Greaser muttered and snarled. As the moments passed his face grew sullen.

All at once he came toward me. He bound my hands and my feet. Dick was
already securely tied, but Greaser put another lasso on him. Then he
slouched down the gorge. His high-peaked Mexican sombrero bobbed above the
rocks, then disappeared.

"Ken, now's the chance," said Dick, low and quick. "If you can only work
loose! There's your rifle and mine, too. We could hold this fort for a
month."

"What can I do?" I asked, straining on my ropes.

"You're not fast to the rock, as I am. Rollover here and untie me with your
teeth."

I raised my head to get the direction, and then, with a violent twist of my
body, I started toward him; but being bound fast I could not guide myself,
and I rolled off the ledge. The bank there was pretty steep, and, unable to
stop, I kept on like a barrel going down-bill. The thought of rolling into
the spring filled me with horror. Suddenly I bumped hard into something
that checked me. It was a log of firewood, and in one end stuck the big
knife which Herky-Jerky used to cut meat.

Instantly I conceived the idea of cutting my bonds with this knife. But how
was I to set about it?

"Dick, here's a knife. How'll I get to it so as to free myself?"

"Easy as pie," replied he, eagerly. "The sharp edge points down. You hitch
yourself this way--That's it---good!"

What Dick called easy as pie was the hardest work I ever did. I lay flat on
my back, bound hand and foot, and it was necessary to jerk my body along
the log till my hands should be under the knife. I lifted my legs and edged
along inch by inch.

"Fine work, Ken! Now you're right! Turn on your side! Be careful you don't
loosen the knife!"

Not only were my wrists bound, but the lasso had been wrapped round my
elbows, holding them close to my body. Turning on my side, I found that I
could not reach the knife--not by several inches. This was a bitter
disappointment. I strained and heaved. In my effort to lift my body
sidewise I pressed my face into the gravel. "Hurry, Ken, hurry!" cried
Dick. "Somebody's coming!"
 
Thus urged, I grew desperate. In my struggle I discovered that it was
possible to edge up on the log and stick there. I glued myself to that log.
By dint of great exertion I brought the tight cord against the blade. It
parted with a little snap, my elbows dropped free. Raising my wrists, I
sawed quickly through the bonds. I cut myself, the blood flowed, but that
was no matter. jerking the knife from the log, I severed the ropes round my
ankles and leaped up.

"Hurry, boy!" cried Dick, with a sharp note of alarm.

I ran to where he lay, and attacked the heavy halter with which he had been
secured. I had cut half through the knots when a shrill cry arrested me. It
was the Mexican's voice.

"Head him off! He's after your gun!" yelled Dick.

The sight of Greaser running toward the cave put me into a frenzy. Dropping
the knife, I darted to where my rifle leaned across my saddle. But I saw
the Mexican would beat me to it. Checking my speed, I grabbed up a round
stone and let fly. That was where my ball-playing stood me in good stead,
for the stone hit Greaser on the shoulder, knocking him flat. But he got
up, and lunged for the rifle just as I reached him.

I kicked the rifle out of his band, grappled with him, and down we went
together. We wrestled and thrashed off the ledge, and when we landed in the
gravel I was on top.

"Slug him, Ken!" yelled Dick, wildly. "Oh, that's fine! Give it to him!
Punch him! Get his wind!"

Either it was a mortal dread of Greaser's knife or some kind of a new-born
fury that lent me such strength. He screeched, he snapped like a wolf, he
clawed me, he struck me, but he could not shake me off. Several times he
had me turning, but a hard rap on his head knocked him back again. Then I
began to bang him in the ribs.

"That's the place!" shouted Dick. "Ken, you're going to do him up! Soak
him! Oh-h, but this is great!"

I kept the advantage over Greaser, but still he punished me cruelly.
Suddenly he got his snaky hands on my throat and began to choke me. With
all my might I swung my fist into his stomach.

His hands dropped, his mouth opened in a gasp, his face turned green. The
blow had made him horribly sick, and he sank back utterly helpless. I
jumped up with a shout of triumph.

"Run! Run for it!" yelled Dick, in piercing tones. "They're coming!
Never mind me! Run, I tell you! Not down the gorge! Climb out!"

For a moment I could not move out of my tracks. Then I saw Bill and Herky
running up the gorge, and, farther down, Bud staggering and lurching.

This lent me wings. In two jumps I had grabbed my rifle; then, turning, I
ran round the pool, and started up the one place in the steep wall where
climbing was possible. Above the yells of the men I heard Dick's piercing
cry:

"Go-go-go, Ken!"

I sent the loose rocks down in my flight. Here I leaped up; there I ran
along a little ledge; in another place I climbed hand and foot. The last
few yards was a gravelly incline. I seemed to slide back as much as I
gained.

"Come back hyar!" bawled Bill.

Crack! Crack! Crack . . . The reports rang out in quick succession. A
bullet whistled over me, another struck the gravel and sent a shower of
dust into my face. I pitched my rifle up over the bank and began to dig my
fingers and toes into the loose ground. As I gained the top two more
bullets sang past my head so close that I knew Bill was aiming to more than
scare me. I dragged myself over the edge and was safe.

The canyon, with its dense thickets and scrubby clumps of trees, lay below
in plain sight. Once hidden there, I would be hard to find. Picking up my
rifle, I ran swiftly along the base of the slope and soon gained the cover
of the woods.



XI. THE OLD HUNTER

I ran till I got a stitch in my side, and then slowed down to a dog-trot.
The one thing to do was to get a long way ahead of my pursuers, for surely
at the outset they would stick like hounds to my trail.

A mile or more below the gorge I took to the stream and waded. It was
slippery, dangerous work, for the current tore about my legs and threatened
to upset me. After a little I crossed to the left bank. Here the slope of
the canyon was thick with grass that hid my tracks. It was a long climb up
to the level. Upon reaching it I dropped, exhausted.

"I've--given them--the slip," I panted, exultantly. . . . "But--now what?"

It struck me that now I was free, I had only jumped out of the frying-pan
into the fire. Hurriedly I examined my Winchester. The magazine contained
ten cartridges. What luck that Stockton had neglected to unload it! This
made things look better. I had salt and pepper, a knife, and matches--
thanks to the little leather case--and so I could live in the woods.

It was too late for regrets. I might have freed Dick somehow or even held
the men at bay, but I had thought only of escape. The lack of nerve and
judgment stung me. Then I was bitter over losing my mustang and outfit.

But on thinking it all over, I concluded that I ought to be thankful for
things as they were. I was free, with a whole skin. That climb out of the
gorge had been no small risk. How those bullets had whistled and hissed!

"I'm pretty lucky," I muttered. "Now to get good and clear of this
vicinity. They'll ride down the trail after me. Better go over this ridge
into the next canyon and strike down that. I must go down. But how far?
What must I strike for?"

I took a long look at the canyon. In places the stream showed, also the
trail; then there were open patches, but I saw no horses or men. With a
grim certainty that I should be lost in a very little while, I turned into
the cool, dark forest.

Every stone and log, every bit of hard ground in my path, served to help
hide my trail. Herky-Jerky very likely had the cowboy's skill at finding
tracks, but I left few traces of my presence on that long slope. Only an
Indian or a hound could have trailed me. The timber was small and rough
brush grew everywhere. Presently I saw light ahead, and I came to an open
space. It was a wide swath in the forest. At once I recognized the path of
an avalanche. It sloped up clean and bare to the gray cliffs far above.
Below was a great mass of trees and rocks, all tangled in black splintered
ruin. I pushed on across the path, into the forest, and up and down the
hollows. The sun had gone down behind the mountain, and the shadows were
gathering when I came to another large canyon. It looked so much like the
first that I feared I had been travelling in a circle. But this one seemed
wider, deeper, and there was no roar of rushing water.

It was time to think of making camp, and so I hurried down the slope. At
the bottom I found a small brook winding among boulders and ledges of rock.
The far side of this canyon was steep and craggy. Soon I discovered a place
where I thought it would be safe to build a fire. My clothes were wet, and
the air had grown keen and cold. Gathering a store of wood, I made my fire
in a niche. For a bed I cut some sweet-scented pine boughs (I thought they
must be from a balsam-tree), and these I laid close up in a rocky corner.
Thus I had the fire between me and the opening, and with plenty of wood to
burn I did not fear visits