Edward G. Cheyney

A FOREST FIRE

Scott was up before day the next morning and he and Heth prepared a hurried breakfast. He was quite excited. He had read volumes about the myriad sheep which were grazed in the national forests of the great Southwest and he was anxious to see them. The fact that he was now going to have an actual part in the handling of them made him impatient to get things going.

Heth had everything ready at the chute for counting in the sheep and Scott had all the permits in hand approved by the supervisor, stating just how many sheep each owner had paid for. Of course each herder knew just how many he was supposed to take in and just what range had been allotted to him. It was Scott’s job to count the sheep as they came through the chute and see that the permits were not exceeded. As the old gentleman had told Scott on the train, the arrangement was comparatively new and many of the stockmen were by no means reconciled to the forest service control. They had been running their stock free on those ranges for years and they were not going to pay for the privilege without a struggle. It was almost certain that there would be more than one attempt to exceed the limit. Mr. Ramsey had told him as much and he was anxious for the test.

At last the breakfast things were cleared away and they were ready for the start. Scott caught up a little tally register such as the headwaiters in a hotel dining room use, looked over the permits to see that he had them all and started for the corral. It was light now and time they were off.

Of course it was an old story to Heth and there was no reason why he should be excited about it, but it seemed to Scott that he was unnecessarily slow and apparently getting more nervous every minute. Just outside the cabin Heth mumbled an excuse about some forgotten article and went back. Scott, too impatient to wait for him any longer, went on down to saddle Jed.

Heth peeped out of the door to make sure that Scott was out of earshot and hurried to the telephone, but it rang before he got there. He snatched down the receiver and answered eagerly, and a look of relief came over his face when he recognized the ranger’s voice. “Hello, Heth, is Burton there?”

“Just is,” replied Heth a little irritably. “He’s already gone down to saddle up. Hold the line and I’ll call him.”

Heth shouted from the cabin door and Scott hurried up from the corral exasperated at the further delay. “Dawson’s on the line,” Heth explained.

Scott took the receiver. “Yes? Good morning, Mr. Dawson.... Fire.... Hadn’t I better send Heth over there, he knows the country better?”

Heth smiled and looked out of the window.

“Oh, very well, sir,” Scott concluded in an aggrieved tone. “I can handle it. I’ll report as soon as I get back.”

He turned from the telephone keenly disappointed and found Heth looking at him inquiringly.

“Dawson says that the lookout has reported a fire over on the north edge of our district. He does not think that I know enough about sheep to handle the job here alone and wants me to leave that to you and go look up that hanged fire.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to sit on that fence all day and count sheep while you take a little ride for your health,” Heth growled with well-feigned disgust.

“I wish you had my job,” Scott complained. “I’ve fought a good many fires, but I’ve never seen two thousand sheep in my life. Well, I’ll hustle all I can and I may get back in time to see some of it.”

Scott ran down to the corral again to finish saddling Jed and soon came clattering back to the cabin door. Heth was just coming out in a big hurry. All signs of dallying had disappeared. “Have you got that tally register?” he called.

Scott pulled it out of his pocket, Heth snatched it and started for his horse.

“How is the best way to get over there?” Scott called after him, “the Knobcone trail?”

“Yes,” Heth called back without stopping, “Knobcone and turn to the left.”

“If he’d been in half as much of a hurry a while ago,” Scott growled, “we would have been gone before that ’phone message came.”

He rode off doggedly along the ridge and turned off into the Knobcone trail. That was the only trail in the district of any length that he had not been over, but he had his map and did not anticipate any trouble in following it. Most of the trails had been well built, were in good condition and were plainly marked. The trail rose steadily and kept him from making as good time as he had hoped. Knobcone mountain towered high above him and three miles ahead when he came to an unmarked fork in the trail.

“Of course,” Scott thought, “the only unmarked fork on the forest because I am in a hurry and do not know this country.” He pulled out his map. No such fork appeared. He could see the trail he was on leading straight away up the steep slope to the peak and his first impulse was to follow it, for he was sure that he could see all the north country from there. But Heth had said to take the trail to the left. Possibly it circled the peak and would bring him out on the north side without the climb. In that case it would undoubtedly be quicker; and that decided him.

For a mile or so the trail promised well. It followed a contour line around the face of the hill and seemed to be leading just where Scott wanted to go. The country was open, with only a scattering stand of bull pine. The trail which followed a little natural bench had required very little building, but it was distinct and offered good traveling. Scott was making good time and having visions of counting some of the sheep in spite of the fire when Jed came to a sudden stop on the edge of a steep caÑon.

The trail dived into it and was quickly lost in a dense growth of Engelmann’s spruce. Some of the spruces poked so high up out of the caÑon that he could not see the other side. The descent was so steep that he was afraid to try Jed on it till he found out where it came out. So he dismounted and scrambled down on foot. The trail was very narrow and the needles on the protruding spruce boughs stuck through his clothes like thorns. He had misgivings of ever being able to get Jed through there.

The caÑon, instead of being a mere cut in the mountain side as he had expected, was flat bottomed and broad. The trail continued to thread its way through the spruce thicket, distinct but crooked. It seemed more like a foot trail than a horse trail, and Scott looked in vain for any hoof prints. He considered going across on foot to the north slope—it could not be much over a mile now—to where he could see the valley beyond. He would lose a great deal of time now if he attempted to ride back to the fork and up over the mountain peak. He hurried on, pricking his face and hands painfully on the spruce needles.

Suddenly he was confronted by a solid wall of spruce and a small sign reading “Th 7—’14.” Scott gave an exclamation of disgust and started back over the trail at a run regardless of the spruce boughs which spurred him mercilessly at every jump. He knew what it was now. Some experimental plots for the study of the growth of spruce had been laid out there in the caÑon and the trail was only a path leading to them. He stubbed his toe in his haste and dived head first into one of the prickly spruces.

“Heth may know all about sheep,” he growled as he panted up the steep side of the caÑon, “but he knows mighty little about the trails.” And if he had had Heth right there then, he would probably have punched his head, for Jed was gone.

At first Scott thought that the horse had merely wandered a few steps in search of grass, but he could see quite a distance through the open woods and there was no sign of him. Certainly he would not have gone into that spruce thicket. He was involuntarily rubbing his hands and thighs as he looked about him and he could not imagine anything going into that hornet’s nest if it did not have to.

Then he suddenly remembered the strange horseman who had tried to steal Jed a few days before. He hurriedly examined the place where he had left the horse and found holes plowed in the ground by plunging hoofs. Something had evidently startled him very suddenly for there was no sign that he had moved till he made the sudden lunge.

Scott tried to reason it out. If it was the horseman he must have come down the trail and if he had there would be tracks. He examined the back trail for some distance without finding any trace of another track of either horse or man. Adopting the tactics of an old hound that has lost the scent, he made a large circle, examining the ground carefully at every step, but he did not find anything till he came across Jed’s tracks headed straight up the slope and still gouging the ground desperately at every jump. He completed his circle without finding any sign of anything having approached the horse.

Scott was badly puzzled but there was no time to figure it out now. He had already lost an hour and a half. The next thing was to find the horse. He took the running trail up the slope and followed it. At least it was going in the direction which he wanted to take. But even this advantage was only temporary for the tracks soon began to turn back toward camp. Scott would have given up the chase then and gone about his business on foot had he not noticed that the tracks seemed to indicate a more moderate pace. He was about ready to give it up when he saw something moving in a little clearing ahead and sighted Jed.

The horse was evidently much excited. His neck was arched and his head was high. He would stand for a few seconds intently watching Scott’s approach. Then, with head held to one side to avoid the long, dragging reins he would trot nervously around a little circle before coming to gaze once more. Scott approached him cautiously but could not get his hand on him. Every time he reached for the bridle Jed would trot another little circle. A sudden move to grab him sent him galloping to the other side of the opening.

Then Scott remembered that in his impatience and lack of breath he had neglected to speak softly. Ever since that first day when Jed had surrendered to that soft, persuasive voice it had been the tone that appealed to him. One could talk him into almost anything but he did not yet know what it was to be forced or caught by craft. “What’s the matter, boy?” Scott asked quietly as he approached him once more, and Jed lowered his muzzle to Scott’s hand in apparent relief.

Scott mounted and rode eastward to intercept the Knobcone trail on the higher slope. Jed traveled all right but seemed exceedingly nervous and shied badly several times when they were going under a tree. Something had evidently scared him pretty badly and that something seemed to have been in a tree. They lost a little more time picking a way across two or three bad gullies, but finally came out on the Knobcone trail about a mile from the peak. There were no trees on this upper slope and Jed lost all his nervousness and pegged away at the steep grade like a good fellow.

As they reached the top Scott stretched his neck eagerly for a look into the valley and sank back into the saddle with an exclamation of disgust. It was a twin peak and the second one stood square in his path. The trail followed the saddle between the two peaks and ascended the second one about a mile away. Scott glanced at his watch. It was one o’clock. That blunder of Heth’s in misdirecting him had cost him at least three good hours. With a word to Jed he loped rapidly across the gentle dip of the saddle and was soon on top of the second peak.

There was nothing to interfere with the view there. It was magnificent. He seemed to be on the top of the world. There were plenty of other mountains but they all seemed lower, and far to the southwest was the main valley extending for miles and clear as crystal all the way. There was none of that hazy effect to which he had always been accustomed at home. And over there somewhere within range of his vision, if he had only known how to locate it, was the mighty seven thousand foot cut of the Grand CaÑon.

“My,” he thought, “what a splendid place this would be for a look out.”

Only then did he remember why he had come. The magnificence of the view had carried him away. “Can see everything in the world from here except a fire. Not the faintest trace of smoke in all this end of Arizona. There’s the lookout on that peak over there to the northeast. If that jay over there has a glass, as he probably has, he can see me over here gawking around looking for his fool fire.”

He dismounted and settled down beside a rock for a careful survey of the country. He felt sure that there was no fire, for a smoke in that atmosphere would stand out like an electric sign in a country town, but he wanted to be entirely certain of it. Anyway it was already too late to see much of the sheep counting and he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to study the country.

Scott had always been very much interested in geology and he had never had a better chance. He had read much about that Southwest country. He knew that it had once been a great plateau which had eroded tremendously, leaving the mountain ridges and mesa tops at or near the original level, and cutting the valleys away to the level plains. And here it was all spread out before him like an open book. He could look across rows of mountain ridges practically all the same height and scattered about the plains were great square-sided, flat-topped mesas, of equal height and capped with the same hard substance. And he tried to imagine those mesas and ridges crumbling away, as they undoubtedly were doing, but so slowly that it could not be noticed, and the whole very gradually returning to a vast flat plain.

It was a fascinating picture and Scott found it hard to concentrate on the search for a wisp of smoke in the existence of which he had no faith. At last the lengthening shadows on the plains beside the mesas warned him that it was time to start for home. Jed was peacefully cropping the thin grass on the bald knob of the mountain peak and was in no more hurry to go than his master. With one more glance at the beauty of it all and one more determined search for smoke Scott mounted and turned Jed’s head toward home.

He rode slowly, enjoying the scenery and still dreaming of the mighty changes which had built that remarkable country and did not realize till he came into the shadow of the timber on the southeastern slope, that darkness would overtake him before he could reach the cabin. There was still another and better reason for him to stop dreaming. With the return to the timber Jed’s nervousness returned also. He nearly spilled Scott more than once by shying suddenly and dashing under a clump of trees at full speed.

So close is the relationship of a man to his horse that he soon communicated his nervousness to his rider. Scott could not see anything, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being followed. The feeling became so strong that he determined to stop and see if there really was anything there. Jed did not fancy stopping in the timber, but Scott finally managed to bring him to a prancing halt on the far edge of a little open park. He glanced back and felt sure that he saw something in the trail just within the shadow of the trees. But it did not advance.

“Pshaw,” Scott grumbled, “I’ll be shying at a bunch of brush myself after awhile.”

He rode on, determined not to look back, but the temptation became too strong. He cast a glance over his shoulder and was sure that he saw a silent shadow cross a little opening in the woods not fifty yards back. He rode ahead slowly and stopping again on the far edge of another little opening wheeled suddenly about.

This time his maneuver was successful. A large mountain lion loped lithely out of the shadow into the open before he seemed to realize how close he was. Scott had read of these queer animals trailing people silently for miles with no apparent object, but he had never believed it. No sooner did the great cat see them not more than thirty yards away than he stopped in apparent embarrassment and gazed indifferently about the country, neither advancing or retreating. Scott saw all this in the fraction of a second and longed for a rifle, but it would not have done him any good if he had had a whole arsenal—for Jed saw the cougar almost as soon as Scott did and ended the interview with one wild snort and a still wilder plunge which almost shook Scott out of the saddle.

There was no reasoning with him now. Neither soft words nor hard-curbed bit had any influence at all. By chance he happened to hit the trail—or so it seemed to Scott—and down it he went at a terrific pace. He paid no attention to grades or washouts, up hill or down, over smooth trail and broken ruts, he jumped four feet in the air over every shadow and seemed to duck under every tree. Scott leaned over on his neck to avoid the limbs and brush and clung on for dear life. That first ride over the corral fence and across the open plain was nothing to this. But Jed was as sure footed as a mountain goat. He swung out of the Knobcone trail safely and swept along the ridge with a burst of speed which was almost unbelievable.

Scott was wondering whether he would attempt to turn him down the trail to the cabin or let him run it out along the ridge, but he really did not have anything to say about it. Jed was in complete control of the home trip. He whirled into the side trail with a scattering of gravel and a suddenness that left Scott hanging to the saddle bow to avoid the bushes beside the trail, and stopped with all four feet sliding before the gate of the corral. He was trembling violently and when Scott came to dismount he found that he himself was trembling even worse. He tried to lead Jed into the barn but the horse absolutely refused to go under a roof or anything else. It was only in the open corral that he seemed at all at ease. He was used to the plains and knew that nothing living could catch him there.

Jed did not seem in the least distressed by his long race and when he had quieted down a little Scott went in to report on the fire. Heth was not there. He called up the ranger and reported with some heat that the fire had been a fake, and no trace of smoke was to be seen in any part of that region. The ranger only laughed, said it was better to be sure than to take a chance on burning up, and did not seem in the least displeased with the lookout for reporting the fire falsely.

Deprived of the satisfaction of calling down Heth for sending him off on a blind trail, and indignant at the lack of sympathy on the part of the ranger, Scott scraped together a hurried supper, wrote up his diary in rather warm language and went to his bed in an ugly mood.

Nor would it have improved his temper if he could have been up at the ranger station and heard the private conference which was then in session between the ranger and Heth.