WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PECOS FORESTS

The addition of young Sanderson and the hustling young newspaper reporter to the scout group was hailed by the four misses, as well as approved by Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, but the Captain felt dubious over the daily association of such a handsome young Ranger in the becoming green uniform of the official forester, and the fascinating entertainer, Mr. Burt. She noted with trepidation that Julie often seemed to get the newspaper correspondent by himself and talk confidentially with him. This was unusual for Julie, and Mrs. Vernon wondered at her, but decided to withhold any comment for the present.

The atmosphere of Las Vegas is one of its most remarkable attractions. Looking off toward the Cimarron range, or the Spanish Peaks, the clarity of the air tints everything with pastel shades. One can see Pike’s Peak in central Colorado seemingly quite close at hand; and the snow-capped Northern Rockies, more than two hundred miles away, seem quite near.

At Las Vegas the scouts found three cities in one: first, the ancient Spanish, then the up-to-date town with its fine hotel called the CastaÑeda, and, thirdly, the health resort town with its famous Las Vegas Hot Springs. At these Springs, which are a paradise for the sick or for those who believe in prevention of illness, you may sport about in boiling mineral waters, if you choose, or merely bask in the sunshine and enjoy the exhilarating air.

The following morning the Ranger led the party along the trail to Hot Springs, thence on to the Gallinas CaÑon where 60,000 tons of ice are cut and shipped annually to points for 600 miles area. This ice forms at night, but the walls of the CaÑon prevent the rays of the sun from ever penetrating to the bottom; thus the temperature during the day remains at the point which keeps the ice from melting.

From Las Vegas a great scenic highway of over eight thousand feet above sea level was followed by the scouts. This trail skirted forbidden caÑons, sequestered lakes, ran at the base of snow-capped peaks, and through densest forests of yellow pine.

“Perhaps you do not know that the Rangers have made most of the splendid trails throughout the mountains,” said Sanderson, when Mr. Burt commented on the excellence of the road.

“I don’t see how you ever find time with all the other duties you are supposed to do,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.

“Why, Captain, right in the Pecos Forest alone you will find about six hundred miles of the finest trails which have been cut by us as our patrol rounds demanded,” explained Sanderson.

“No wonder you have such muscle and not an ounce of flesh!” laughed Mr. Vernon, admiring the erect, slender form in front of him.

“Another thing you’ll find in the Pecos—all the game we will need for food whenever we camp. If you prefer trout, all you have to do is to camp on the banks of a stream. The trout jump into the frying pan and cook themselves. Should you prefer wild turkey or quail, even venison, just wish and there it is!”

“Gee! what wouldn’t I give to have time to go with you on a hunting trip,” exclaimed Burt.

“You would never enjoy a hunting trip with me,” declared the Ranger, “for the best of reasons: I never hunt or kill for sport. If I need food, I take it, but I have yet to kill for the satisfaction of seeing a wild creature give up its life just because I can use a gun.”

The scouts felt like applauding this polite rebuke to the Tenderfoot’s zest for hunting, but they knew enough to hide their sentiments.

“How about mountain lions and wildcats? I heard that the Service hailed those who would help to clean them out of these forests in order to preserve the deer and harmless wild creatures. I read last winter that as many as a dozen bears were caught in a few weeks on one ranch alone out here. That doesn’t look much like protection,” returned Burt.

“Oh, the destructive beasts, you meant! That is all right, but killing of deer, or wild game birds, for the sake of hunting is quite another thing,” said the Ranger.

Conversation during the trip from Las Vegas to the next camp that day was like a game of tennis—the ball was batted back and forth between the players: the men on the one side and the scouts on the other. But this conversational ball was made of such stuff as would educate and inform the girls so that they would the better understand and appreciate the country and conditions they visited.

At noon, the first day out from Las Vegas, they camped on Bernal Creek and the scouts listened to Sanderson talk, thus they learned that in the 750,000 acres of land in the Pecos Forest the pine trees stand from eighty to a hundred and fifty feet in height; that the Rangers have to protect the young saplings; and harrow the ground where quantities of pine are cut and removed—this to keep a new growth coming on to replace the trees taken out.

That night they camped on the Pecos River, near Blanchard. The next day, having followed the remarkable trail along the Pecos River and passing many farms which dotted the land, the scout party climbed to an elevation of 8,000 feet, where they found the little adobe town of Pecos. It looks more like an ancient village in Spain than an American settlement in the twentieth century; the people living in the simplest manner and dressing in picturesque ways: women in full, short skirts, with gay shawls over their heads or upon their shoulders; children in red or blue calicos; men with sombreros, loose shirts and bandannas around their swarthy necks; goats grazing everywhere; old houses, bright flowers, red sand—all served to paint a picture for the girls.

Here, quite unexpectedly, Sanderson met a Ranger from the Government Lookout at Panchuelo. He had been at Glorieta to restock the larder from the meager supply to be had from the grocer. To the surprise of the Easterners they heard from him that fresh meat could be had there at prices which were current thirty and forty years ago—before the great meat trusts choked the individual butcher out of business.

“Mr. Gilroy,” said Sanderson, “I advised Mr. Burt that we go forward to Santa FÉ to get important papers he will need. My friend here says he will escort you up the forest trail; he knows the country better than I, and he is a good camp-cook.”

As this was a practical suggestion, it was agreed that the scouts were to go with Ranger Johnson, while Sanderson and Burt, after attending to some publicity work in Santa FÉ for the Pueblo Indians, would join the scouts at Taos Pueblo. Thus the two young men said good-by and departed.

Ranger Johnson suggested the Apache Inn, at Valley Ranch, where he knew the tourists could be entertained for that night. “But,” said the Ranger, “before we leave for Valley Ranch, Mr. Gilroy, you may wish to escort the scouts about the town.”

“We might get lost in such a great city,” giggled Joan.

“Lost in wonderment, maybe,” retorted the Ranger. “There’s a little mission church said to have been built way back in 1600; and the ruins of a prehistoric Indian Pueblo named Cicuye—it is worth photographing. Then there’s the Pecos Ruins halfway to Valley Ranch. A view of this real Mexican town is well worth the trouble of going to see it. The house where you will stay to-night, with its whitewashed walls glistening in the sunshine, will make a good picture, too.”

That night the scouts stayed at Apache Inn as planned, and early the next morning they started off, with Ranger Johnson leading up the Pecos CaÑon. The trail ran close to the edge of the cliffs, but the walls of the CaÑon were heavily wooded to the bottom where ran the Pecos River, hence the danger, if one went over the edge, was not so great.

Camps and cabins with visitors from everywhere dotted the groves or parks wherever a good camp-site was to be found along the trail of the Pecos River. There were many CaÑons which forked off from the main one, and upon the wooden level knolls one could see the tents or the portable bungalows of the summering visitors.

The trail zig-zagged up through the forest of aspens and sentinel pines, close by sparkling waterfalls and glistening cascades, past many a cool trout pool, till the top of Baldy Pecos loomed up far ahead.

“How far is this from Pecos Town, Mr. Johnson?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“Folks will tell you it is only twenty miles—straight up. But who ever came up here straight! An aËroplane might do it, but not a Mexican pony! Just think of the way we zig-zag and go round the bluffs.”

“What is our objective for to-day’s trip, Ranger?” asked Julie, gazing at the peaks which seemed so near but were actually miles farther north.

“Why, I plan to take you to Grass Mountain, where my friend and I have charge of the branch station. To-morrow I will take you to Panchuelo, where you will be able to see a view that will never be forgotten. From the U. S. Forest Rangers’ observatory you can see the entire Pecos Valley, as well as get closely acquainted with the Santa FÉ Range on the other side of the Pecos CaÑon. We’ll spend the night with my friends at the lookout and start you on the trail early in the morning.”

The air was most exhilarating, but it got to be so cool that the Captain called a halt in order to make the girls don their heavy sweaters. Even the men took advantage of the stop to get out their cardigan vests and slip them on under their coats.

Finally, they reached the top of Grass Mountain and were introduced by Ranger Johnson to his friend in the service.

The view from this plateau was all that had been said of it, but even that leaves much to be said, because mere words are so inadequate to describe such a glory. The scouts stood looking down the Las Vegas Valley, then they crossed the plateau and looked down the Pecos Valley. To the north the Santa FÉ Range, and in still another direction stretched the Sangre de Cristo Range.

“Yes, this certainly is worth the effort of coming up,” remarked Mr. Gilroy, nodding approvingly.

“I don’t see that you made an effort,” retorted Julie; “it was the poor horse that had to carry you.” The others laughed, and Joan added: “A hundred and eighty pounds good weight, too!”

As there was ample bedding to be had for the plucking, the scouts decided to weave their beds and get supper preparations under way before they accepted the invitation of Ranger Johnson to go up into the observatory and gaze through the powerful telescopes. By the time the beds were finished, however, it was too late to see very much, though the senior Ranger of this station, Mr. Oliver, tried to direct their gaze to certain points.

Ranger Johnson was told to invite his associates to dine with the scout-party, and a merry group sat down as the last rays of the setting sun shot up over the distant peaks and touched the tin dishes, transforming them suddenly to golden platters.

That evening around the cheerful camp-fire the Rangers told their adventures; then Mrs. Vernon requested Tally to tell of his winter experiences. The Guide, eager to oblige, described his escapes from the blizzards, his fights with the grizzlies, and other thrills of a trapper’s life. Finally he was persuaded to relate one of his Indian legends.

“We haven’t heard any of your new stock, you know,” added Joan.

“Oh! wait just a moment, please, before you begin, Tally,” called Julie, jumping up and running to her bag for a pad and pencil. Returning with the desired articles she squatted again on the ground in front of the camp-fire and said: “Now, then—all set!”

The others laughed at the movie term, then Tally said: “Dis gon’a be a leetle injun tale, ’bout so beeg,” and he held his hands apart for a length of about six inches to show the size of the story he proposed telling.

As Tally told the story, Julie wrote quickly, and this is her copy of it which she sent to the Elmertown Record.

“Once upon a time the Beaver and Porcupine were very good friends. They traveled everywhere together and kept each other informed of all that happened; and, because of the Porcupine’s sharp quills, other inhabitants of the woods shunned them both.

“The Bear was in constant fear of the Porcupine; he had experienced the sharpness of those quills, but he preferred the Beaver for a dinner and he endeavored to break up a beaver-dam just to catch and eat one of the family. The Porcupine stayed in the Beaver’s home which is very dry inside and comfortable to live in; so, when the Bear would try to tear down the dam to let the water run away and expose the Beavers, the Porcupine generally came out to object. When the Bear saw his enemy he, with an apology, would hurry away. Then the Porcupine would jeer and the Beavers usually came out to hoot at their clumsy adversary.

“But the dam had to be repaired, hence the Porcupine sat and kept guard during that time. When the dam was almost completed, the Porcupine said: ‘My, but I am hungry! Will you come with me while I get some bark and sap from yonder tree?’

“Now the Beaver cannot climb trees, so he replied: ‘Friend, I will remain here at the bottom and wait while you eat your fill.’

“The Porcupine was soon up in the tree enjoying his supper, then the stealthy old Bear crept back to catch the Beaver. But the wise Beaver saw him coming and called to his partner:

“‘Brother, the Bear is coming! What shall I do?’

“The Porcupine slid down the tree quickly and said: ‘Lay your head close to my back and I will help you up the tree.’

“So the Beaver was helped into the crotch of the lower limbs of the tree, and the Porcupine waited near the ground to drive off the Bear. After a time, the Bear being gone, the Porcupine jumped down from the tree, but the Beaver was huddled where the boughs branched from the trunk.

“‘Oh, come and help me down!’ cried he to the Porcupine, but the little animal pretended not to hear him.

“‘I will do anything for you, if you will only take me down,’ begged the Beaver, in great distress.

“The Porcupine, paying no attention to his friend, hurried away. Then a Squirrel, another friend of the Beaver, brought a number of his colony and helped the frightened Beaver down safely to the ground.

“‘Where is my partner, the Porcupine?’ asked Beaver of the Squirrels, after he had thanked them for their aid.

“‘We saw him scurry away to a hole in the rocks where lives a family of Porcupines. He was telling them of the trick he had played on you and when they laughed so loudly I heard about the trouble you were in,’ said the friendly Squirrel.

“The Beaver said nothing, but went his way and resumed work on the dam. He swam up and down the stream, and cut or carried the alders as he needed them for the repairs. Then one day the Porcupine came back.

“Beaver saw him coming and called out: ‘Come down to the house and enjoy yourself.’

“But Porcupine was afraid of getting wet.

“‘Oh, just climb upon my back and I will swim with you,’ suggested Beaver.

“Then Porcupine climbed upon his host’s back and held on firmly. The Beaver flapped his broad tail on the water and made a dive, then came to the surface again. The Porcupine shivered and shook in fear for he did not like being submerged that way. The Beaver laughed and said, ‘Oh, that’s nothing! I consider it great fun to dive.’

“Again he went under the water and when he arose to the surface he flapped his tail energetically so that the water flew over everything. Finally he swam to an island in the lake and put the Porcupine ashore, then went flapping away.

“The little Porcupine wandered about the small island, but could not get away. He climbed a tree and called for the Beaver to come and take him off, but the Beaver seemed not to hear as he continued building the dam.

“Then the Porcupine climbed the tree again and cried and cried for help until a Wolverine heard his call.

“‘What is the matter with you?’ screamed the Wolverine.

“I want the North Wind to blow and freeze the lake, so I can crawl back to shore and go home.’

“The Wolverine then called all the wild-wood creatures together on the shore of the lake and began calling to the North Wind.

“The North Wind, cross and sulky, because he was disturbed before his season for blowing, came out of the cave and whistled furiously for a time, then blew gustily over the face of the lake. The ice formed and soon the Porcupine crawled carefully back to land and scampered home.

“But the Beaver and Porcupine were friends no longer, so the Porcupine made overtures to the Ground-hog and they lived together up on the mountainside where they could spy upon the men that came hunting.

“One day a man climbed the mountainside to hunt, and the Porcupine sang out: ‘Up to the home of the Ground-hog! Up to the home of the Ground-hog!’

“The man heard and followed the sound till he found the spot where the Ground-hogs lived. He trapped and killed a small Ground-hog and then sat down to skin it. This done, he made a hot fire between some stones and was about to roast the hog, when the head plainly sang to him:

“‘My poor little head! my poor little head, you will never fill his stomach!’

“The hunter was so frightened at hearing the head speak that he jumped up and started home without tasting the meat. He told his friends about the queer experience and they marveled.

“The next day the hunter went to look after his beartraps. The Porcupine, from sheer curiosity, crept over to see if the Bear had been caught. The man tightened the release of one of the traps, but the dead-fall came down and struck the Porcupine on the back of the neck. His head fell off and, as it rolled away under the leaves, a Ground-hog came from its hole.

“The hunter went his way, but the Ground-hogs said: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Ground-hogs again!’

“The Beavers heard the echo of the cry and hurried to the spot where the Porcupine’s head lay, and they took up the refrain: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Beavers again!’

“But the old Bear, who was glad, also, that the Porcupine was dead, kept away from the spot, for he knew the trap was as dangerous as the quills.”

As Tally concluded his camp-fire tale the scouts looked disappointed, and Joan said: “Oh, is that all?”

“It was quite long enough,” said Mrs. Vernon. “It is time for bed, because we wish to get up at dawn and resume the climb to the peak.”

Thus, with the next day’s adventures in mind the girls agreed to go to bed without offering any protests.

It was so cold up on Grass Mountain that night that the scouts shivered in their sleep, and all were glad to jump up early in the morning to bestir themselves and get the blood circulating freely.