'■• gqgig:?-' WHEN THE FOREST ARE ABLAZE KATHARINE B. JUDSOK k THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESENTED BY PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID WHEN THE FORESTS ARE ABLAZE BY THE SAME AUTHOR Myths and Legends of California and the Old Southwest. Over 50 full-page illustrations. Small quarto. $1.50 net Myths and Legends of Alaska. Beauti- fully illustrated. Small quarto. $1.50 net Myths and Legends of the Pacific North- west. Especially of Washington and Ore- gon. With 50 full-page illustrations. Small quarto. $1.50 net Montana. "The Land of Shining Moun- tains." Illustrated. Indexed. Square 8vo. 75 cents net A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers WHEN THE FORESTS ARE ABLAZE BY KATHARINE B. JUDSON AUTHOR OF "MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF CALIFORNIA AND THE OLD SOUTHWEST," "MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF ALASKA," "MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST," AND " MONTANA 1 * ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS SECOND EDITION CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1912 Copyright A. G McCLURG & CO. 1912 Published September, 1912 Second Edition, November 30, 1912 PRESS OF THE VAIL COMPANY COSHOCTON, U. S. A. DEDICATED TO "THE MOUNTAINEERS" WHOSE OBJECT IT IS TO PRESERVE THE MARVELOUS BEAUTY OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST AND WHO ARE YEARLY APPALLED BY THE HAVOC OF THE FOREST FIRES CONTENTS CHAPTER PACT I The Parody 1 1 II Where the Storm Winds Blow . 30 III Beginnings 50 IV On the Trail 65 V Burnham's Cabin 87 VI Getting Settled 99 VII The Berry Patch in VIII Doughnuts 130 IX The Douglas Fir 146 X Improvements 160 XI "Brookside" 176 XII Hunting 182 XIII My Cabin 208 XIV Christmas 221 XV The Terror of the Forest . . 245 XVI The Squatter 264 XVII Up the Valley 277 XVIII On the Peak 299 XIX Hope Denham Again . . . .315 XX Danger 323 XXI When the Forests Burn . . . 333 XXII Fire and Water 346 XXIII Illahee 367 XXIV Woman's Rights ...... 374 M311691 ILLUSTRATIONS More useful so than a charred stub after a fire Frontispiece Material for a bonfire prepared by an ava- lanche 83 Such streams as these vanish when the forests burn 161 The cool green depths of a Washington forest 282 "Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire" .... 333 The desolation after a fire 356 WHEN THE FORESTS ARE ABLAZE CHAPTER 'I THE PARODY THE sixteen teachers of the Whittier School leaned back in their chairs, chatting for a moment before they cleared away the fragments of their hasty luncheon. All but one had fin- ished; she was devoted to Fletcherism. "Isn't there any more tea?" she asked. "Can't you squeeze the handle a little hard — " "To marry or not to marry; that is the question — " Sally Brooks's clear, mocking voice could be heard above the hum of talk. The teachers laughed and listened. Sally's ready wit and clever parodies had lightened many a day's work. [ii] When the Forests Are Ablaze "To be engaged ! To marry, *T is a destination Devoutly to be wished. To say 'Yes !' To be engaged ! Engaged! Perchance to be jilted. Aye, there 's the rub: To be left standing at the rose-embowered altar While the recreant groom flees with another girl." Handclaps and a chorus of laughter greeted the speaker. "Sally's parodies are so clever," said Helen Stone to her neighbor, Jane Myers. But the laughing eyes widened with surprise as she glanced at her companion's face. "Oh, yes, they're always fun," stammered Miss Myers, uncomfortably aware of the keen gaze searching her face. She had laughed and applauded with the others. She could not help it if her face flushed. The room was warm. Miss Baker, from across the table, was also looking at her curiously. But a moment later there was the scraping of chairs on the bare floor as the teachers not on duty that week for "clearing up" passed in groups out of the room. "bid you see Jane Myers's face?" asked Miss Baker, as the door closed behind the others. "You pile up the teacups and I '11 look after the spoons and other things." [12] The Parody "Yes," answered Miss Bridges, "and I heard Sally Brooks's tone." "You don't suppose she could have — " "Who could have?" "Oh, Sally — no, I mean Miss Myers." "Could have what?" "Oh, nothing. There — I knew you had piled those too high." "Oh, dear. There's the bell! Why, that can't be right. We have at least ten minutes yet." "No, we have n't. Parodies take time," and with a quizzical look on her face, Miss Baker dropped the silver and fled to her class room. In the upper hall the sixth and seventh grade teachers had been talking. "Oh, it could n't be ! Sally is n't careful about hurting people's feelings, but she could n't have meant it. She is too much of a lady for that." "But Miss Myers's face!" "Ye-es. But there might have been some co- incidence." Jane Myers's face was burning as she stood at her desk while the gong sounded and the lines of marching children filed into the room. She [13] When the Forests Are Ablaze hoped they, at least, would not give her the searching glances she had received from two or three teachers. Yet children do have an un- canny way of seeing everything they are not ex- pected to see. "To marry or not to marry — " The words rang through her head as she tapped her bell for the geography class. "Engaged! Perchance to be jilted — " "Johnnie, what is geography?" Could Sally Brooks have known? Johnny was considering his question. "Jogifry is round like an orange." "What?" "Yes 'm. It 's flat at the top an' bottom an' bulges out 'round the middle." Jane explained carefully the trifling differ- ence between the shape of the earth and jogifry. "To be left standing at the rose-embowered altar — " "Gilbert, give three reasons for saying the earth is round." Gilbert paused thoughtfully for a moment. "While the recreant groom flees with another girl." [14] The Parody "Teacher says it 's roun' an' the book says it 's roun' and a man tole me it was roun'." Gilbert was triumphant. No theorem in geometry could have been more conclusively proved. "Why, no. Now, Gilbert, your father is a sailor. Suppose he started to sail around the earth. Could he keep on sailing in the same direction until he came back to his starting point?" "Nope," said Gilbert. "Why not?" " 'Cos he 's sick." The door opened and Mrs. Fagan, shabby, untidy, half-frightened and wholly defiant, marched indignantly to the teacher's desk. "I wants to know," she demanded in a loud voice, "why you never ups my bhoy?" "You are Mrs. Fagan?" "Shure, I 'ze Mrs. Fagan. Who else should I be? You ups all the ither bhoys and you does n't up my bhoy?" The children were staring. "Will you go to the principal, please, or else wait? I will be free in about five minutes." "Wait for ye? Niver! I wants to know why ye did n't up my bhoy." [15] When the Forests Are Ablaze "I shall have to ask you to go to the principal. He will explain the matter." Mrs. Fagan insisted. Miss Myers declined. By the time the irate woman had left the school- room was in a buzz of excitement. Jane tapped the bell for quiet. There was lit- tle response. "Silence, please." The tone was firm but one penetrating whisper continued. "Silence!" There was silence then but dis- cipline for the afternoon was done for. Even without Mrs. Fagan, her own disquiet with regard to Sally Brooks's parody left her without her usual control of the children. There was little more information to be gleaned from the interrupted geography lesson. Sadie Brown insisted that a hemisphere is the thing that gives different kinds of heat, while Jim Blaker insisted with great positiveness that a blizzard was something inside of a hen. The reading class droned over pioneer ad- ventures — the romantic story of the Hudson's Bay Company retold in simple form. "Why were the Hudson's Bay forts so impor- tant in the early pioneer days, Alice?" Ei6] The Parody " 'Cos the Injuns walked, — oh, ever so far, through the woods, to change their hides." The afternoon wore on. During the writing lesson, that penetrating whisper again reached Jane. "Still talking, Pearl." "I told Elsie pa had his new teef. The top 'uns is all right but the bottomers teeter a leetle." With indescribable relief Jane saw the chil- dren go that afternoon — even Jim Blaker who took advantage of "teacher's" very evident pre- occupation to forget he had been kept in for fifteen minutes. When the last one was fairly out and gone, Jane turned back to her desk. There was a pile of papers to be corrected, there was the next day's work to be prepared — and there was Sally Brooks to be considered. For the moment Sally had her entire attention. Could it have been a mere coincidence? Jane thought over every detail of the circumstance. Sally's voice had been so full of meaning. But where could she have learned it? None of the teachers, so far as she knew, had acquaintances in the little Connecticut town where it all hap- [17] When the Forests Are Ablaze pened. And it was ten years ago! If Sally- knew, had she told any of the others? Some had laughed — well, rather too heartily. And certainly some of them had given her very searching glances. Every trifle assumed great importance. She picked up her pile of papers after a while, hoping to get away unseen. The clock pointed to a quarter to five. Perhaps they had gone. No such luck I At the outer door a group of three were talking together. Of course they were talking of her! She was sure of that by the quick glances thrown at her, and they seemed to have changed the subject. "Aren't you going home? Wait a minute," said Miss Stone as she tried to slip by them with a nod. Jane turned. "I have some errands to do first. I '11 see you at dinner." She walked hurriedly out of the yard and down the street. She was sure the teachers were looking after her. A block away she stopped with a jump. What a mistake! Why had she avoided them! She ought to have joined them and talked along as usual. If they did suspect [18] The Parody anything, she had given them grounds for it. To be so embarrassed was to convict herself. Oh, bother 1 Well, it was too late now. She would have to be unusually lively at dinner. Jane started off again and had walked a half mile before she suddenly realized it was sprin- kling. Then came the heavier rain. Raining — no umbrella — and her best hat. It all came back in a flash. She had intended to stop for tea with the minister's wife on her way home, therefore her best hat. But the umbrella was locked in the empty schoolhouse. Harder and harder down came the rain — the wet, pelting rain of the east. The call was omitted of neces- sity and the rapid steps were turned toward the boarding house. Jane reached it in no pleasant temper. Dinner at Mrs. Stone's was never an hilarious meal. The boarders were all grade- school teachers with the tendency, usual in any grouping of this kind, to talk shop. To-night the atmosphere was oppressive. One had been reprimanded by her principal, another was fagged by the day's grind, Jane was still cross over the hat and the parody, and even Miss [19] When the Forests Are Ablaze Stone seemed to be in rather a "pecky," critical mood, with watchful eyes upon Jane. Yet, true to her resolution of the afternoon, Jane tried to be lively. Her keen sense of humor usually pre- vailed when the atmosphere was as deadly dull as to-night, but for once she failed. The amusing answers of the children, told without her usual spirit, fell flat. Dinner was getting to be a nightmare when Barb Allen suddenly opened the door and came in like a cyclone. "Hello! Did n't mean to be late! Oh, Miss Myers, here 's a letter for you. Guess you did n't see it." Jane looked at the unfamiliar postmark. It was from somewhere in Colorado. Then she opened it. "Oh, girls! It 's from Hope Denham. She 's taken up a homestead!" "A homestead!" "Is she crazy?" "Where is she?" A half dozen questions and exclamations broke the dullness. Here was something do- ing. [20] The Parody "She 's out West. Oh, you know she said last spring after she had that row with Mr. Mc- Fadden that she 'd never teach again. She says she 's having the grandest time." "Why, what—" "Read it, please" "All right." "Dear Jane: What do you suppose Mac would say if he could see me here! It's awfully jolly. Just think of doing what you please all the time — all day long, keeping house for yourself in the dandiest log cabin — only the wood rats get in and that affects the jolliness sometimes, — and the mice! And then splitting your own wood and making garden and all that and yet making more money than teaching those awful young- 'uns. I Ve got a hundred and sixty acres of land — all my own — some of it with trees on it and some of it bare. And the cutest little brook you ever saw though it dries up late in the summer. I just love it. I Ve been here four months now and I think that is a good test, don't you? I have only to wait five years until I prove up on [21] When the Forests Are Ablaze it. And while I am waiting all I have to do is just to stay here and watch the minutes flock by. When my five years are up I '11 be worth a thousand dollars or more and have all the fun besides. Uncle Mart lives about two miles away and there 's another teacher who has taken up a claim on the next quarter section, though our cabins are about a quarter of a mile apart. She is doing it for her health. She has been here a year and she says she 's awfully tired of it. But I shall never be tired. I 'd rather do anything than teach school, especially after — ! Uncle Mart gave me the dearest little Indian pony — though sometimes he does try to scrape me off. And I 'm learning to shoot — like anything. I have my own gun, too. I 'm having the grandest time. Whoop I Be sure to give my love to Mac. And why don't you take up a homestead instead of teaching everlast- ingly? "Your shouting friend "Hope Denham." "P. S. I forgot to say that last year Uncle Mart wrote me that if I 'd come out West, he 'd [22] The Parody get me a homestead claim. There 's another good one about five miles west of me, not taken up yet. Come out and join the pioneers. Do come, Jane. H. D." "That sounds just like her!" "Are you going out there? Would you take up a claim?" "Who is Mac?" asked one of them. And woman-fashion, all began to talk at once, with Barbara Allen in the lead. "Mac was her principal — Mr. McFadden. They said she had an awful row with him — about the floors, was n't it?" "About several things, they say. But it started with the floors and her dress — don't you remember the fate of the blue one?" "Oh, yes. When she came back in the fall a year ago, Hope had a pretty Alice-blue suit that she wore to school — but you know those oiled floors and what they would do to a nice skirt! Hope wore that suit and sent it to the cleaners again and again until the oil and the cleaning took all the color out of it around the bottom, besides the expense. Then she turned [23] When the Forests Are Ablaze sensible. Hope always was on strained rela- tions with her salary, you know," — Barbara Al- len was excited now and talking without a pause, at the top of her voice. The oiled floor grievance was one which struck at all of them — "so she got a dark gray dress for winter and wore that. And there was one eleven-year-old girl in her class who complained to her mother that she did n't like Miss Denham's gray dress — she liked the blue one better. So that mother went straight to Mr. McFadden and told him that teachers should be a model to their pupils and that her daughter's taste in dress was being in- jured by the dreadful dress Miss Denham was wearing." "Actually." "Yes, indeed." "Then that crazy man, — he was only lately married, or he 'd have known better, — why he went straight to Hope to see that dress himself. He had n't noticed it before — but neither had he noticed the blue suit. It was one of those dreadful, dark days when everything looks ugly, and Hope had a north room, and the dress did look dark. So he told her she ought not to wear [24] The Parody such ugly colors to school — that it affected the taste of the children." "And Hope had tried to please the man by wearing that blue suit until it was ruined! That was too much for her! She told him she 'd ruined one dress trying the educate the color- sense of the children, but so long as the school board persisted in using that horrid oil on the floors so it ruined every pretty dress she put on, she 'd wear any dark old color she wanted to." "She told him she 'd wear crape if she wanted to," supplemented Miss Stone, "and that she felt like putting it on when she thought of that ruined blue suit." "Oh, yes, they say they had an awful row. Hope reminded him that she was receiving the munificent sum of seven hundred and fifty per year — after he told her she ought to have at least two good school suits a year." "That finished her career, of course." "Oh, yes. He refused to reappoint her and told her he would never recommend her to any principal. She understood that she was favor- ably considered on two applications — Hope really was a good teacher, you know, and with When the Forests Are Ablaze her high spirits the children adore her — but he reported against her. Said her influence over the children was not good." "Too bad!" "Of course she ought n't to have Massed' him so." "But it was n't fair." "It's as fair as lots of other things teachers have to put up with. Of course she ought to have swallowed his criticisms and worn a white shirt waist once in a while, or a red waist, — or something — but she was so wxathy over that pretty blue suit." "The real injustice," remarked one of the teachers as they rose from the table, "lies in the fact that he was not an experienced teacher him- self, nor a really capable man. He owed his position chiefly to the fact that he was of the masculine persuasion." "Let 's all pull out and take up homesteads," said one tired-looking girl. "I 'm tired of teaching. There 's nothing in it." Jane stood surveying the ruined hat a quarter of an hour later when there was a rap at the door. [26] The Parody "Come in. Oh, it's you, Mrs. O'Brien." The Irish washerwoman, big, fat, kind- hearted, lumbered in. She stood looking about her abstractedly, the big clothes basket at her feet. She was not usually so silent. "It 's been a rainy day for you, has n't it?" said Rachel kindly. "Yis." Silence again. "An' it 's bad luck fer ye to-day, Miss Myers," she at last blurted out. "It 's bad luck all around for me to-day, Mrs. O'Brien. What 's the matter now?" Mrs. O'Brien stooped down and pulled away the newspaper covering the basket. Slowly she pulled out a dainty drawn-work shirtwaist with three great holes burned in the sheer lawn and in the delicate thread work. "Oh!" gasped Jane in dismay. "How did it happen?" "An' shure I be sorry," was the regretful answer. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" The drawn work represented a full summer's work, and the waist was Jane's main depend- ence. A French laundry might not have [27] When the Forests Are Ablaze burned this waist, but it had lost entirely an- other nice waist a few months before, and Jane after that had preferred to trust the old Irish woman. Mrs. O'Brien lifted out one piece after an- other, laying each on the couch full of pillows. On a long white skirt the embroidery of the flounce showed two big holes. A pretty cross- bar underwaist had a big black burn between the shoulders. The explanation was simple enough when the old washerwoman found her tongue, and be- tween voluble regrets Jane understood that Mrs. Mulaney's "chimbley" had caught fire and the pieces of burning soot had fluttered down on the clothes on the line next door. But neither her own regret nor the volubility of Mrs. O'Brien helped matters much. School work was thrown aside in sheer disgust and the rest of that evening Jane spent in mending and darning, her mind full still of Sally Brooks and the day's mishaps. Hair-brushing that night was a solemn affair when bedtime came. In between the long strokes of the brush, Jane looked at the burned [28] The Parody clothing and the ruined hat. "Oh, this ques- tion of dress on a small salary," she said im- patiently. "What a day it has been!" She braided her hair with a frown. "Oh, cheer up, Jane," she said suddenly, as she caught sight of her own reflection. "It might be a good deal worse." "But just the same, Jane, my dear," she added as she turned out the light and raised the win- dow, listening for a moment to the dashing rain without, "just the same, there 's nothing in teaching. And if your lane does n't turn pretty soon, we will take up a homestead, because our finances are too much like a kitten chasing its tail, — it's impossible to make the two ends meet." She fell asleep dreaming of homesteads, of vast plains and then of deeply forested moun- tains, with a vision of steady-footed pack horses toiling up the trail. [29] CHAPTER II WHERE THE STORM WINDS BLOW TWO months later Jane Myers brushed her hair and turned out her light in a dif- ferent frame of mind, though the kitten was chasing its tail as energetically as ever. Her principal had called her to his office that day and offered her a position, for which he had been asked to recommend some one, as principal of the grade school of La Casa, Colorado. "It may be lonely for you," he said as he studied the young woman before him, and noted with admiration the small bunch of violets which she wore, "but it is a distinct advance not only in position but in salary. It pays $1100. And it is a healthy place. I know physicians who send patients there — though there is no scenery. It is right out on the plains." She had given him no definite answer then, though she answered herself quite promptly. "Of course we will do it, Jane, because that kit- [30] Where the Storm Winds Blow ten's activity bothers us. We can stand it for a few years." Since the parody, Jane's interest in the school in which she had taught had dropped. The teachers might or might not talk about her, speculate about her, or say anything they chose. When she had pulled herself together again, she did not much care whether the parody was a mere coincidence or not. But it had broken into the cordiality of her feeling toward them. So September came and with it Jane's new work in La Casa. Inside of twenty-four hours she understood and sympathized with the story of a young man which had been told her by en- couraging friends. Times had been hard and he had been out of a position for some weeks, until he was offered one at that town, with free railroad fare. He arrived there at eleven o'clock in the morning and left on the return train at three that afternoon, paying his own fare home. Jane understood it perfectly, and she promptly buried herself in her work as much as she could, looking after school books, supplies of all kinds, learning the names and qualifications of her [31] When the Forests Are Ablaze teachers, and thoroughly glad of all the absorb- ing minutiae of the first days of the school year. So it was in sheer desperation that, when she met Miss Potter upon leaving school one after- noon of the first week, she suggested that they take a walk. "Yes, indeed," said Miss Potter. "It is so beautiful. " Miss Potter looked up in enthusi- asm at the new principal. She had lived in that town all her life, and except for two years at the normal school, knew nothing of the world outside of it. She "adored" Miss Myers, she had told the third grade teacher that afternoon. And the third grade teacher had smiled and said, "I feel surprised every time she looks at me. She ought to have brown eyes, not vio- let ones." "Don't you love it here?" asked Miss Potter as they started off from the school yard. And Jane, in the companionship of the cordial little soul whose western breeziness was like the fresh mountain air which swept over the plains, was conscious of some lightening of the blank gray homesickness which she was fighting. "In which direction shall we go?" [32] Where the Storm Winds Blow "Let 's walk to the plains," said Jane, and both laughed. To the north lay the plains, to the south, to the east and to the west. Green with a recent rain, they stretched out end- less, boundless, limitless. Not a house, not a tree, not a shrub — absolutely nothing was there to break that immensity carpeted with short green grass and the low broad leaves of the cactus. Toward the west, beyond the range of vision, lay the barrier of the Rocky Mountains. The open sweep of the plains was glorious, yet she longed to see that distant purple barrier. If they were only near enough so that she could see the setting sun sink behind the mountains, deep blue shadows at their base, and the rosy tinting of the snowy peaks! "Let's walk on," suggested Jane after they had passed the half mile of plank walks and the long rows of little one-story houses which lay between the school and the edge of the town where houses and sidewalks suddenly ended and the level plains began. There was nothing in the town to explore. Plank sidewalks flanked by the low houses arranged in parallel rows with cross streets at proper intervals — that was l33l When the Forests Are Ablaze all. In the center of the town was a tiny park, one block square, fringed with quivering-leaved cottonwood trees. Around the square were the stores and larger buildings of the town. Be- yond the houses, in every direction, lay the eternal flatness. "Isn't it beautiful? Don't you love it?" asked the enthusiastic Miss Potter. She looked up in admiration at the woman beside her. Wavy hair Ruth Potter had always admired — hair that waved just enough to be fluffy and roll back from the face. Her own, a lifelong grievance, was an uncertain brown, straight as an Indian's, and no amount of crimping papers nor even a curling iron would make it roll back as it should from the plain face whose one beauty was its happy expression. "It is wonderful — wonderful, in its own way. It has a distinctive beauty of its own but I love the mountains." She looked out over the sweep of green to the far-off horizon from which the softening light of dusk was creeping. From somewhere out in that shadowy light came the song of the meadow lark, sweetest of [34] Where the Storm Winds Blow all singers. Again and again from the fading light came the soft, sweet trill. There were no shadows on the plains to slip along stealthily in the twilight, one creeping behind another, taking their places secretly, silently, here behind a bush or stone, there behind a tree, or under the shelter of waving grass, or among the rushes by a riverside. There was nothing in all that vast expanse to cast a shadow. Only the lessen- ing of the light, the gradual dimming of the plain, the deepening of the blue autumn mist in the vast distances, — and then suddenly the dark had crept up around the two girls standing out there alone on the shadowy plain. The song of the lark had ceased. As they returned to the town, Miss Potter chatted cheerfully as they passed the houses from which lights were twinkling. Here lived Tommy Jones who had given them so much trouble the year before, — yonder was the house where the former principal boarded, — there lived Lizzie Wilson who was the brightest lit- tle girl in the town, — all the endless talk of a small town. But Jane heard little. The [35] When the Forests Are Ablaze beauty of the plains she had seen had for the moment banished homesickness. If there were only some mountains in sight! Many another walk the two teachers took that fall, before the November rains came and the winter snows. October brought days when the air was fresh and clear, invigorating as air can only be when it is blown straight down through a sunny sky from snow-capped moun- tain peaks. There was nothing in the shaking, quivering, yellow leaves of the cottonwoods to give even a touch of color to the town, though they reminded Jane of the autumn glory of her old New England home, but the plains were something entirely new with their endless sweep of green, and high over head the broad blue dome which fitted down over the great green flatness. "A man could hide behind nothing except his own shadow out here," Jane had remarked one day. To which Miss Potter had answered, "But on a baking summer day he could n't do even that." Then the cold rains of autumn came, and bridge, embroidery, books, or even mending, [36] Where the Storm Winds Blow was better than a cold walk in the mud, or the dreary trudging along the plank walks, with the bleak plains outstretched before her and a heavy gray sky above her. Jane took no more walks. And after winter came, with its high winds and deep snows, the walk to and from school was more than many of the teachers cared for. Bleak and cold and white, covered deep with snow, lay the endless plains. So far as the eye could reach stretched that boundless sheet of unbroken white, grim and somber under the gray skies, blinding in its whiteness on sunny days. And in the penetrating sunlight every ugly line in the houses of the shabby little town was shabbier, every ungraceful curve flaunted itself. Brilliant, cruel, merciless, the sunshine seemed almost an enemy. The sky above was a blue bowl of intense, hard blue, not the soft radiant blue of a summer sky. Jane liked bet- ter the days when the skies were gray, but that meant more snow, and still more snow, piled in white masses through the streets by the winds. There was little to interest in the town — no music, no theater, unless one might misuse the [37] When the Forests Are Ablaze term for a cheap moving picture show, no art, no lectures, few people of education or refine- ment except an occasional homesick invalid, and nothing whatever to inspire a homesick teacher. She found that teaching was no more congen- ial when supervising the work of other teach- ers, than it was when doing the work herself. In some ways it was more discouraging to see others do so badly what she knew she herself could have done well. Some of the teachers were oversensitive to even the kindliest criti- cisms, and, as is usually the case, they were the ones who needed them most. "It 'l no use," she said one day just before Christmas, as she put on her wraps. "I was never born to be a teacher and neither was I born to be smothered in the awful slowness of a small, sordid town. Give me the city or else give me the depths of a forest. I am sure I don't want the plains. This betwixt and be- tween is too awful." The glaring light of the plains dazzled her, and the keen, penetrating sunlight had no in- spiration for her as she turned toward the post [38] W 'here the Storm Winds Blow office. She had had no mail for a week for all trains were snow-bound in the high drifts. Probably the outgoing mail would be as badly delayed as the incoming, yet she felt if she could send off her Christmas letters and pack- ages that the dating stamp would explain any possible delay. The general store, one side of which was oc- cupied by the post office, was crowded with women making their Saturday purchases, and with an idle throng of men leaning against bar- rels or perched on boxes. She waited her turn at the window impatiently, conscious of a strong repugnance to the crowd in the store. Finally the clerk took her package and weighed it, while several idlers watched her. "Any mail for me?" she asked. "No mail fur enny body, Miss Myers. Trains all late." Jane felt rather than saw an idler near her start as her name was given. As she turned to go their eyes met. He recognized her in a flash, but it took her a second to recognize the dissipated face and shifty eyes of this man in the loud-checked suit. For an instant she was [39] When the Forests Are Ablaze too stunned to move. The man mistook her start. "Why — er — hello," he said, half offering a dirty hand. Without even a glance, Jane turned and passed out of the store, followed by the curious gaze of the entire crowd. Panic-stricken, yet white-hot with anger, eyes flashing and lips compressed, the principal struggled up the snowy street to her boarding house. Once in her room, she faced her reflec- tion in the glass. Then she spoke firmly. "This ends any possibility, Jane, of your keeping this position. Next year you will be somewhere else than in La Casa. Now don't let me hear another word about this. Do you understand?" One might readily have thought she was talk- ing so sternly to something else than a reflec- tion in a mirror. The talk at dinner that night drifted to ranch life and homesteading. The landlady had a guest who had taken up a quarter section near the mountains and was developing a fine ranch. Her son had taken up the adjoining [40] Where the Storm Winds Blow homestead so they worked the two places to- gether. "They's lots er wimmen doin' it," she as- serted, "and making money out of it. My ranch ain't cost me nuthin' 'cept living on it five years and a little stock, and I reckon I 'm wuth two or three thousand dollars now. Ye could n't make thet in five years teachin' school," she added, turning to Jane. "I should think not," was Jane's prompt answer. "I 'm so tired of teaching that I 've sometimes thought of taking up a homestead myself — that is, thought of it vaguely. It's a wild idea for me, I 'm afraid." "An' why is it wild? I done it." "I don't like the plains. I get tired of the flatness. I 'd want to be up in the mountains, among the trees." "Sure. Mis' Lawson, she took up a home- stead on a timber claim. She reckons her timber 's worth about three thousand dollars. She jes' sat down on it fur five years — but she war n't really thar mor 'n two." "She could n't do that now, could she — with- out commuting? You see," Jane added, "I [41] When the Forests Are Ablaze have a friend who has taken up a homestead and she 's written me a good deal about it." "Guv'ment 's stricter now — some stricter," answered her landlady. "You 'd have to live there now, would n't you, to prove up on it?" "A little, mebbe— but shucks!" "Is it really possible," asked Jane after a few moments' thought, "for a woman to take up a homestead in the forest and live there for five years — and do it in safety?" "Sure. Did n't I jes' tell you 'bout Mis' Law- son? Ain't I done it? Course I 'm on the plains, but she 's in the timber." Jane brushed out her hair that night in a very thoughtful mood. The approach of Christmas made her homesick, and the far-reaching stretches of endless white depressed her. The children and teachers were restless, planning for the holidays, and a spirit of unrest pervaded the air. The situation had been doubtful enough, but the sudden appearance of Ed Brent had ended any possibility of staying in La Casa. "And I am so tired of teaching," she sighed as she slipped into bed. [42] Where the Storm Winds Blow "Miss Myers," said Ruth Potter in a fright- ened tone one evening as they bundled up for the walk home, "who is that man?" "What man?" "The one who hangs around the school so much?" "I have n't seen him. I don't know. What sort of looking man? What does he do?" Jane suddenly wished she were only a teacher, with a man principal. "I don't know. He just hangs around. There he is I" Jane turned quickly, only to see the vague out- lines of a man walking in the other direction. "It 's too dark to see clearly. He is probably the father of some of the children." "I don't believe so," said Miss Potter de- cidedly. "But I can't see what he wants." There was a well-defined fear in Jane's mind as to who the man might be. "Suppose you wait for me," she said after a moment, "so that we always walk home to- gether. He 'd hardly address two women — if that 's what he is up to." A blizzard was more serious than "something [43] When the Forests Are Ablaze inside of a hen," Jane thought one February night as she left the schoolhouse alone. She had stayed later than usual and Miss Potter had gone at noon. She bent her head to the wind, pulling down her fur cap as far as it would come over her hair, and buried her face in her fur collar. But still the snowy needles stung her face and rilled her eyes. It was half past five, and dark except for the light of the snow. The day at school had been a miserable one. The high wind had blown in a west window and had frightened the children half to death. None had been hurt, — she was thankful for that. Though one or two had been struck by the fly- ing glass, still the only damage had been slight cuts in their clothing. But it had taken hard work to put away the books and supplies, blown all over the room by the wind, until the janitor could nail boards over the window. She hurried along through the deep snow, stepping aside from the drifts, noting little in the storm until she became conscious through some alert sense, that she was being followed. She remembered, now that she thought of it, as she turned the corner near the school she had [44] Where the Storm Winds Blow seen a man on the other side of the street. She hurried on, floundering through the storm, con- scious that he was coming closer and closer un- til she turned the corner near her boarding house. He would hardly follow her farther. It was only a moment then until she opened the door and was greeted by friendly voices. "Come in. We Ve been saving the warmest corner for you." "Let me take off your coat." "No school, to-morrow. That's sure. The children can never get through this blizzard." In the warmth and friendliness, Jane put aside her fears. The idea of any man follow- ing her through such a storm! It was probably some one who lived near and had to come her way. "The bean soup is burned, but I can't help it," declared her landlady at dinner. "This new girl 's got a follower, and her head 's thet turned!" "Miss Myers had a follower to-night. See if her head is turned," laughed one of the teach- ers. Jane started. "Was that man following me?" [45] When the Forests Are Ablaze she demanded a little sharply, "or was he just coming up this street?" "He was following you, Miss Myers," said the teacher, more seriously. "He was close be- hind you and when he saw where you turned in, he tried to see the number of the house. It was under the snow, of course. Then he looked up and down the street as though trying to fix the location in his mind." "Miss Myers has made a hit," laughed an- other, seeing that Jane was a little alarmed. "I don't like being followed," Jane pro- tested. "It frightens me." "I think it is that man who has been hanging around the school, Miss Myers." "There's no occasion for alarm," said Mrs. Graham kindly, as she poured out the muddy coffee. "But any man who 'd follow a woman eight blocks through such a storm as this — he must have some motive." Jane was thoroughly alarmed. "I saw him one day — if he 's that man that I Ve met once or twice near the school," said one of the teachers. "I think his name is Brent. [46] Where the Storm Winds Blow He 1% a professional gambler, Jim Howard told me once. He pointed him out. Miss Myers, if he bothers you, Jim Howard will settle him. Jim 's afraid of nobody. He can lay out any man in town." "If he ever does address me," said Jane grate- fully, "believe me, I '11 be only too glad to have your Mr. Howard 'lay him out.' " After dinner in her own room a few weeks later, Jane sat writing letters. One was to Hope Denham, and a few sentences in it read as follows : "I can't stand teaching school another year. Your example has unsettled me for this life of grind, and as soon as school is out in the spring, I am coming to visit you. I find it is not by any means impossible for a woman to take up a homestead in the forest, and I have written Sue Fairfax to ask Bert to select some sort of a claim for me in the Northwest. I would rather be in Washington, I think, than in Idaho or Ore- gon. They live in Spokane and I think I should feel nearer to them if I were in the same state." [47] When the Forests Are Ablaze But to Sue Fairfax, after a discussion of homesteads and homesteading, Jane wrote: "So you see, Sue, I cannot stay here another year. He never spoke to me but he followed me until I was nearly wild. Then a Mr. Howard, a raw-boned young giant, engaged to one of the teachers, warned him that if he followed me again or endeavored to speak to me, that he would thrash him thoroughly. Since then, he has left me alone. I am not afraid of him, Sue, you know, but I feel dis- graced. Not that he jilted me as he did — how thankful I am he did, — but that he has it in his power to say that he was once engaged to me! You can see where that would put the principal in a petty town like this! I am nearly worn out from the nervous strain of my own fears. And, anyway, I could not stay in this joyless town. For six weeks in the fall it is glorious. Then it 's heavy rains, with streets bottomless in mud, high winds, blizzards and snow, snow! In the spring it is melting snow, flooded streets, water to your shoe tops, more bottomless pits of mud, fearless gales, a few glorious days, and then warm weather. If one [48] Where the Storm Winds Blow could live on an elevated platform and escape the snow and water and mud, there are seasons which would be beautiful, but you can't see sun- shine with bedraggled skirts and soaking feet. And this Brent business settles it all. So I want Bert to get me a homestead. I 'm going to visit Hope Denham as soon as school is out, and then I am coming to visit you, my twin. You 've in- vited me often enough, but I have always been clear across the continent." [49] CHAPTER III BEGINNINGS Spokane, August 17. Dear Hope: Here I am, so far on my way, thanks to your example and encouragement. But if you could hear the opposition of the Fairfaxes! Bert and Sue both knew all about that broken engagement ten years ago, and yet Bert turned to me with a calm : "Jane, why don't you marry? You used to be the belle of the town." Is n't that just like a man? I told him that I had had my day, that I had been disillusioned, and that I wanted to live my own life. But the conversation went right around in a circle, — this way: Bert: "But I cannot see why a young, good- looking woman should want to bury herself on a homestead." [50] Beginnings Jane: "I 'm not so very young. I 'm nearly twenty-nine." Bert indignantly: "I'm thirty-three and I call myself young." Jane : "And I 'm not particularly good look- ing, only my hair is wavy and my eyes don't match my complexion. (I 'm so tired of being told I ought to have brown eyes.) And I have to earn my living somehow." "I think you could get a good position in the schools here." "I don't want to teach. I 'm tired of teach- ing." "Jane, why don't you marry?" "Because I don't want to. I could never trust any man again." "He was a cad. You 're wrong to mourn over that." "Mourn/ When I think what a narrow es- cape I had it takes my breath away!" Then Sue would break in: "Jane, dear, you 'd be so much happier married." "Men like Bert don't grow on every bush, you know. I don't want to marry." [5i] When the Forests Are Ablaze Sue: "And you admit you have refused two eligible men in the last five years ?" Jane: "Yes — because I want to live my own life." Bert, in a horrified tone: "Heavens! You 're not one of these woman's rights women, are you?" He looked so disgusted. Jane: "I Ve given precious little thought to woman's rights. I don't care a rap about vot- ing, but I want to live my own life. And I have a right to do it." "What sort of men were these you refused?" "Attractive, educated — every one spoke well of them. We were good friends — but that was all." "They cared for you?" "They were quite emphatic in their asser- tions." "Be honest. Are n't you sorry you refused both of them?" "No. Not a bit. I don't want to discuss marriage, please." Then Bert would change his tactics. He must have had two hundred and twenty-seven [52] Beginnings friends who had taken up homesteads, judging from the stories he told me, and the more at- tractive the homestead, the greater the dangers. Then he would begin a front attack again : "It's wild, utterly wild, Jane. If you were a farmer's daughter — " Jane: "I am," Bert: "I mean accustomed to heavy work and a rough life. Then it would be different. Then you might weather it. But think what it means for you, an educated, city-trained wom- an, to live in a rough log cabin in the forest, bringing in every bucket of water from a spring or a creek, breaking the ice in winter, perhaps, with wolves howling around your cabin at night, cougars screaming, snow ten to twenty feet, bear tracks all too evident — " "I thought bears hibernated during the win- ter." I had him there. Then I added. "It will be the greatest fun to learn to walk on snowshoes. And if cougars roost in my trees I '11 shoo them off. I '11 go ski-ing down the hills at the rate of two miles a minute, and I '11—" [53] When the Forests Are Ablaze Bert: "I 'm serious. Please talk sense." Jane : "I 'm serious, too. Other women take up homesteads." "But— " "And some of them are teachers." "Yes, but—" "Why can't I do what other women do — and glory in?" "Because — " "Did n't you read that article in this month's 'Northwestern' on Women Ranchers in the Northwest,' — and it gave photographs of the women, strong, happy, successful, too." "Hang it! The chap who wrote that never saw a woman homesteader, I '11 bet. Never was on a homestead — does n't know what one looks like. You know how magazine articles are written." "I intend to take up a homestead." And that 's the way the argument ended. After I had gone to my room that night, though, Ted began to cry a little and I slipped into his room to quiet him. As I came into the hall — I had turned out the light because it was [54] Beginnings moonlight — Bert and Sue came up the stairs. I heard Bert say: "Sue, it can't be that Jane is one of these aw- ful, strong-minded women! Why, she talks like a man hater! She'll be one of these woman's rights women, first thing we know." Sue said : "No-o. I could n't believe that of Jane. I think she simply has n't met the right man." "She 's likely to meet him on a homestead in the forest, isn't she? Swede wood-chopper! Humph! And if she takes up a homestead she '11 be there five years — until she is thirty- three." Sue's voice sounded a little worried. "She might commute. She has that little legacy from her mother and — " Then their door shut. You know, Hope, that I 'm not a man hater, though I went through enough with Ed Brent to make me one. But I like men as com- rades — as friends — and I have n't any intention of marrying. Besides, I never, never could stand it to have a man tell me what I could When the Forests Are Ablaze or could not do. And neither would I ever marry a man who would let me do the bossing. I could n't respect him. So it 's better not to marry and perhaps land in a divorce court. I do not think I am really "strong-minded" though I know I seem very independent, be- cause no woman can meet the world year after year and not have a little air of decision, — call it determination, if you like, — that she would not get in a sweet, happy home. But I can't stand dictation. Bert wound up by writing to a friend of his, a mill owner in Illahee, asking him if there were any desirable homestead claims in his section. This Mr. Burnham wrote back that there was one. It had been taken by some Irishman while it was still outside the forest reserve, and then the reserve lines were extended and took him in, as well as an old lady who has the next claim and has already proved up on hers. Mr. Burn- ham said he could get the relinquishment for me before the new law goes into effect. Under the new law I could not do this. The frequent changes in laws and in the lines of the reserves are rather confusing, so they say. Anyway, I [56] Beginnings have this one extraordinary chance of getting a homestead claim if I want it, so I nabbed it. I leave here the last of August for Tyee — that 's a larger town — and I transfer to a local line which runs out to Illahee. It 's just a saw- mill town among the forests and I know it will be very picturesque. Then for my homestead! I had a beautiful visit with Sue. She cer- tainly is happy and the children are little dears. I told you once, I think, that Sue and I were born on the same day in the same town, and our mothers were close friends, so Sue and I have always called ourselves twins. But just now she thinks I ought to get married. I don't. Your friend, Jane. Illahee, September i. Dear Hope: I Ve been in this town just twenty-three hours, but I 'm not nearly so sure about things as I was. I Ve got to do something — quick — so I am writ- ing you. I came to Illahee, via Tyee, and reached here last night — Saturday. That was a mistake, for [57] When the Forests Are Ablaze Sunday in a strange place is depressing. Mr. Burnham was to be here Monday morning, and I did n't want to come in Sunday evening, but how I wish I had! I had engaged a room, but when I was shown it — the less said the better. It was exactly like the descriptions in novels of hotels in a frontier town. I thought the great American frontier was gone. Certainly the hotels have not. The building is a two-story frame, flush with the street except for a narrow, dirty, grimy, tobacco- juice-stained porch, which runs the length of the building. The shirt-sleeved men lounging in the chairs with feet on the railing were not in the least the traditional western heroes, and they stared at me until I blushed behind my veil. I gave my name and asked for my room and got another long stare from the clerk. He was also in shirt sleeves. He took my suit case and walked up narrow, dirty stairs to the second story. A long hall ran from one end of the building to the other, bordered by rows of cells. I was given the corner one, with a view on a saloon on the side and a row of cheap stores opposite. And the [58] Beginnings room! No description could ever do justice to it. Now this is the truth. The walls were cov- ered with faded blue paper, bright in tone in spite of the fading, with an immense sprawling vine on it. The ceiling, figured in big geo- metrical patterns, was of a bright purplish blue, and the carpet gloried in big red roses. Torn green shades at the low windows, with dirty white sash curtains — that completes the room. No, it does n't either, for the furniture was of that unspeakable cheap pine. It fairly made me dizzy to look at this complication of varying figures in two shades of blue with those big red roses. That's why I am writing you. If it were only Monday morning. It was too warm to stay in the house to-day so I did start out this morning to go to church, but when I saw the dreary-looking place, I turned away and went on a walk. The town nestles low between two mountains, east and west. On the south the hills are much lower, and to the north, or from the north, comes the Illahee river, winding down between the mountains. I walked to a point where I could see up the valley, blue with haze. One moun- [59] When the Forests Are Ablaze tain after another jutted out, forested from top to bottom, and far in the distance I could catch the top of a mountain tipped with snow. I 'd be in sight of a mountain peak from my claim, I believe, if it were not that the forest cuts off my view. Up and down the valley there was no sign of human habitation, or even the ax. The forests were as endless as the plains. But close to the town the trees have been cut, leaving great stretches bristling with ugly stumps and forlorn debris. I passed several such stretches of de- forested land on my way out, and a more cheer- less, depressing sight I never saw. The land had been "skinned/' as they say, and simply left to go to ruin. There ought to be a law against such logging, for it ruins the country in every way. And besides, if a match happens to get in its work in such a mass of debris, or the sparks from an engine, the fire usually spreads into the standing timber, and makes a destructive blaze there besides killing off all the new growth on the land already cut. I '11 believe anything I ever hear about the Americans being a wasteful [60] Beginnings people after what I Ve seen of these "skinned" lands. Monday evening. Mr. Burnham came this morning, so I '11 add this to my letter of yesterday. I had a short talk with him in the close, hot, stuffy hotel parlor. He is very much a gentleman, very thoughtful and considerate. He is about Bert's age, rather small, wiry, dark hair, eyes nearly black, a very pleasant face, tanned very brown. I fancy he has a keen sense of humor. He told me all about my homestead. My cabin is being built as near as possible to Mrs. Patton's — the old lady who has proved up on her claim, — but there is a stream between. The cabin of the man from whom I bought the relinquishment was in a sort of natural meadow which forms about one-third of my hundred and sixty acres. He took the liberty, he said, of deciding upon the other location though it is right in among the trees, in order to have me near Mrs. Patton. That is just what I wanted, you know, — to be in among the trees. I am going out with him E6i] When the Forests Are Ablaze Wednesday morning, though the cabin is not yet finished. He said Mrs. Patton would take me in. After he went, with forty-eight hours of this ghastly idleness ahead of me, I started to ex- plore the town. Everywhere it is as ugly as original sin. There is n't a picturesque thing about it. The crude rawness of the town, its roughly built shacks, stores with false fronts to give an impression of height, and the grim dev- astation immediately surrounding it — I never imagined there could be such force in that old saying that God made the country and man made the town. The sawmills are just north of the town on the edge of a pond, or tiny lake, made by damming the river just under the clumsy, primitive log bridge. On one side of the bridge is the rippling river, though it is low now, but on the other is this quiet pond in which the logs float. The logs are enormous, but everything out here is on such a big scale. This after- noon I went over to the sawmill and watched the machinery. It was fascinating to follow the unbroken stream of sawdust and small [62] Beginnings bits of wood which fall from the conveyor on the great sawdust heap which burns day and night, year in and year out, sending up a cloud of thick, blue smoke. I like the fragrance of the burning wood, even if it is rather pungent. I kept out of the way of the belts, but it was the greatest fun watching them saw the big logs, five or six feet in diameter, into boards. They saw first on one side, then an iron arm, called the "nigger" turns the log over, until they al- most square it. The music of the town is the whirl and hum and buzz of the flashing saws, with the occasional hissing of escaping steam. It was a busy picture and really very interesting. I wandered over to the schoolhouse to see if I might scratch up an acquaintance with any of the teachers, but found that school did not open until next Monday. I shall spend to-morrow watching the sawmill, for lack of anything bet- ter to do, and my evening writing letters. Wednesday morning I 'm off for the homestead. I feel much better since I met Mr. Burnham. The fact that he knows Bert makes me feel ac- quainted with him. He is part owner of one of the mills here. I 63] When the Forests Are Ablaze Did I tell you the streets are paved with saw- dust? Everything here has the fragrance of freshly sawed lumber. Despite Bert's predictions, I know I am go- ing to be happier on my claim than teaching school, and I feel so thankful to you for putting me in the notion of it. With love, Jane. [6 4 ] CHAPTER IV ON THE TRAIL ** A RE you all right now?" asked Burnham. -fcT* He had just finished shortening a stir- rup for Jane, and he glanced up at her cu- riously as she sat a-top a small cayuse pony, not altogether certain whether or not the tricky little beast would allow her to finish her journey in safety. He gave a final pull to the cinch band, a final glance at the khaki-clad figure, and then sprang on his own horse. "Your horse's name is Dempsey," he re- marked. "And yours?" She patted Dempsey's head. "Bob. Now. All ready!" "You are sure you have everything?" he asked again, as they turned away from the staring group on the porch. "I think so." "Your revolver's in your saddle bag?" "Yes. Will I need to take it out?" [6 S ] When the Forests Are Ablaze "Not this morning. I have mine, you see. The bears have plenty of berries at this season and we are not likely to meet any other wild animals." The soft thud of the ponies' feet resounded on the sawdust-paved streets as they turned toward the bridge. The golden glow of the dust struck out by her pony in the golden light of that morn- ing in early September was a picture Jane never forgot. Down the straggling street, bordered by the tiny log cabins or the one-story shacks of board, to the rough corduroy bridge which spanned the Illahee, they rode in silence. Jane paused a moment on the bridge. On one side was the rushing stream, still swirling and purling over the rocks, still managing to give an impression of white foam and of danger though the snows had long since melted in the summer sun. On the other side, in the pool formed by the crude dam, floated the logs, three to six feet in diameter, besides a few of smaller size. The chained logs which enclosed the boom floated lazily on the pond while the shriek of the saws and the humming of the great whirling belts 166] On the Trail broke the stillness. Blue smoke rose to-day as always, day and night, from the ever-burning heap of smoldering sawdust, though now and then the small ends carried by the conveyor lent a blaze to the pile. Across the bridge was a good road, through a section where logging was still carried on. Far down below them, the donkey engine was dragging huge logs to the rollway, tumbling them with a mighty splash into the river, to be floated down to the mill. They rode in silence for the first few miles, through the logged-off land and then in the for- est. As the road suddenly rounded the shoulder of a mountain, they came in full view of the glorious peak, white with snow, shining against the deep blue sky above. Far below ran the silvery river, gleaming here and there between the dark sides of the densely forested lower mountains. As they paused to look through the fresh air came the acrid smoke of burning wood. There was a slight fire below them, around the mountain's shoulder. "Of no consequence," he said as he noticed her startled look. Then they rode on again. Shortly beyond, the road [67] When the Forests Are Ablaze ended and a trail began. Burnham talked a lit- tle now and then, but Jane was rather silent. One fact stared her in the face ; that she was now taking what seemed to be an irrevocable step. At any time during the preceding week she could have sold her goods and returned to the cozy home of Sue Fairfax. Now she was on her way to her claim, twenty miles out from this little sawmill town, and without a horse it would be difficult to return. Was she making a mistake? Was Bert Fairfax right? And Mr. Burnham! She remembered how surprised he was when he found she was going to take up a homestead in the forest. He had even hinted rather broadly that it was a risky thing for her to do. But why risky for her if other women — other teachers — did it? * "You are sure Mrs. Patton will not object to my staying with her until my cabin is built?" she asked suddenly. "No, not at all. She is very glad to make a little money by doing for those who happen along in her direction — though that is chiefly Goss and myself. Goss is forest ranger of this [68] On the Trail district and his headquarters are several miles beyond Mrs. Pattern's. When he is passing there, or comes in off a long trip he goes down there for meals. I have an old cabin be- yond there, too." Then added a moment later, "Your cabin must be almost finished. The men were getting along on it all right when I came down." "I appreciate your kindness," she said. "Don't mention it. Fairfax is a good friend of mine." Again there was silence, broken by Burnham's comment. "You '11 meet Goss, I suppose. He is a king among men." She glanced at the man beside her, — lean, browned by sun and wind, with dark, laughing eyes, a man who evidently loved the wood and the open air. He used good English, she no- ticed. Fairfax had said he was a man to be trusted, and he certainly had an open, frank face. Just then he was whistling. "See that tree!" he said, suddenly interrupting himself. "I can't very well help it." Jane halted her pony looking up at the giant which arose di- [69] When the Forests Are Ablaze rectly from the middle of the trail. Ten feet in diameter, some thirty in circumference, tow- ering two hundred and fifty feet straight into the air, with not a branch nearer the ground than a hundred feet. "That's a king among trees certainly," she said. The longer she looked at the tree the mightier it appeared as its full circumference and height bore in upon her. "They did n't cut that down. The trail goes around it. This is a ten mile point. Do you want to get off and rest?" Burnham was not in the least sure that this tenderfoot would last the full twenty miles. "And if she does n't what in thunder will I do?" he muttered. Jane looked around her. The forest on either side was dense. The sunlight hardly penetrated the green crests of the tall firs. Tropical un- derbrush could hardly seem more of a jungle. On a rising slope of the forest' lay great trunks flat upon the ground or half balanced over other huge trunks, blown over by some storm, or fallen by decay. One tall fir had in its fall become wedged between two others, equally large, but too close together to allow it to fall [70] On the Trail to earth. There the great giant leaned, resting its full weight upon its sturdy supporters. "I Til rest a few moments," she said. Horse- back riding was a new experience. Burnham took her hand and attempted to assist her. Jane forestalled his effort by an attempted light spring from the horse's back, — and landed on her knees at his feet. "Are you hurt?" He helped her up. "No-o, but I didn't know I was so stiff." She wobbled badly as she made her way to a flat stone by the trail. Burnham politely turned his back to her and led the horses to a near-by sapling. He could keep his face straight under any provocation, but he could not keep the laughter out of his eyes. In a few moments he rejoined her. "I thought this was all a forest reserve," re- marked Jane breaking the silence. "How can you log in a reserve or take up a homestead, either?" "These two homesteads were taken up before it was thrown into a reserve, and you bought Mul- laney's relinquishment. You could n't take up a new homestead in here now — and that fact is [71] When the Forests Are Ablaze going to make it more lonely for you, I am afraid. You will not have any other neighbors, you see, than Mrs. Patton. But as to the log- ging — that is chiefly carried on outside of the reserve." "It's all the same forest — and the trees are just as large." "Yes, but a reserve usually follows township lines and frequently does not include a good- sized tract of valuable timber. I don't know why the government does it in that way, but it does." As they started on again, the open trail, such as it was, ended. Beyond the great fir there was barely a bridle path. Burnham took the lead and she followed closely, pushing the branches aside. Few trees had been cut at all on this trail — they were merely blazed. The underbrush had been hacked away close to the ground, but sometimes the luxuriant growth of the "jungle" almost filled the vacant space. Burnham turned half-way in his saddle to talk to her. "There are look-out points along the other side of the river," he explained, "points which the forest guards visit every day [72 J On the Trail during the summer for any traces of a fire. The views from some of them are wonderful." "It 's all wonderful," she breathed. "Yes, it is." His own face lighted up. "And Goss is proud of his district. There 's never been a bad fire in here." "Fire I" The word seemed to come a little nearer home than when forest fires were dis- cussed on a pleasant porch in Spokane. "Yes, indeed. That is the hardest work of a forest ranger. But can you imagine," he added after a minute, "how little chance mere humans would have against a fire in this forest?" Jane shivered, but not altogether because the air was damp and moist, almost chilly, under these great trees though out in the sunshine it was warm enough. The broad, coarse leaves of the thimble berry and the shining, waxen leaves of the salal brushed her stirrups. Even the sharp-pointed leaves of the Oregon grape were tall enough to attract her attention. The berries were just ripe and here and there a cluster of the purple grapes caught her eye. Some of the leaves were al- ready turning crimson. The underbrush be- [73] When the Forests Are Ablaze came more and more impenetrable. Great mossy, decaying logs, of enormous size and length lay about on the ground, almost hidden by the jungle of bushes and wild growth which rioted over them. At one point the trail led under an uprooted log and though she had to flatten herself out on her horse, they passed without dismounting under it. But again and again the trail had turned to go around such fallen giants. Burnham's cheery whistle, the thud of the horses' feet and the rustling of leaves and swish of branches as they passed were the only sounds which broke the silence. There might be birds in the great dim stretches of the woods but she did not see them. "Are there Indians in here?" she asked sud- denly. "Yes, a few. They are not dangerous, though. But let me warn you," he added sud- denly, "if you ever do meet Indians, never let them see that you are afraid of them. An Indian despises anything which is afraid and the moment you show fear you find yourself in [74] ' On the Trail their power. And never go outside your cabin door without firearms." "What Indians are they?" "Some who have refused to go on reservations. They live in the woods and along the streams, going and coming as they please. You might live here ten years and never see one. Or you might encounter a number in the first week. They shoot game out of season, though, and that bothers the rangers. And they set fires, too, if it suits their convenience. Goss would sleep better if there were no Indians in his district." ' The trail began to wind downward, through the dim arches of the trees. "Just what is the work of a ranger?" asked Jane. "Everything to do with the forests under their care. They see that squatters do not cut the timber, that fires are reported and fought, that the game laws are observed, that the sheep men pay their fees and do not graze except where they 're allowed to, and they try to get rid of all predatory animals. Of course, they do not get rid of them all, but seventy-five timber wolves [75] When the Forests Are Ablaze were killed in this district last winter by his guards." "And the fires!" "From April until November they are always on the lookout for fires — unless the snows come early. They put out the little ones and try to divert the big ones. Do you want a drink of water?" In the downward turn, they had come to the banks of the Illahee — come to it suddenly, out of the cool dimness. Spanned by a narrow, unguarded bridge, the blue river just below them ran smoothly now, for it was fall and all the streams were low, though Jane could read- ily imagine the rush of the wide stream in its spring flood. On both sides rose the densely forested hills, peaks towering above her into the blue, and on the topmost peaks a sprinkling of snow which had fallen in the night. Burnham slipped off his horse and dipped up a cup of water from a stream trickling down to the river. It was clear and cool. She drank it mechanically. The river, the mountains, the forest held her attention. She was in the heart of the forest — and she knew the meaning of the [76] On the Trail phrase now. No one ever realizes it until he has been in the forests' depths. "The bridge?" she asked, as Burnham sprang on his pony again. "It is the only bridge over the Illahee except at the mills. Any one wanting to cross that river, unless he can ford it far above, must cross here. It was built for the fire service." "But no horse could ever cross that?" "These mountain ponies can. Still, the men usually get off and lead them. There 's no neces- sity for taking unusual risks." The warmth of the sun felt good after the forest chill. "Now we turn up the mountain again," said her guide. As they turned upward, Jane noticed again signs similiar to those she had seen posted in all conspicuous places along the trail. She had glanced at them rather carelessly, her thoughts dwelling on the beauty and novelty of the ride ; but with the growing acquaintance with the for- est, enveloped in its depths, and startled by some of Burnham's words, the signs assumed a new and ominous meaning. She paused to read: [77] When the Forests Are Ablaze FOREST FIRES! The great annual destruction of forests by fire Is an injury to all per* toartfBd industries. The welfare of every community is dependent upon A cheap and plentiful supply of .timber, and a forest cover Is the most effective means of preventing, floods and maintaining a regular flow of streams used for irrigation and other useful purposes. To prevent forest fires Congress passed the law approved May 5, 1P00, which- Forbids* ••ttlng flrs> to th€> wood*, amd Forbid* loavlng amy fir em unextinguished. This law, for offenses against which officers of the FOREST SERVICE can arrest without warrant, provides as maximum punishment^ y^MBjaJ ^aa j aaj ljhfjB^^ Aflttol|l t OOO.«lB»rh»«asa!fsrsa>fiir,a^ It also provides that the money from such fines shall he paid to the school fund of the county In which the offense is committed; THE EXERCISE OP CARE WITH SMALL FIRES IS THE BEST PREVENTIVE OF LARQE ONES. Therefore all persons are requested— 1. Not to build larger camp fires than are necessary. 2. Not to build fires In leaves, rotten wood, or other places where they «re likely to spread. 3. In windy weather and in dangerous places, to dig holes or clear the ground to confine camp fires. 4. To extinguish all fires completely before leaving them, even for a short absence. 5. Not to build fires against large or hollow logs, where It Is difficult to extinguish them. 6. Not to build fires to clear land without Informing the nearest officer Of the FOREST SERVICE, so that he may assist in controlling them. This notice la posted for your benefit and the good of every resident of the region. Ton are requested to cooperate In preventing Its removal or defacement, which acts art P * BW, * Wel>yl * W JAMES WILSON, t w Secretary ol AartaMxtmm From this warning and appeal her eyes turned to another notice attached like its companion to a stately tree trunk. [78] On the Trail REWARD FOREST FIRES United States Department op agriculture. Offke of the Secretary. September 23, 1910. Hereafter, during the fiscal year ending June 30, 1911, unless otherwise ordered, and) thereafter, provided Congress shall make the necessary appropriation or authorise the payment thereof, the Department of Agriculture will pay the following rewards: First. Not exceeding $250, and not less than $50. for Information leading to the arrest and conviction of any person, in any United States court, on the charge of willfully and maliciously setting on fire, or causing to be set on fire, any timber, underbrush, or upon the lands of the United States within a National Forest. Second. Not exceeding $100, and not less than $25, for Information leading to the < and conviction of any person, In any United States court, on the charge of building a Are on lands of the United States within a National Forest, in or near any forest timber or other Inflammable material, and leaving said fire before the same has been totally extinguished. Third. All officers and employees of the Department of Agriculture are barred from receiving reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of any person or persons committing either of the above offenses. Fourth. The Department of Agriculture reserves the right to refuse payment of any claim for reward when, in its opinion, there has been collusion or improper methods have been used to secure the arrest and conviction thereunder, and to allow only one reward where several persons have been convicted of the same offense or where one person has been convicted of several offenses, unless the circumstances entitle the claimant to a reward on each such conviction, . These rewards will be paid to the person or persons giving the Information leading to such arrests and convictions upon presentation to the Department of Agriculture of satis- factory documentary evidence thereof, subject to the necessary appropriation, as aforesaid, or otherwise, as may be provided by law. Applications for reward, made In pursuance of this notice, should be forwarded to the Porester, Washington, D. C; but a claim will not be entertained unless presented within three months from the date of conviction of an offender. In order that all claimants for reward may have an opportunity to present their claims within the prescribed limit, the Department will not take action for three months from date of conviction of an offender. (signed) JAMES WILSON, •"■P Secretary of Agriculture. "I want to show you a cabin in here," Burn- ham said. He left the trail and started in — [?9l When the Forests Are Ablaze anywhere it seemed to her. Jane loosened the reins of her pony and let him follow. But Dempsey merely took advantage of her to nip the green leaves of the salal and the tender tips of the fern brakes, as well as to carry her so close to the tree trunks that she was almost scraped off — an old, old trick of Indian ponies. Burn- ham turned and caught the difficulty. "Hold up your reins," he said, "and switch him." Dempsey's reformation was slow, but re- peated applications of the switch prevailed. Burnham suddenly drew up his horse. "There it is." "What is?" "The cabin I spoke of." Jane looked for it. She could see nothing but the great firs and cedars around her — no clearing, no cabin, no sign of human habitation. Burnham laughed. "Don't you see it?" "Indeed I do not." "It's that stump there." He pointed with his whip. Jane's eyes followed the whip but she was as puzzled as ever. It was not until Burn- ham led the way close to the other side of the [80] On the Trail stump that she saw that a sloping roof of bark had been fastened to the top of an immense empty stump. "Do you mean that some one really lives there? I think you are making game of me," she added, half offended. "Indeed I am not. A squatter really used to live in that stump. That is his house — or was. I don't know where he is now." Jane still doubted. "I 'm telling you the gospel truth," insisted Burnham. "It is not an impossible thing out here. Did you never hear of the family over near the Sound who came out with six children and lived in two great stumps until the man could build a cabin? They roofed it with split cedar, cut small holes for windows, cleaned out the charred inside, and actually lived there for several months. I Ve heard that his wife said she liked it because the hollows in the burned- out roots made such good "cubby holes" in which to store things away. That 's historical," he added. "And after they built their cabin, they used one of the stumps for a barn." "I think I should prefer a cabin — with a [81] When the Forests Are Ablaze comfy rocking chair," Jane answered, with a sudden sense of weariness. Burnham made no answer and turned back to the trail. "How far are we from the claim?" "About three miles. We Ve almost there." It was nearer five. He started of! to tell her in his own cheery fashion tales of forest life. He talked brightly, one foot free from the stirrup, half turning so that she could hear him without effort. He told her of the life he knew — of men who worked in the sawmills, of encounters with cougars and brown bears, of hunting trips through the higher mountains outside of the re- serve, and of camp fires under the open stars. "This is the result of an avalanche." They had come to the edge of the trees again and there lay before them a tangled mass which nothing but an avalanche could have occasioned. For a distance extending nearly an eighth of a mile, according to her gauge of distances, there was one fearful tangle of broken trees and branches, interlocked and interlaced, with great masses of earth and rocks pinning them down at [82] V C3 a On the Trail intervals. Large trees had been snapped off as though they were pipe stems and hurled down the mountain side like jackstraws. Dry twigs and smaller branches lay scattered over the trunks and in the interstices. Over all was a fresh growth of green bushes, gleaming and waving in the warmth of the September sun. The mountain side directly above was denuded of trees — a mass of bare rock. Both riders slackened their bridles and the ponies stood with drooping heads so character- istic of them, while the new homesteader and her guide looked out over the wreckage. Then up the mountain side, around the top of the mass, they started, to come down again on the other side. Jane's mind went back to forest fires. "What a bonfire that would make!'' she re- marked, pausing a moment as they turned, looking down on the mass of dry, twisted, and torn trees. "Heaven help us if it ever does get afire," said Burnham gravely. "But really, there is little danger. That has been here for years, just as it is now. With the forestry service we [83] When the Forests Are Ablaze have now, there 's little danger. But what a bonfire it would make!" On and on plodded the horses, just as they had done through all the morning. Jane was growing tired. The trees scratched her face, and she felt a sudden irritation at the constant need of brushing the branches aside from the trail. Suddenly Burnham stopped. "At this point," he said, "the trail to your claim begins. Stop a bit and see if you can fix it in your mind. You would n't want to lose your way getting to your own cabin." Jane looked about her. She could see no difference between this and a thousand other points on the long trail from Illahee. The trees were of the same general appearance, about the same size, — nothing was different. "I can't see a distinguishing sign. I surely would get lost," she answered with a sudden sense of utter helplessness. "See that blaze there." She had not. "I '11 make it clearer." He sprang off his horse and with an ax made two distinct blazes on the north side and two on the west. "This is a corner, you see?" [84] On the Trail The horses began to wind among the trees. Jane's sense of helplessness increased with every moment. It would take all her resourcefulness, she thought, and far greater powers of observa- tion than she had yet developed to go out of sight of her cabin and not get lost. "I '11 blaze a distinct trail from that corner to your cabin," Burnham said, answering her un- spoken thought. "But why did n't you stay in civilization where you belonged?" he added to himself. "You 're not the type of woman to take up a claim in the forest." He wondered, as he had wondered all day, why she was doing it. Fairfax had said she was a friend of his wife's and that was suffi- cient. And she certainly was an attractive girl. "Ought to be married, with some good man to take care of her," was his persistent masculine conclusion. He remembered he had come around to that every time. But why not? Women certainly were better off if happily married and in homes of their own. "And there 's where she ought to be." "Tell me something about Mrs. Patton," said Jane, conscious of the fact that he had suddenly [85] When the Forests Are Ablaze begun to study her rather than to amuse her with his cheery talk. "She 's a woman of about sixty, little, sharp- tongued, energetic as a steam engine, afraid of nothing, independent, and a good cook — a mighty good cook," he added appreciatively. Cooking must count, even in the forest. "Why did she come out here?" "Her son went to Alaska seven years ago and said he would come back when he made his pile. That 's the last that 's ever been heard of him. The daughter married and lives in Illa- hee. She lived with them, but did n't get along well with her son-in-law. They scrapped world without end, until one day he slapped her in the face, I believe. She was red hot and took up a claim. n "And she 's my only neighbor?" "Yes, except the squatter. Here we are." [86] CHAPTER V burnham's cabin THE sound of men's voices and the tread of horses' feet broke the silence which had prevailed at Burnham's old cabin. "Here we are again." The voice belonged to Goss, who alighted from Dick and let the bridle fall to the ground. "At last!" answered Burnham. "Now for some supper and a bed." He picked up Bob's bridle and started to lead the horses away. A moment later Goss's voice hailed him.- "Wait a minute. Let me have the key." "It is n't locked." Burnham started off again. "Yes, it is." Burnham fumbled in his pockets. There was no key there. He dropped the bridles and turned back to the cabin. "The key is inside. I remember leaving it there Tuesday morning. The door was left [87] When the Forests Are Ablaze unlocked for Ole. I brought some tools out for him." As he spoke he applied his hand to the door. It seemed to be fastened. Bracing his shoulder against it, the door gave an inch or two, showing but a line of dense black. "Push with me, Goss; this is strange." The two men braced themselves against the door. There was a crash inside and the door yielded suddenly several inches. Goss squeezed through the narrow opening into the dark room. There was another crash, a fall, and Goss's voice. "What in the deuce!" The match he struck flickered and went out. Burnham followed him into the darkness. Another match was struck. Another crash. In the glimmering light the cabin seemed to be filled with bales, boxes, and barrels. Burn- ham reached for a candlestick on the shelf near the door, and the next moment the steady gleam of the candle penetrated the room. A scene of wreckage met the eyes of both men. "Looks like a freight yard!" said Goss cheer- fully. He leaned on a case of tinned tomatoes and rubbed his shin. [88] Burnham's Cabin "By Jove!" Burnham looked helplessly around him. Then his eye caught sight of the name on a bundle wrapped in burlap. "I told that idiot — " But words were of no avail. In the center of the cabin floor — indeed fill- ing the whole cabin — lay a heap of freight. A fireless cooker poised on top of several totter- ing cases threatened immediate descent. One end of a sanitary couch rested on Burnham's cook stove. A box marked "Glass. Handle with care" had in falling knocked out one of the stove legs and even the pipe was awry. Goss struck against the rocker of a large chair and a box of books landed on his foot. A box of breakfast food, meditatively balancing on top of the heap, decided in favor of lower elevation. "It looks" — Burnham dodged the breakfast food in its descent — "as if some one had made a mistake." He spoke in a calm, diplomatic way. The fireless cooker lost its balance and dashed toward him. Burnham tactfully stepped aside, and then, with equal tact and self-possession, sat down on it. A little thing might make him lose his temper, but a calamity like this made him resigned. [89] When the Forests Are Ablaze The cabin was a discouraging sight to two weary men. Goss had been out on a two weeks' trip through his district, straightening out quarrels between the sheep men in the high meadow lands of the mountains, looking after and supervising the making of trails, fighting small fires which sprang up here and there as though by magic, and all in a dense forest with bridgeless streams and dangerous cliffs. Burn- ham had just come in after a three days' cruise through almost impenetrable underbrush. "This is a jolly row." His tone was disgust itself. Goss looked for an explanation but got none. Neither man was in any mood to straighten out a freight yard that night, but something had to be done if they wanted supper and bed in the cabin. It was only an ordinary homesteader's cabin, a twelve-by-fourteen-foot affair, with two bunks at one end. Burnham started for the sanitary couch, the clumsiest thing except the rocker, and set it off to one side. The box of china and glassware came out from under the stove and the leg was [90] Burnham's Cabin replaced while Goss tried to straighten the pipe. A match started the fire in the small stove, an- other started a blaze in the fireplace, and the prospect speedily became more cheerful. It did not take very long, after they had once started, to carry the lighter boxes and cases out- side the cabin and dump them down beside the doorway. Yet both were irritated. "I '11 get supper," volunteered Burnham, pulling out the hinged board which served as a kitchen table, and beginning to get out supplies of bacon and eggs. "Just throw things any- way." Both were ignoring the whinnying of the horses from outside. A ranger's horse gets better care than he gives himself, but a few minutes' waiting was not injuring them to-night. Burnham lifted an egg to crack it. He was not a nervous man, but when Goss set a box in the bottom of the big chair and then tripped again over the long rockers which flew up unexpect- edly, while a rolled-up rug fell over and hit him in the face, Burnham dropped the egg on the floor. And then a sudden sense of the lu- dicrous struck the two, tired as they were. [91] When the Forests Are Ablaze Goss sat down on the rug and laughed until the tears came. Burnham dropped the bacon and knocked off another egg. "What is it? Who is it? Matrimony, Jack?" "Not by a darn sight. It 's that pig-headed Swede." "Complimenting the Swede does n't en- lighten me/' But there was no answer. Goss kicked aside boxes in a way which would have shattered any woman's ideal of men as protectors — of household goods, at least — and stepped out into the gloom to care for the horses. Burnham, on the swinging table which hung against the wall, set out a miscellaneous ar- ray of ironstone china and tinware. The fire was crackling cheerfully and the fragrance of bacon, eggs, and coffee filled the room when Goss returned. A can of evaporated milk was produced from somewhere, with a loaf of bread, and the half famished men set down to their supper. The meal over, Burnham piled up the dishes [92] Burnham's Cabin roughly and set them on the broad board. The table, to use a quaint old phrase of his grand- mother's, had been "skinned." "Whose junk is this, anyway?" asked Goss as they dropped down before the fireplace each with his head in a cloud of blue smoke. "Woman coming up to take a homestead." "But this is all reserve." "She 's taken the relinquishment on Mul- laney's claim." "Next to the Widdy's?" "Yes. Hansen was coming out to build her cabin and I told the freight agent to send the goods to where Ole was going to build the cabin. And here 's where he lands 'em." He looked disgustedly at the cluttered-up cabin. "What's more, I told Ole to take the freight across the stream from the Widdy's where he was to build the house." "So he brought them out here because he 's going to build you a barn. But," he added a moment later, "what have you got to do about it?" "I had word from Fairfax about it." "When did she come?" [93] When the Forests Are Ablaze "About three days ago." Goss turned and looked at the boxes, " 'Jane G. Myers,' " he read a moment later. "Does that stand for Jane Gemima? Humph ! Well, Jane, your goods are not in the right place. But I 'd rather have your goods than you." "Why?" asked Burnham with a sudden twinkle in his eye. "I 've no friendship for Janes" was the un- expected answer. "I can see her — I can see her! Tall?" "Rather." "Angular, lanky, awkward, raw-boned, sharp-voiced, straight hair drawn straight back — so tight she can't get her eyes shut — and twisted into a little hard knot at the back of her head." Burnham looked attentively at the spilled eggs on the floor — in the opposite direc- tion from Goss. "Great familiarity with a cook stove," Goss went on, "or with a wash- board, but little with social amenities. I never knew a Jane yet that did n't answer that de- scription. I '11 bet I 'm right on this one." The Old Nick himself was dancing in Burn- ham's black eyes. [94] Burnham's Cabin "I think perhaps you 're right about the cook stove," he answered a little ambiguously. "I know I am. Age, forty!" "Ahem! Still, it might mean an occasional square meal for us when the Widdy 's in town." The Widdy was their one defense against the rigors of camp cooking, and the tasteless cuisine of the ranger's headquarters or the hotel at Illahee. Burnham began to wipe up the spilled eggs. Goss rose and knocked his pipe against the chimney. "We wish you no ill luck, Jane," he remarked as he refilled and relighted it, "but you may wish that you had stuck to the wash- board, for homesteading in the forest is no joke." Goss turned at a slight sound which might have been a chuckle, but Burnham, with a face as long as the moral law, was wiping up the eggs on the floor. What was the use of saying she had wavy hair and violet eyes? Sometimes it was better not to tell everything you knew. Anyway, that was what he had learned as a freshman. "What possesses any woman to take up a [95] When the Forests Are Ablaze homestead?" asked Goss, his face wreathed in blue smoke from his short pipe as he turned back toward the supper table; "what possesses any woman to take up a claim, especially in a dense forest like this?" "Value of the timber, I suppose." "But the hardships." "I don't suppose it is any harder, come right down to it, than a washboard or a cook stove. And probably there 's more money in it." Burnham relighted his pipe and dropped down into his chair. Goss wandered over to the side of the cabin. "Sanitary couch," he announced, "fireless cooker, crex rug, and a. good big rocker. Jane 's up to date anyway." He pulled the rocker over toward the fireplace, shoving the rough camp furniture out of the way, and dropped down into it. "It's comfortable — thoroughly so. I might visit Jane once in a while — when the Widdy is in town and we need a square meal, I mean. Only that type of woman actually hurts my eyes." "You might turn your back on her and [96] Burnham 's Cabin smoke." Burnham kept his face turned well away from his friend. "Do you suppose that a Jane could be disap- pointed in love and take to the forest as a refuge?" "You 're disposed to be witty — as well as speculative. Remember what your family think of your being out in the forest." "They think I 'm daft — but I know better. Did you locate the timber you wanted?" "Not entirely. Surveying seems to be crooked somewhere. Have a hard trip?" "Usual thing. Small fires which seem to start from spontaneous combustion. Those two sheep herders, though," he added more energet- ically, "have got to stop their fighting or I '11 shoot one of them. I surely will." "Think they are responsible for any of the fires?" "Can't prove it. I have my suspicions, though." "Charlie Howe was at Illahee ten days ago," remarked Burnham after a long silence. "Asked about you. I gave him a long spiel for his paper." [97] When the Forests Are Ablaze "What 's he on now?" 11 'Frisco Chronicle. Came up to write up the lumber industry of Washington. Said the fellows around 'Frisco had a big reunion last month." "None of the foresters there, of course, — at this time of year." "Dick Crite was. He went up to Alaska cruising, started prospecting, and came down with quite a pile." So the talk drifted on about this man and that — men who were cruising the forests all along the Pacific coast, men with whom they had tramped and camped in the forestry school, some of whom had failed and some of whom were on the high road to success. The cabin was blue with smoke when Goss pulled himself together with a sigh. A bed would feel good after sleeping on the ground. Burnham rose and cast a comprehensive eye over the unwashed dishes. "There 's enough clean ones for breakfast," he announced, man-fashion. [98] CHAPTER VI getting settled Friday. Dear Hope: At last I am here, after those four dreadful days in that dreadful little sawmill town. Mr. Burnham came with me and everything went smoothly, but I was excited after we turned up the Thunder Creek trail which leads, part of the way, almost alongside of a mountain torrent, from the main trail to my cabin. There is n't much trail about it, though ; nothing but blazes on the trees and bushes that scratch your face. At last we came in sight of the cabins, and there was mine, half finished. It's lovely. It is close beside the most beautiful mountain stream I ever saw. On the other side is Mrs. Patron's cabin. My cabin is set right in among the trees, though they are not so dense as farther back. The only clearing is that made by cutting down the trees so they could use the logs for building. [99] When the Forests Are Ablaze And it's my homestead! I feel so joyful. Next to the cabin is a magnificent fir that towers far up into the sky, beautiful and strong and straight. It is a perfect tree. They said they did not cut it for the cabin because the bole was too large. Imagine cutting that tree down! The cabin is so artistic, nestling down under this one big tree. We had to go across a narrow tree bridge to see my new neighbor, and I don't like her — at first sight, anyway. She has the snappiest eyes I ever saw and a snappy way of jerking out words between her teeth that is almost fear- some. She stood in her cabin door and looked me over, and said, "Huh!" When Mr. Burn- ham introduced us, she looked at me again, and then at him — those snappy, gimlet eyes, — be- fore she even acknowledged the introduction. She is to take me in until my cabin is finished and it 's a good deal better than being in Illahee. I can spend my time watching the men finish my cabin. We three had dinner together and then Mr. Burnham went on up the valley. He told me he had a log cabin which he built before this [ ioo] Getting Settled was in the reserve and he still uses it, as well as this Mr. Goss, as a sort of wayside station — no, I mean, a half-way house. It is close to the point where three trails branch and it is so con- venient for the rangers as well as for him that they keep up the "establishment." He laughed when he called it that. I almost wish I were going with him. I suppose it is because I know he is a friend of Bert Fairfax's that I feel now as if he were the one friend I had in the world. I spent the afternoon sitting on a log out- side Mrs. Patton's door, watching the men work and the stream rush past. I don't wonder they call it Thunder Creek. It does make such a noise, and it must be deep, too. When the men stopped work for the evening I went over and explored my new house. The fresh-hewn wood is so fragrant. The cabin is tiny, just the usual twelve by fourteen feet. They are putting in only one window and the door. I had said es- pecially that I wanted two windows, and I or- dered them larger than they are. I also wanted broad eaves and there are no eaves at all. I thought that perhaps even in a log cabin I [101] When the Forests Are Ablaze might build something that would express in- dividuality, but there 's absolutely no difference between my cabin and that of the roughest class of homesteaders. They have built the tradi- tional cabin and it 's rather disappointing. Mr. Burnham told me before he went away that I ought to have the fir — he says it's a Douglas fir — cut. I was simply shocked. It would destroy every bit of the artistic setting of the cabin. I thought he had better taste, but I just told him I wanted it for a flag pole. He might not have understood the artistic side of it. That first night Mrs. Patton offered me a bed on the floor in her cabin, or blankets for sleep- ing out of doors. What do you suppose she was thinking of? To sleep out of doors, in an un- known forest, with bears around, perhaps! But I did n't want to sleep in her cabin if I could help it. Finally I told her I would take the blankets and go over and sleep on the floor of my own cabin, — that I thought I could cover the windows and block the door in case a bear did come around, and she actually let me do it. [ 102 ] Getting Settled Me! My first night in the forest! I was scared stiff, but I would n't show it. I did n't expect to sleep at all, but I hardly remember putting my head down. I wonder where in the world my furniture is, anyway. Mr. Burnham said it had been sent out several days before but it is n't here. He must have been mistaken. If I had my own furniture I could have set the couch in the cabin, because sleeping on the floor is n't all it 's cracked up to be. I do not see how I am going to make many improvements on my homestead around my cabin. I guess I will have to confine them to the open land on the back of the claim. The forest is very dense. The trees are so large and so wonderfully high, clear of branches half way to heaven, and the ground the most impossible tangle of fallen trees, vines, fern brake, under- brush — utterly impassable. Is that a pun? I did n't see it until after it was written. The animal life, they tell me, consists of rabbits, squirrels, deer, bears, cougars, wolves, and wood rats, ranking in importance as named. I be- lieve I 'm most afraid of a bear. [ 103 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze Monday morning. The carpenter asked me this morning what that big roll of wire screening was for, so I showed him how I wanted a little extension on the end of the cabin, with a second, smaller door into it. He objected and refused until you would have thought it was his house and not mine. At last I appealed to Mrs. Patton. She came over the bridge — I found out afterwards how she dreaded that bridge — and listened to both of us, and said "Huh" again. But the Swede is so stupid! I explained what I wanted, — a place for my kindling wood in winter — and they both looked as if I had gone crazy. I in- sisted and at last I got the extension built — just two uprights at the proper distance from the cabin, with two boards around the bottom, a roof of shakes, and the rest of the wire screen- ing. Then he had to cut a small door into the "pen" as he called it, but he certainly made it small and low enough. I can't see why they objected. They are putting the shakes on the roof to-day. To-morrow I can begin to move in. [ 104] Getting Settled Yesterday Mr. Burnham came up. I was so glad to see him. Sunday is rather lonesome in a strange place, and he took away the homesick- ness that was beginning to swallow me up. He is full of fun and life. He told me that I would not realize for a year what a tenderfoot I was. I fancy there are interesting experiences ahead, but I really don't care what they are. I 'm just in the mood for homesteading to-day and the more exciting the adventures, the better. I hope lots of things will happen. Mr. Burnham spoke about cutting that Douglas fir again. I told him decidedly I would not hear of it. He argued a little while and then we dropped the subject. Tuesday. The mail here is an uncertain thing, so my letter is taking the form of a diary. Please don't criticise the English or the continuity of it. I am just jumbling things up as they come. My furniture came this morning and I am still wondering where it has been all this time. I spoke to Mr. Burnham about it Sunday, but he did n't seem to know much about it. The [105] When the Forests Are Ablaze minute it came, I began to unpack. I got the couch in, first of all, and then unrolled my blankets, so my bed 's ready for me to-night anyway. There will be some delay about the second window because they have to send to 111- ahee for the second sash, but they have to build a barn out here somewhere, so they will do that later as they are on their way in again. I have put some screening over it temporarily. They tell me the wood rats get in everywhere. I be- lieve I can use that screened part as an outdoor sleeping place in summer, but you should have seen Mrs. Patron's face when I told her that. The crossbeams of my cabin are studded thick with hooks of all kinds, for with such a small room I must hang supplies above. A piece of bacon hangs on one hook, ham on an- other, salt, potatoes, a jug of vinegar, and an- other of molasses, — each on its own hook. My eggs I put in brine in a big crock. On a shelf, close up to the roof, I put my canned goods and soap, cornstarch, baking powder, cereals, spices, and such things. You see, I have to stock up for months and months ahead because sometimes the trail to the town is rather diffi- [106] Getting Settled cult in winter, I believe. It would be fun to walk in on snowshoes, I should think. I believe I '11 try it some time when I need exercise. They built in a big fireplace at one end, and that I shall use for my sitting room. At the other end is my kitchen with the little air-tight wood stove, flat topped, for cooking. I had to run the pipe the entire length of the cabin and use the big chimney. They could just as well have made two chimneys. There are stones enough in the creek, goodness knows. I shall have some fun this fall making furniture out of the pack- ing cases. I did n't bring much with me — rugs, rockers, a good couch, and so on, enough to be comfortable. I have not forgotten I am to stay here for five years — unless I should decide to commute. I saw enough of Mrs. Patton — they call her "the Widdy" — in taking my meals with her, to pause with astonishment. She is a thoroughly good cook. No wonder these rangers plan their trips so as to stop here for meals. But she is the most superstitious person on salt that I ever met. It is her universal remedy for evil or accident. The first time I started out on an [ 107 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze exploring tour — I did n't go two hundred feet — she scattered salt on the ground behind me so I would not lose my way. The first time I crossed the bridge to my own cabin, she flirted ahead — that 's the correct word, she is so small and wiry, — she flirted ahead of me and scattered salt on the bridge, so there would be no accident. She occasionally puts salt on the pony's back to keep his mane and tail free from burrs — put there by evil spirits, I suppose. And after my cabin was finished, before I could move any- thing in, she scattered salt on my threshold. She still says "Huh," but I like her better than I did at first. She really means to be kind, I think. She simply had no idea of what it would mean to me to sleep out of doors my first night here. She did n't dream how I felt about it. We will never be very congenial, but I think we '11 get along together all right. She has a married daughter living in Illahee. There are three grandchildren, Sam, who some- times visits her, and two smaller ones. Of her son-in-law, Pat, she said little, but that was ex- pressive. Yes, quite expressive. There is some chance of mail going down in [108] Getting Settled the next day or two, so I am going to seal this letter. Anything else that happens will have to be waited for. But I 'm thoroughly glad I have undertaken this venture. I 'm going to enjoy every moment of it. I have written Sue and Bert Fairfax, of course, but I have told them only the sunny side of things. You know how they felt about my coming. Your friend, Jane. P. S. I always leave the most interesting things for the postcript. That 's to make sure that you read my letters all through. I forgot to tell you about the cloth label — no, it is n't ex- actly that — perhaps I might say sign. Oh, no I It 's a notice, that 's what it is, that is tacked up on my front logs. It is n't on the door, and I can hardly say my front wall. Anyway, this interesting sign says that Jane G. Myers has taken up as a homestead the northwest quarter of section 47, — I think it is — of township — I 've forgotten the number. I '11 have to memorize the thing in order to know where I live — and range so-and-so. It 's a unique sign — to me. Perhaps I '11 get used to it. The Widdy has [ 109 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze proved up on her claim, but she leaves the faded cloth notice there — to save herself trouble, she says. But it 's a very interesting label. I know now just where I live! [no] CHAPTER VII THE BERRY PATCH **T TELLO," said Jane cheerfully a morn- -*- -i- ing or two later as she stepped out of her cabin and found a small boy surveying the primitive tree bridge which spanned the creek. She stepped carefully down upon the stones, dipped her bucket into the rushing stream and stepped back upon the earth. "Who are you?" she asked as the visitor made no reply. "Sam," was the brief answer. "Sam who?" "Sam," was the laconic reply. "Samson, eh?" Jane looked at the bare- legged boy, hands deep in pockets, blue eyes, and red hair a tangled thatch. "You belong to the Widdy?" she asked. "Yep." "When did you come?" Jane felt really so- ciable. Her days as school teacher were not so [in] When the Forests Are Ablaze far past, though then it seemed ages since she had tried to teach just such boys as Sam. "Last night." "Walk out?" "Nope." "Sam, you will be a millionaire. They al- ways begin that way — and they begin young." Sam stared at her, open-mouthed. "Good morning," said a pleasant voice be- hind her. The rush of Thunder Creek had drowned the sound of Burnham's approach over the bridge. "Good morning, Mr. Burnham. I was in- terested in our visitor. I believe he is an in- cipient millionaire." "He might be an incipient imp — with that head of hair," responded Burnham as he picked up the pail of water and started for Jane's cabin. Sam suddenly turned and made for the bridge. Burnham glanced in that direction and saw the Widdy making motions. "Breakfast must be ready," he explained as he set the pail down at the door and prepared to follow Sam. "By the way, I brought up two [112] The Berry Patch letters and a paper for you last night — and a package." "I '11 come right over and get them," an- swered Jane. "No one came out last week and no one went in, so I have n't had any mail since I came." In the roar of the creek the last words were lost, but the mill owner had little difficulty in guessing their import. It was a delightful September morning. The fresh air, with the cool tang of the North- west, the sunshine glorifying the clearing, the musical thunder of the water, the fragrance of the early morning, all made Jane Myers well satisfied with her change from city schools to the open life of the forests. She glanced back at her cabin as she neared the Widdy's door. It was really very picturesque backed by the dark, impenetrable forest and flanked by the foaming white stream. Burnham glanced at her curiously. He had wondered many a time whether she regretted her venture, but she was the picture of content- ment this morning as she greeted her neighbor cordially. [113] When the Forests Are Ablaze "I came over to get some letters Mr. Burn- ham said he brought out." "All right," said the elder woman as she turned to Burnham, "Breakfuss' ready. You'd better come right in." Then she turned back to Jane: "I knew there M be two people here 'fore night. I told Sam so." Burnham lingered on the step, hoping that the Widdy would invite Jane to breakfast. Jane lingered a moment because she suddenly realized it was good to have some one to talk with. "How did you know it, Mrs. Patron?" she asked. " 'Cause I sneezed twice when I got up. It alius comes true. I told you so," she added a little suspiciously and Jane suddenly remem- bered she had heard of that omen before. "Oh, yes, I remember." Silence fell. There was no invitation and Jane betook herself across the creek to her own cabin. She had finished her own breakfast and was washing her dishes when she saw Burnham lead- ing his horse across the stream. "I came over to say good-by," he said in his usual cordial way. "I am going up into the for- [114] The Berry Patch ests for a week or ten days. Perhaps I will see you as I pass down again." He had not had the slightest intention of add- ing that last remark, but something in her face made him feel the sudden sense of loneliness which had swept over her. "I will be glad to see you when you come," she answered, her face brightening at the sense of comradeship which lay behind the words. "Are you lonely?" He had not meant to ask that, either. "No, really I am not — only sometimes." "Yes, I understand." He swung himself easily up on his horse and sat there a moment looking down upon her. "Don't get lonely — don't let yourself," he said seriously. "The moment you do you will sink under the horror of something which does n't exist. You must remember that here in the forest we are all good comrades." And with a swing of his hat and a bright smile, Jack Burnham vanished among the trees. "She 's plucky," he said to Bob, as his four- footed comrade picked his way sagaciously [115] When the Forests Are Ablaze down the trail. "If she can pull through the first winter, I believe she will stick it out." But the world was suddenly very empty to Jane. The sun still shone, the light breeze waved the topmost branches of the pines and firs, but the rippling music of the trees was lost in the crash of waters. There, was suddenly some- thing ominous in the sound. It was no longer simply the dancing of the foaming waters, sheathed in white, in the September sunshine. "Cheer up, Jane. This won't do." The words brought back the memory of the day of the parody, the ruined hat and the burned drawn-work. How long ago it all was! It was ages ago, out in some other world, and it must have been some other Jane. She suddenly thought of Sam. The boy was fishing in the creek. "Sam," she called as she went toward the child, "don't you want to go up to the clearing with me. There must be plenty of huckle- berries there." Sam stared. "Don't you like huckleberry pie?" A smile of joy and a nod of the tousled head. [116] The Berry Patch "If you will come up to the clearing with me, I will make you a big pie, all for yourself." Down went the fishing rod and Sam solemnly joined the homesteader. "We '11 get some pails and tell Mrs. Patton where we are going." "Gran'ma?" asked the monosyllabic boy, hardly recognizing the Widdy's society name. "Yes; we'll tell gran'ma we're going for berries and that I '11 bake you a big pie when we get hack." There was nothing "sesquipedalian" about the Patton family. The Widdy was as mono- syllabic as Sam when Jane told her of the berrying trip. "Huh. Bears," she snapped. There was reason for the snappiness. The horseshoe over the door had dropped. "Oh!" Jane had not been in the forest long enough to think far ahead. "They won't want to eat me," she said hopefully after a moment's thought, remembering there was little danger from ordinary bears in berry time, "they '11 be eating the berries. And I '11 take my gun." Bears or no bears, she felt she had to get out [117] When the Forests Are Ablaze into the clear sunshine that day. The dimness of the forest was depressing with the world so suddenly empty. Up through the woods they trudged, by a trail which the Widdy pointed out, to a berry patch at the edge of the open land on her own homestead. It was not far away in real- ity, but through the forest tangle it took a long time. There was no actual trail. They merely took the line of least resistance. The heavy, glossy leaves and branches of the salal bushes with their tangle of tough roots seemed ever in their way. An occasional jump from bare-footed Sam revealed the presence of the prickly leaves of the Oregon grape, just turn- ing, in the sunshine, to a glowing crimson. The treetops met overhead and the light which filtered through was cool green. Moss-covered trees lay in their path, covered with fern brake as tall as she, with long swordlike ferns, and with more salal. "This is a tangle," said Jane as they came to one spot. She had followed a tree trunk which seemed to offer its services as a bridge across a maze of fallen trees — trees which had evidently [118] The Berry Patch fallen years before. "What if we should lose our way, Sam?" There was no response. "Do you suppose we can get through here, Sam?" She spoke rather anxiously. "I don't believe — I know — " She paused abruptly. Still no response. "Sam, I'm afraid — Good heavens! Sam!" For Sam had vanished. With her heart in her mouth, Jane looked about her. It was still the tangle of decaying tree trunks, covered with dense underbrush, and the tall straight growth of trees in their prime. What had become of the boy? He had been there a few moments be- fore. Again and again Jane's frightened voice rang through the trees. There was no answer from Sam or from anything else. What else she ex- pected to answer her, she did not reason out. At last, as the thoroughly alarmed girl stared about her, there was a slight motion in the ferns and bushes some thirty feet away. Walking in that direction, Jane was amazed to see Sam's red head coming cautiously up through the space between two fallen tree trunks. [119] When the Forests Are Ablaze "Where in the world, Sam—" "Fell in," responded the boy with more energy than he had yet shown. "Fell in where?" "Down there," motioning with his bare foot to an indefinite space beneath the trunk on which they were standing. "How could you? Is there a hole down there?" "You bet." "A big one?" "Yep. Betcher." "How big?" "Awful big." Jane looked at him incredulously. How big was big to a red-headed boy? Still, the boy had dropped completely out of sight for several minutes — unless he was playing some joke on her. She looked at him searchingly. "Can you get that for me?" Jane pointed to a pole some twenty-five feet long — a sapling which had been crushed and half-broken off. Sam obediently pulled and tugged at the dead sapling until he had wrenched it loose. "You carry these pails until I see how deep [ 120] The Berry Patch that hole is. Be careful. Don't fall in there again." Jane lifted the pole upright, jammed the end of it through a space near that through which Sam had wriggled out and lowered it. Down it went, ten feet — fifteen feet — twenty feet, until to her amazement, as the pole touched some- thing which impeded its further progress, less than two feet remained above ground. "What is it?" she asked the boy. "Have these trees fallen across an old ravine?" That seemed the only solution. "You betcher," was the emphatic reply. "Are you sure? Have you ever seen a ravine covered over this way before?" "Yep, lot of times. The trees is so big." Sam's fright seemed to have given him un- usual powers of speech. Bears lived in such sheltered places, he told Jane, and she gripped her gun more closely. But by the time Sam got through talking they were out in the open sun- shine at the edge of the meadow. The excitement of the hidden ravine, the clear sunshine, the abundance of huckleberries, big bunches of spicy, purple Oregon grapes, and [121] When the Forests Are Ablaze the interest of the boy, put out of Jane's mind the sense of loneliness. The old spirit of ad- venture came back. They filled the pails and sat down to rest. Sam was still fairly loquacious. His first de- mand was for a story. A story! Jane's mind went back rapidly over those she had told her pupils in school. None seemed to fit the occa- sion. "A story about what, Sam?" " 'Bout Injuns." "Indians?" "Yep." Jane tried to think of a good Indian story. Suddenly she remembered a tradition Burnham had told her on their journey out. "All right, Sam. Now sit still." Then she began an Indian tradition of the first white man's ship ever seen. "Long, long ago, before white men knew any- thing about this Northwest Coast, a strange thing happened to some Indians who lived on the seashore near the mouth of the Columbia river, and this is the way the Indians tell the story. [ 122 ] The Berry Patch "The son of a woman had died. She wailed for him a whole year and then stopped. Now one day she went to Ne Ahk-stow (near Sea- side), and returned home walking along the beach. When she came near the Indian village at Clatsop, she saw something. She thought it was a whale. When she came nearer, she saw two spruce trees standing upright in it. She thought, 'Behold! It is no whale. It is a monster.' "She reached the Thing and saw that the out- side was all covered with bright metal. It was copper, but she did not know it. Ropes were tied on those spruce trees and the Thing was full of iron. Then a bear came out of it. He stood on this Thing that lay on the beach. He looked like a bear, with long hair, but his face was like a man's. "Then the woman went home, but as she thought of her son she wailed, 'Oh, my son is dead and the Thing we hear about in tales is lying on the beach.' She thought this strange Thing on the beach and the bear were from the ghost land. So she kept on wailing. "Now the Indians in the village heard her [ 123 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze wailing. They said, 'Oh, a person comes cry- ing! Perhaps some one has struck her.' So they got out their bows and arrows and made ready to fight. But the Indian woman kept crying, ( Oh, my son is dead and the Thing we hear about in tales is lying on the beach.' Then the Indians began to run down the shore toward the Thing. The woman told some of them, 'A Thing lies on the beach. There are two bears in it, — or maybe they are people.' "Now when the Indians reached the Thing that lay on the shore, two bears stood in it and they had copper kettles in their hands. Then the Indians saw that the Thing was really a great 'canoe' with two trees standing in it. It was a very strange-looking canoe. Then they began to watch the bears. "The bears built a small fire, put some corn in a kettle, and soon it began to pop. The In- dians were so surprised to see that corn fly up and down as it popped! Then the bears made motions to show that they were thirsty. So the chief sent two Indians to get fresh water while he went on the ship to look at the bears. They looked like men. He compared their hands [124] The Berry Patch with his. They were just alike. So were their faces alike, only the strangers had long beards and that is why the Indians thought they were bears. "After a while, one of the Indians went down into the hold of the ship. It was full of boxes and he saw long strings of buttons there. He went to call his relatives, but before he could get back, other Indians had set the ship on fire. They wanted the metal in it. "So these two men were prisoners and their ship was burned. "Now all the Indians for a long distance around heard of this strange canoe with the two strange men in it. Whole tribes came down to Clatsop to see them and each tribe was anxious to get one of the 'bears' for a slave. They al- most went to war over them. At last the chief of the Clatsops took one man as a slave and the chief of the Willapa Indians, who lived farther north, took the other. "The Clatsop Indians became very rich be- cause they sold the metal from the ship. A piece of iron five or six inches long would buy one slave. A piece of copper as wide as [125] When the Forests Are Ablaze two fingers and long enough to go around the arm for a bracelet was also the price of a slave. One nail was the price of a good deerskin. So the Clatsops became very rich. "But whose ship was this? And who were the men? No one knows. No one even knows whether they were Japanese, Chinese, or Span- iards. The ship was wrecked on the beach and the men became the slaves of the Indians. They were, perhaps, the first white men to see this coast. But we know about it only because the Indians told the story. No one else could know." Jane glanced up as she finished her story, and as if a miracle had happened, over the treetops in the distance she saw the tip of a snow-capped mountain, dazzling, gleaming, in the bright sun- light. It must have been hidden behind the cloud banks. The world was suddenly very bright. She was glad she had taken up a home- stead, — glad she had come to the valley of the Illahee. Free, with her own cabin, living in the open, with good comrades to whom she could talk now and then as they passed on the trail — what more could she want? [126] The Berry Patch "Look!" said Sam, pointing toward the snowy- peak. "Yes, I see. Isn't it beautiful, Sam!" But Sam only nestled more closely to her, with his hand still outstretched. He was rather heavy and his weight was not altogether com- fortable. "Look!" he said again in a low voice. "I am looking." "Is f t a bar?" "What? Where? Bear?" "There!" Sam's finger still pointed toward the mountain — or under it to a clump of small spruce trees. With a sudden fear Jane seized the gun at her side. She, too, had caught sight of some- thing dark behind those spiky Christmas trees. "Let ;i go," said the boy. His frightened voice startled Jane. "All right. Let 's pick up our things and go — quick." Sam promptly upset one of the berry pails, scraping back more grass and dead leaves than berries. Off they started hurriedly. Jane looked back every now and then, fearing [ 127 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze what she might see. As she gained the edge of the trees and looked back, she saw something dark standing among those young spruces. It immediately dropped to earth again, but in that hurried, startled glance it looked like the figure of a man. "Sam," she said when she could get her breath, "take these pails and carry them carefully. Don't fall into any more ravines. And I '11 carry my gun so that I can shoot if I see — er — a bear." Sam stolidly carried the pails, walking care- fully with simian skill along the tree trunks when they came to the old covered ravine. Jane was no less careful, for she had no desire to visit the lair of any wild animal. But she did some busy thinking. If a man, who could he be? Surely not a forester or any man who had a right to be in the forest. An outlaw? But it must have been a bear. They look like men when standing up- right, especially with a screen of young spruce trees between. Yet a bear would have been among the berry bushes, not spying on her from the shelter of the young spruces. And down in [128] The Berry Patch her heart she was sure that the creature had two feet and two hands, not four feet. "Yer back early," said the Widdy as the two came up to her cabin door. "Berries were plentiful and it did n't take long. It was beautiful. A glorious snow peak was in view. We had some adventures, too. Sam fell into an old ravine covered by fallen trees, and we saw a bear." "Nope," said Sam firmly, "a man." "A man?" shrilled the Widdy. "Yep." "One of them forest men?" She looked at Jane suspiciously. "No, indeed. I don't know whether it was a bear or a man. It was something watching us from behind some young spruce saplings. We did n't wait to see. I got my gun and gave Sam the pails and we came back." Her rather frightened voice betrayed her. "I knowed it," said the Widdy ominously. "I knowed it." Jane remembered the fallen horseshoe. "But nothing did happen, you see," she said regaining her quiet tone. "Nothing at all." [ 129 ] CHAPTER VIII DOUGHNUTS IT was only two days later that Burnham, rid- ing his horse to his cabin one evening, saw smoke pouring from the chimney. A light from the open door brightened the gathering dimness of the forest. A figure, black against the lamplight within, appeared at the door. "Hello, Jack." "Hello. Thought you were making trails up at the peak." "I came down yesterday evening. The men are still up there." Burnham dismounted and led his horse to the old shelter of poles and fir branches, stumbling over the new logs for the barn. There had long been a need for a barn there. As he came into the house, fragrant with coffee and bacon, as usual, he found Goss cook- ing. The table was still hanging against the [ 130] Doughnuts wall with no dishes yet on it. Burnham pulled it out and tossed a few dishes upon it. Then Goss broke the silence. "By the way, I had to interrupt your work on the barn. I found the bridge needed attention, so I ordered the men down there. We have all we can do before winter is upon us." "There 's no special hurry about the barn. They can do that any day." "I sent them down several days ago. They ought to be back by to-morrow." Supper over, there was the usual long silence between them until the curling blue smoke of their pipes had tinted the atmosphere. Then Goss spoke. "Supplies are about out. Breakfast will clean up everything." "Everything?" "Yes; bacon, ham, potatoes, coffee, sugar and bread. I thought there was plenty when I left here." "Grub thieves?" "Looks so — unless the carpenters have helped themselves. I did n't care to question them." "Who could it be?" [131] When the Forests Are Ablaze "I don't know, I 'm sure. But everything is gone." Burnham thought over the situation a few moments. "I '11 go down to the Widdy's to-morrow and see what she can spare. We bring her supplies up to her often enough." It was nearly five o'clock the next afternoon when Jane, putting the last touches to her new cabin, saw Burnham come up the trail to the house. He stopped to pass the time of day and mention his errand. "I am going to beg some supplies of the Widdy," he said in a pause in the talk. "It looks as though we had grub thieves up the trail. When Goss came back yesterday, nearly every- thing was gone." Both glanced toward the closed door of the Widdy's cabin. "Oh, I almost forgot," exclaimed Jane. "She went into Illahee this morning with Sam. But I can let you have supplies, and I should be very glad," she added, with more color in her face, "if you would take dinner with me. Besides, I should like to ask you about something." [ 132 ] Doughnuts "I shall accept with pleasure," was the prompt answer. It was too late to get back in time for Goss's supper and the Swedes had returned to their barn building so he could borrow a few sup- plies of them. It had been a matter of principle with Jane Myers that every woman should be a good cook, and though her last eight years had been spent in teaching and boarding where kitchen oppor- tunities were scant, she had nevertheless made it a point not to forget the early lessons in cooking. Her mother had been a famous cook. That particular day, too, as it happened, Jane had been possessed of a sense of sudden forlornness when she saw Dempsey step down the trail with Mrs. Patton on his back while Sam trotted alongside. Dempsey knew well how to carry the two, but Sam preferred to walk for a while. The light seemed to go out for a moment when the bright red head vanished among the bushes. So Jane, haunted with the sense of an empty world, had spent the day putting finishing touches to her cabin, baking bread and ginger cakes, and planning an elaborate dinner for one. E 133] When the Forests Are Ablaze But it was to be a dinner for two, as it turned out, and Burnham was glad enough to sit down to the table with its white cloth, china which was neither ironstone, nor tin, and a dinner of some- thing beside bacon and eggs and potatoes. Hot rolls just out of the oven, jam, creamed eggs such as neither he nor the forest ranger could cook, asparagus tips, scalloped tomatoes, and more than that, a pleasant-faced girl with brown hair and violet eyes to pour out his coffee and talk to him. He blessed Bert Fairfax for his letter of introduction. Such good comradeship in so short a time would otherwise have been impos- sible, as he well knew, despite the exigencies of forest life. Time flew quickly enough as they dropped down into comfortable chairs before the open fireplace. He stretched himself in the big rocker which had tripped up Goss. A sudden memory of it made him laugh. He sat up and looked down at the rug under his feet. The very one which had hit the forester in the face! The joke was too good a one to keep. Jane's inquiring face brought out the whole story, and [134] Doughnuts a good laugh they had over the freight yard in that other cabin, five miles up the trail. "And your friend?" she asked. She won- dered a little that she had not seen him. "Did n't you see him when he was down?" "No." "That's strange. He was down for dinner three days ago at the Widdy's — why, he 's been down here twice since you 've been here." "I have n't seen him." "You will. Goss is a splendid fellow, but I don't know just how sociable he is to women." "Why is he out here?" "He loves the forests — and — and — Why are you out here?" He could n't resist the temptation, and she had given him too good a chance to ask that question. "I have taught school for eight years and I was dead tired of it. A friend of mine took up a homestead in Colorado and she seemed to find it such fun, it influenced me. But I wanted the forests." "The timber is worth more of course — if you sell it." [135] When the Forests Are Ablaze "It was not only that, but the open plains do not attract me. I care more for the forest." "It is much more dangerous." "Really?" "Yes, in many ways." "But there would be no real danger here for me!" "I hope not." He answered in a rather non- committal tone. "What did Fairfax say about your coming?" "He disapproved of it. Said it was no place for a woman, but that was because Sue was so shocked at the idea. Sue is n't the pioneer type, and Bert Fairfax is n't either. They thought I ought to stay in the city and teach until — " She hesitated with a little embarrassment. She had not intended to say so much. "Until you get married? I hope you are not a man hater." "No, indeed. But I think every woman has a right to plan her life as makes it happiest for herself." "And you mean to say that you are happier out here, alone in the forest and in the midst of real danger, than with your friends in a city?" [136] Doughnuts "I was so tired of the routine of teaching. Besides, I only have to stay here five years, or if I wanted to I could commute in less time than that, couldn't I?" "You can commute, but I don't know how easy it would be to prove up on your claim if you abandon it the moment you get it. Several patents have been recalled on that score lately. It used to be possible, but the government is growing more rigid in its definition of home- steading." "I could commute and stay here a year or two more, and then come here summers?" "Perhaps. Yes, I guess so. But even then that 's two or three years out here in the forests." He caught sight of her mandolin. "Sing something for me," he asked. Jane glanced at the clock. "May I ask you something first? You men- tioned danger and that reminded me of what I spoke of when you first came." She plunged into the matter head foremost and told him of the man in the berry patch. Burnham's face grew serious. "You are sure it was a man?" C 137] When the Forests Are Ablaze "I was not so sure at the time. But Sam was positive, and the more I think of his appearance as I saw him just as we reached the edge of the clearing, the more certain I am it was a man. And then yesterday!" "What?" "Yesterday I went behind the cabin, just a little ways, following the creek up — " "Alone?" "Yes, but I had my revolver with me." "Can you shoot?" "Bert Fairfax made me learn last summer. I learned to shoot a little. But if I were frightened I am not sure that I could hit any- thing." "I did n't mean to interrupt you. What did you see?" "Nothing. That was just it. I heard a slight sound — or thought I did — and I turned in that direction just in time to see the bushes sway. I stopped short — and then I started over there — and then I stopped again. I thought when I stopped it might be a bear, or a cougar, or some animal, and then I heard that little sound again." [138] Doughnuts "You didn't see anything?" "Nothing but the swaying of the bushes." Burnham's face was grave. Should he tell her or not? What business did a woman have to come into such a place, anyway? Why should a good-looking teacher want to home- stead in the wilderness? "There 's a love affair back of it somewhere," was his decision. For the moment he was inclined to tell himself that it was none of his business. She had been warned that there was danger. Fairfax had warned her, and he had. If he told his suspi- cions, she would be afraid to leave her cabin. If he did not, she might meet with some danger any minute. The Widdy was brave enough for herself, but the Widdy had had a hard life of it and gave little thought to generous actions for others. Even if she were more friendly, what good would she be if she were in Illahee, or even in her own cabin with that roaring creek between? No sound could reach her over the rush and thunder of those waters. And if the tree-bridge were ever removed, neither woman could possibly cross the stream. Then his sense of chivalry made him accept the responsibility. t 139] When the Forests Are Ablaze He turned to find her studying his face. "I know what you are thinking," she said. "You are wondering why I ever came here. Yet it 's about as safe here, I fancy, as a city street — in any city. But if there is any danger, I want to know it. A hidden danger — the hor- ror of something unknown — that is harder to face than any actual, acknowledged danger. What is it?" "I think it must be the squatter." "The tree-stump house man?" "Yes. Did I tell you he was supposed to be a criminal of some sort in hiding — nobody knows what. He left here about two years ago and no one has seen him since. But he may have come back." "But he 's miles away." "You mean the stump house is. He 's likely to be anywhere. I fancy that 's where our grub has gone." "What shall I do?" "Never go out of your cabin without your re- volver or gun — and keep your revolver handy inside here, too. Practice shooting, every day, at long range. Never let your supply of am- [ 140] Doughnuts munition or food get low. Are you well locked up here, when you are out, and at night?" "Yes." Burnham got up and examined the fastenings of the windows and door. "They look strong. Moreover, get a good dog. You must have one. I am surprised that Fairfax did not see to that. And above all, Miss Myers, remember that here in this im- mense forest, we are all comrades. Never hesi- tate, from any sense of false delicacy, to ask any- thing of Goss or myself, or the Widdy either, no matter what it is, nor at what time. Will you promise that?" "I should be putting too much responsi- bility upon both of you. And, besides, I have never met him — never even seen him, although you say he has been down here twice since I came." "What difference does that make? He is a gentleman — out here in the forest to protect it because he loves it. Are n't you of as much value as a forest tree? I suppose he was in a rush when he was down here and ate his dinner and rode off." [141] When the Forests Are Ablaze "If you put it in that way — " "I do put it in that way, most emphatically. Another thing is that we must ask you to follow our directions." Jane hesitated. It was rather a broad re- quest. "We can't help you, you know, if you go off on a tangent just at a critical moment. And a man can never foresee just what a woman is go- ing to do." "I '11 promise this. I '11 follow your instruc- tions when they seem at all reasonable." That was all the answer he could get. Burnham glanced at his watch. It was later than he supposed — nine o'clock — and he had five miles to go. He glanced around again, gauging the safety of the cabin, nodded his head in approval, and started out for Bob. In a few moments he was back. "Another thing, Miss Myers," he said to the girl standing in the doorway as he fastened the various food supplies to the saddle, with an especial pat on the sugar and coffee, "grub up the bushes around your cabin so that you have a clear view of things. It might not be a bad [ 142 3 Doughnuts idea to get out the stumps as soon as you can have it done." "Thank you, very much. I feel perfectly safe since I know I can at least talk things over with you. Good night." "Good-night," he called back and half turned in his saddle, as Bob started down the trail, for a last view of the tall figure silhouetted against the light. As he passed into the blackness of the night, she turned and closed the door, giving first one shivery glance in the direction of the black, unlighted cabin across the creek. It was nearly midnight when Burnham at last reached the cabin and his cheerful yodel aroused Goss, asleep before the fire. "You're a slow one. What's happened? Did you bring the grub?" "You bet. I did n't get over to the Widdy's until late." "Have a good dinner?" Goss had had a very slim one. "Yes." Burnham brought in the supplies as he spoke. Goss looked them over. "Bacon, eggs, coffee, bread, sugar, potatoes — what's this?" [143] When the Forests Are Ablaze "Doughnuts. She had just baked 'em. In- sisted that I should take them." "Of course." There was silence for a mo- ment as Goss opened the bag of doughnuts. "H'm-m-m-m! Doughnuts! Where are the holes?" Burnham turned around guiltily as Goss pulled out of a small sack a dozen small, fresh ginger cakes. "I — I — er — ate the holes," he answered brazenly. "Did the Widdy have company?" He could hardly imagine it, and though the figure of Jane Myers, gaunt, lanky, awkward and hard- handed, rose before his mind's eye, he immedi- ately banished the picture. She would hardly interest him. "No," answered Burnham. "I suppose Jane is as tall and raw-boned as ever? I have missed seeing her when I was there." "Jane is as tall as ever," answered Burnham cheerfully. "By the way, I have reason to think that the squatter is back in this section. I think that might identify our grub thief." [ 144] Doughnuts "Ole told me this afternoon that last week he saw a suspicious-looking man skulking around, just at dusk. Not one of them thought to watch him! But the description, such as I could get, seemed to fit." Burnham looked serious. Then Jane was right. She had seen a man in the berry patch and it must have been the squatter. It was probably the squatter who had made the bushes sway. But there was nothing to be done. He had warned her of danger, and Fairfax had done so, and she would have to look out for her- self. Fifteen minutes later the heavy breathing of the two men from the bunks at the end of the cabin gave clear evidence that both Jane and the squatter were beyond the memory of either. [145] CHAPTER IX THE DOUGLAS FIR THE bridge was mended, the barn was fin- ished and the carpenters were homeward bound. Supplies for Burnham and for the two homesteaders were coming out on the morrow on horses and the men would return on their backs. But the recollection of the Widdy's cooking prompted them to walk the five miles to the cabin and take the horses from there. Goss and Burnham were coming down as well, so the carpenters notified Mrs. Patton. And the Widdy was putting in a busy afternoon cooking. The money thus unexpectedly earned in the depths of the wilderness was of impor- tance to her. Burnham reached the cabins first and crossed the bridge to the Widdy's. "Ole told you we were coming, did he? All right." Still he hesitated on the doorstep. Finally he turned back. [146] The Douglas Fir "Did you know that the squatter was back?" "What squatter?" "The man who used to live in the tree stump down the trail. He is supposed to be in hiding from the law — nobody knows. But it 's well to keep your food locked up, and your revolver loaded, and not to leave your door unlocked. If you should get frightened, Goss or I — " "If ye 're not a hundred miles from here!" "Of course. But we want to protect you and Miss Myers — any woman homesteader. By the way," and now Burnham was getting around to his point, "Miss Myers has never met Goss. I 'd like it if you 'd invite her over to supper with us this evening." "Huh!" The Widdy could put an immense emphasis into a single word when she chose, but even more into a glance from her keen, shrewd eyes. "No, I '11 not invite her. She 'd better to stay whar she is. Huh!" Burnham regained his dignity. "This is a matter of importance. You may do as you please. I will see that she meets the forest ranger of this district. It h necessary so long as that squatter 's around." [147] When the Forests Are Ablaze Silence was the Widdy's answer, and Burn- ham walked off across the bridge. But Fate had another sort of introduction in store for Jane. Goss rode slowly up the trail and stopped long enough to take in with experienced eye the new cabin and its surroundings. He tied Dick to the nearest tree and strode down the trail a hundred feet to where the carpenters had camped. His colloquy with Ole Hansen was brief and apparently unsatisfactory. As he came up the trail again, Burnham crossed the bridge. Goss joined him. "Jack, what does that mean?" he demanded. "I thought you were looking after this cabin business for her?" "I was — I am — I know it." Burnham knew exactly what Goss's accusing forefinger meant. It pointed to the tall Douglas fir, six feet in diameter, a hundred and fifty feet high, tower- ing into the blue sky. "Are you crazy — or is she?" "I urged having it cut — said everything I could. She would n't listen. Wants it for a flag pole." [148] The Douglas Fir "It must come down." "Well, you see her then. Perhaps she will listen to you." "Interview Jane!" Burnham's eyes twinkled at the tone. Evidently his companion had not yet seen her. "I will — for that tree is to come down." Goss walked straight from the bridge to the door of the cabin. Jane, in her short skirt, was starting a fire in the cook stove. Goss tapped at the door. "You are Miss Myers?" "I am." Standing in the back of the cabin, with stove lid in hand, Jane saw merely a square- shouldered man at her door. She presumed it was Goss. But she had no wish to meet him and stayed where she was. "Miss Myers, this tree will have to come down." "What tree?" "This fir near your cabin." "May I ask why?" "I don't consider it safe." "You are Mr. Goss?" "I am." C 149] When the Forests Are Ablaze "May I ask if your authority extends to cut- ting down any trees you may wish?" "In the forest I cut down any trees I consider dangerous." "But this is my homestead." "I am sorry. The tree will have to come down." "Impossible." Jane's voice was firm enough. "I will not allow it to be cut down. It must remain where it is." "Why?" "Because it's beautiful — and it would be a protection in a storm." "A deadly danger in a storm." "It looks sound." "It is sound. But it would blow over. You understand that all coniferous trees are very shallow rooted. This tree is peculiarly exposed because its immediate fellows are down. A high wind is likely to send that crashing into your cabin any day." Jane had been gradually walking nearer the door, stove lid still in hand, while the fire in the cook stove flickered and blazed. Absent-mind- edly she set the lid down on the floor near the [150] The Douglas Fir door and stepped out to look at the tree in dis- pute. "There are dangers everywhere," she said with great dignity, still looking at the tree. Then, with a sudden flash of humor, she added, "That tree is no more likely to fall down on my cabin than a cougar is to rip off my roof and drop in on me when I 'm not expecting any one to call." "Well, that might happen, too." Goss turned to Burnham. "Jack, send those carpenters over here and tell them to cut this tree down." Jane blazed. "You are impertinent, sir. This is my homestead and my cabin and my tree, and I will not have that tree cut down!" She turned toward him for the first time. Goss squared his shoulders and walked over to where the angry girl stood. Drawing himself to his full height, he looked down into her face. It was actually the first time either of them had really looked at the other, and in each mind there was a distinct sense of surprise. "Goss is a king among men," Burnham had said, and Jane was suddenly conscious of his height, the [151] When the Forests Are Ablaze breadth of his shoulders, the flush of health un- der the tan of the bronze face, but above all of a very commanding personality and a pair of keen gray eyes. Her own faltered under his steady gaze. He seemed to be looking right through her, searching her thoughts, and she suddenly felt like a three-year-old child. He, on his part, was suddenly aware of a trim figure, looking very slender and childish in the short skirt, a rather plain but pleasant face, crowned with wavy brown hair, and a pair of violet eyes where brown ones ought to be. "I '11 thrash Burnham," was his mental reso- lution, though it seemed to have no bearing whatever upon the tree question. Then he spoke, very kindly, but very firmly: "Miss Myers, I am sorry. I understand your feeling for I love trees myself, but it must come down. It is too dangerous — far too danger- ous." It was the voice of authority, and there was no gainsaying him. The carpenters had come with their axes and saws, followed by Burnham who had taken in the whole situation. Jane turned and went into her cabin. Burnham, [152] The Douglas Fir with the freedom of an old friend, followed her. He did not mean to startle her, but he would have sworn when she turned suddenly at his step that she wiped her eyes. "Miss Myers, Mrs. Patton wants you to take dinner with us over there to-night." "I am sorry, but I cannot." "Miss Myers," he came over to her by the cook stove, "please do. Goss will be a good friend to you, even if he does seem unreasonable now. And he is really right about the tree. Besides, you can't refuse the Widdy without of- fending her, can you? And she is a pretty close neighbor, you know, in a place where neighbors are few." "\ s, that is true." "Then I will tell her you will come." "Yes, I '11 come." "I '11 come over for you." He stepped outside the cabin again. Goss had given directions as to where the tree was to fall and the chips were flying as the men plied their axes. "Hold up, Ole." Burnham, in a spirit of mischief, picked up Jane's camera which lay just [153] When the Forests Are Ablaze inside the door. "I want a snap shot." The men stopped and faced him for a moment; then as he turned the roll, the chips began to fly again. Burnham quietly set the camera in a safe place outside the door and sauntered over the bridge. "I invited Miss Myers to take dinner with us to-night — I will pay for it, of course, — and you will need to put another place on for her," he added as his eye scanned the table. "Mr. Goss also wants her here for dinner," and having thus diplomatically arranged things to suit himself, he sauntered over to Jane's cabin again. "Poor girl," he meditated, as he watched the men drop their axes and pick up the long saw, "I '11 bet she 's madder than hops. Th( first scrap on earth between the first man and woman was over an apple tree. Suppose it had been a Douglas fir!" When the saw became bound, wedges were slipped in to release it, and then back and for- ward it wove its way through the heart of the tree until, at a signal from Goss, they sprang back and with a crash which echoed through the [154] The Douglas Fir forest the Douglas fir stretched its long length on the ground beside the trail. The clang of a tin pan came across the ripple of the water. Dinner — or supper, as they called it, — was ready. Burnham approached Goss. "Miss Myers will take dinner with us to-night," he said. "The Widdy has invited her." The air was soft and warm, and a bright light shone cheerfully from the cabin across the way, but Goss unconsciously pulled up his coat col- lar. Why in the world, of all nights, should the Widdy have invited Miss Myers to take din- ner with her on this particular one? She would be angry, of course, at the fall of the tree. Goss rather dreaded that dinner table. It was full ten o'clock that night before Goss and Burnham crept under their blankets, out in the open air, with a camp fire at their feet. Since they had left the cabin Goss was no more silent than usual, but he was silent "in a different tone of voice," as Burnham would have expressed it. Eerie shadows flickered in the dancing light [155] When the Forests Are Ablaze of the camp fire. Both lay watching the dan- cing gleams, making the ghostly trees advance or retreat as a sudden blaze lighted up the som- ber trunks and the dark canopy so far over- head. "What's the joke?" asked Goss, raising him- self on his elbow as he heard for the tenth time Burnham's familiar chuckle. Burnham chuc- kled again. "Did any man ever predict accurately what a woman 's going to do?" "No; and never will." With mutual impulse both men broke into a peal of laughter. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to lord it over a helpless girl like that," said Burnham finally. "Ashamed! Ashamed! You use that word to me, you imp, after deceiving me so about her." "Never, never!" declared Burnham. "You just made up your mind from the start what she looked like — because her name was Jane — and I let you fool yourself." "Jack, if you ever play such a game on me again — " [156] The Douglas Fir "I am innocent. It was all your own fault." He laughed as he remembered Goss's face dur- ing that evening. "It was high-handed, I admit, and I admired her spunk — but that tree had to come down." Again there was silence. One moment the forest was black, the next, the trees, vague, huge, dreadful, reflected the gleam of the fire. Around them was the ripple of the water and the strange night noises of the forest. Burnham heard Goss chuckle. "What is it?" he asked in his turn. "Jack, I understood perfectly to-night why you ate the holes in those doughnuts." Again a peal of laughter startled the swaying shadows. "Well, now—" "I learned the full extent of your perfidy when I offered to pay the Widdy for the borrowed grub. I '11 thrash you well, next time." There was a moment's silence. "She 's game, all right," said Jack. "She is," answered Goss briefly. For Goss had been even more surprised than [157] When the Forests Are Ablaze Burnham over Jane's method of taking his high- handedness. He had been in the right and he knew it. Manlike, he respected her for yield- ing the point, "especially when she could n't help herself," he added. His logic, in true man-fashion, was not very clear when applied to women. He did not understand that she, womanlike, recognizing that he was in the right, respected him the more for his firmness. He probably never would know that his real con- quest had come, not through his firmness or his determination, but through the kindness of the steady gray eyes. Had he won his point through harshness, she would have hated him. But a really strong man never needs to use harsh methods — with women, or men either. So it was a surprise that Jane had come into supper that evening, not in her short khaki skirt, but in a long, graceful gown of some sort — he could n't remember what it was, only there was a touch of violet on it which just matched her eyes. And she had brought her mandolin with her, and had sung some old Scotch songs to them, and they had all sung together some old college songs. And Goss, as he watched her, [158] The Douglas Fir had had an odd sense of surprise every time he saw those violet eyes — and above all a sense of amazement that such a girl as this could be named Jane. So in the quiet of the forest they dropped asleep, Burnham to dream of falling stars with violet eyes that turned into Douglas firs which the carpenters persisted in hacking. Once a far- off crash in the forest aroused him enough to replenish the camp fire. But Goss slept the un- broken, dreamless sleep of the just. [159] CHAPTER X IMPROVEMENTS IT any one had ever told Jane Myers that she A would join the ranks of people who con- stantly talk out loud to themselves, she would, in those days so long past, have hooted at the idea. It was with something of a shock that she found herself continually arguing with that Other Self, counseling with it, talking to it, after a month in her homestead, as though that Other Self were something quite distinct from her own self. Somewhere, back in civilization, she had heard that it was a sign of incipient in- sanity. But after thinking it over, she decided that the practice was really a sociable one, and that if she were only that much insane no one would find it out. "But if the Widdy catches me doing it, she '11 have a 'hunch,' or take it as a sign, or something," she told herself and her mental vision saw the Widdy's hand go for the salt box, the sure preventative against all evil. [160] Such streams as these vanish when the forests burn Improvements It was a glorious morning in early October, with the sun streaming down upon the creek which swirled and rippled along in quite a friendly fashion. The water was low, the Widdy had told her. Also that there were plenty of fish in the pond above. Jane had in- cluded a fish rod among her forest belongings. But that morning, as she dipped a bucket of water from the creek, she decided to put on her gymnasium suit and begin grubbing up the bushes around the cabin. "A skirt is out of the question for that sort of work," she told herself impatiently. Improvements were required by law as well as safety, and Jane felt she might as well begin. It was too glorious to stay in- doors. She felt, as she came out of the door with her hatchet in her hand, that she was in the heart of romance. She could hear in the quiet the voice of the falls, some five or six hundred feet be- low, and the rush of the rapids above. Be- ginning at her very door was the long trail of the cathedral forest, and the morning air was fragrant with the faint forest spiciness. All around her was the immensity, the vastness, of [161] When the Forests Are Ablaze unexplored space, the mystery of the "hills of silence." There was a broad, shimmering light on the water of the creek now, revealing its rest- lessness and activity, calling her attention to it again and again from the mystery of the forest, but it was a very different place at night. With the glimmer of moonlight upon the white foam, with the broad patches of frosty white contrast- ing with the pitch blackness of the shadows, it was a spot where Oberon and Queen Mab might play, and where Puck surely came. Perhaps if she cleared the path to the creek she could see them. "I wonder what all these things are, anyway," Jane looked about her as she spoke at the serv- ice berry bushes, salal, Oregon grape, sword fern, wild syringa, the great fern brakes almost as tall as she, the troublesome devil's club, and the nameless growth of the deep entangled forest. The trail to the water had broken down the frailer ones but the others remained as sturdy as ever. A great tree had once fallen across what was now that path, though the car- penters had cut it in two and pulled the lighter end away. But all around lay the decaying [162] Improvements trunks of fallen trees, some apparently still sound, with sharp, spiney ends which caught in her clothing whenever she passed. "It will take me five years to clear half an acre of this," she argued as she looked about her for a good place to begin. "But I am going to get some trails through." Salal bushes went down under the vigorous strokes of the hatchet, and so did the clusters of Oregon grape. The crimson leaves she laid to one side for cabin decoration. Foot by foot in the cool October air the girl toiled, with the singing of the creek always in her ears. "But it is positively wicked to cut down a bush like that," Jane insisted, as she came to the ever- green huckleberry whose dainty, glossy leaves had turned to a red bronze in the autumn nights. "Positively wicked." The shrub stood four feet high, its reddish leaves gleaming in the sunlight. "I shall regard the presence of that huckle- berry bush as an improvement." Jane glanced over at the line of smoke rising from the Widdy's cabin. "I wish she were more sociable. Wish she were a girl and would come out and play with me." The slight figure [163] When the Forests Are Ablaze of the Widdy passing and repassing her cabin door was the only answer. "Wish the stream were not between us; then we could call back and forth to each other. But we can't do that over the music of the water." She grubbed for an hour more, then decided a change of work would be a rest. "Jane, our next endeavor will be to cut some kindling wood. We have a good deal to cut before winter sets in." She glanced at the pile of odds and ends thrown together by the carpen- ters on top of some cord wood which they had split. "You have to provide three-foot wood for your fireplace and smaller bits for the cook stove." When Burnham had suggested that a man should come out and cut her winter's supply of wood, Jane had demurred. "I am sure I can do it," she had insisted with all the certainty of a tenderfoot. "I want the exercise, you know." Burnham's face had at first been blank, then amused. "Do it at once, then," he had said with decision, — "do it at once." And afterwards added. "Let me know when you want a man." At noon Jane went in to cook her luncheon. [164] Improvements The fireless cooker had proved to be a joke. She had bought it thinking it would be a con- venient way of doing her cooking when she wanted to be out of doors all day, in the sun- shine. But the sight of it soon palled upon her. There was nothing homelike, nothing sympa- thetic, about it. No chance to stir the fire, no fragrance of burning wood, no gleam of a blaze through the lid, no watching the steaming pot while wondering if the vegetables were almost done, no dripping the gravy over a roast, none of the familiar fragrance of the cooking dinner. It was like taking her dinner out of a blank- looking tool chest. So the fireless cooker, ignored and humiliated, stood at one side of the cabin, covered with a piece of green burlap, and used as a window seat. It was an ignominious end to a praise- worthy invention. After luncheon Jane began at the wood pile. The way to do a thing, she always argued, was simply to do it. So now the way to develop muscle sufficient to cut down a tree was to be- gin on the wood pile. The ax was sharp and of ordinary weight. [165] When the Forests Are Ablaze Any one could cut wood with that. Such work was mere play and muscle was to be developed by the pound. After an hour's play with the ax, Jane de- cided it must be almost dinner time, even though the sun was so high in the heavens. But the wood pile! How strange! If there had been any one near her, Jane would have felt certain that they had played a joke on her by carrying off her wood as she cut it. To have worked the entire afternoon with only those few pieces of wood to show for it! Still, you never could tell. Wood was so deceptive because it always lay crosswise, piled up helter-skelter, piece tilted over piece like a pile of overturned jackstraws. Perhaps it would be better to pile the wood and then cut more. Change of work was recrea- tion. It took a surprisingly short time to pile that wood neatly in the corner at the side of the big fireplace. She had wanted to have the wood pile entirely out of doors but Burnham had warned her that sometimes the snows were deep. He had not the courage to tell her, so soon, how deep they sometimes were. So in the square set [166] Improvements aside for the wood pile, she laid her newly cut wood. But there was so little of it! She glanced at the clock. Just a little after three ! And her hands ! She had put on gloves for chopping but found it was a little dangerous because she could not control the ax. She had forgotten to put them on to carry in the wood and now her hands were full of splinters. She would get accustomed to it, of course. These things all came by practice. She set aside the ax and picked up a small hatchet with which to cut some of the small dry branches which covered the ground. The new wood was too green to burn well. The rest of the after- noon she hacked at dry branches. Next morning Jane slept late. Even when she did awaken, she felt a strange reluctance to getting up. She decided when dressing that it would be better to omit wood chopping that day. There was a slight attempt at trail clearing, but by noon she had given it up. That afternoon, warm in the sunlight, she sat by the side of the creek, reading a novel. It was just before her evening dinner that she heard far down the trail, Burnham's yodel, [167] When the Forests Are Ablaze "He-e-e-e-igh ho-o-o-o!" With a quick jump, she revived the kitchen fire. An additional log went into the embers of the fireplace. Lack of hospitality in the woods was not easily forgiven. She felt sure he would get his supper at the Widdy's but she would give him a welcome. Burnham sprang off his horse with a cordial greeting. "How are things going? All right?" "Yes, indeed. I did some clearing yesterday — see how much I did! And then I chopped some wood — all that in the corner. I had lots of fun!" "But the fun was all yesterday/" His jolly laugh rang out cheerily. "Ye-es. But I am learning how." "I am going back to Illahee Monday. Shall I send out a man?" "Perhaps — you might. It is so near winter — yes, I think it would be better. Of course, if I had come earlier or had begun earlier, I could do it all myself." "Of course," he assented gravely. "See what I Ve brought you," he added, motioning toward a Boston terrier which had [168] Improvements been sniffing around Jane. "Salt will be good company for you, I think." He avoided any further mention of danger. "Sake* "His master called him that because he looked so much like pepper. Can you whistle?" A whistle, clear but somewhat uncertain, was his answer. "You can learn that, too; and it won't stiffen you up like chopping wood. I must go over to the Widdy's. I '11 leave Bob here if you will let me. He does n't like that stream any too well. I hope she '11 have some doughnuts," he added with a twinkle in his eye. Jane turned her attention to the new dog. An hour later Jack Burnham mounted Bob again, after a moment's chat in the dusk. "I think you can expect a man Tuesday," was his last word. "The Widdy wants some wood cut, too." But there were days and days that glorious October when Jane with her hatchet hacked and chopped at the bushes and grubbed for the en- tangling vines which sprang from nowhere, and picked up chips for her fires, or stacked [169] When the Forests Are Ablaze together the dead branches of trees, and chopped off the projecting ends of fallen trees until she had cleared a patch, broad though bumpy, be- tween the cabin and the creek. The man whom Burnham sent out had made cord wood of the old tree which had lain across that trail. Then she turned her attention to a trail from the cabin up the creek toward the pond, which was really a momentary broadening out of the mountain stream, and which lay just beyond the boundaries of her claim. She was well over her stiffness now, and the open-air exercise had not only developed some of the longed-for "muscle" but had brought a glow of color into her face which had been unknown to Jane the school teacher. The dead branches of the fallen trees, brittle and dry, gave her a good fire, and would serve well until the greener wood, recently cut, could dry somewhat. But it could not all be used and in a perfectly safe place, near the edge of the creek, she used to burn her brush in the most approved way. Goss had happened along one day when she had started such a blaze and in friendly fashion he had given her the nec- essary warning as well as instruction regard- [ 170] Improvements ing its management. He was friendly, in his quiet way, but he did not join her in the easy fashion which made Burnham such good com- pany. The presence of the dog, too, made a differ- ence. He was always at her heels wherever she went, and grew to be an actual companion. And with the sense of responsibility for him — even to pulling out porcupine quills, as she had to one day, — the sense of blank loneliness had disappeared. A womanly woman has to have something for which she feels responsible else existence becomes gray. And Salt was a jolly companion. He chased the squirrels and when they barked at him, outraged and defiant, from the rough red bark of the firs, just above his wildest jump, he barked back until the forest echoed to the quarrel. Hacking away one day at the brush on the trail to the lake, Salt, sitting on his haunches beside her gave a deep growl. Jane glanced up. There was nothing to be seen but Salt rose, growled more deeply, and showed his teeth. Man or animal, something was near. Jane slipped the leash around the dog's collar and [171] When the Forests Are Ablaze rose to her full height. There was nothing to be seen in the silent morning, — only the sunshine playing on the red, seamy bark of the firs, and the ferns swaying slightly in the never-resting breeze. But the slight breeze, she realized with a start, did not account for the sudden swaying of bushes some fifty feet away. Tense, Jane watched them closely. Again a sudden swaying as though some heavy body had moved through them, or settled down among them. Salt growled again. Was it a bear? They were more likely to be in the huckleberry patches. A cougar? Or — or — a sudden picture came to her mind of the figure watching her from the spruce trees in the old burn. Could it be the squatter? Salt began to bark. Jane felt for her revolver. "If it 's that man, I am going to find out what he wants. I won't be watched in this way. Come, Salt." They advanced slowly some twenty feet to- ward the clump of ferns and bushes. The agitated waving of the green brush was never occasioned by any breeze. Salt was barking loudly and Jane's finger was on the trigger. A [ 172] Improvements still more violent shaking of the bushes and a tattered figure rose before her. "Who are you and what do you want?" de- manded Jane, feeling her knees shaking and con- scious of a vague wonder in the back of her mind as to whether she would dare shoot a human be- ing. There was no answer. "What are you doing here? Be quiet, Salt." Still no answer. "Who are you? Do you live in that tree stump down there?" The revolver waved to- ward the south. "Yes." The answer came slowly. "What do you want here?" Jane looked as bravely as she could at the human scarecrow. "I want you to understand," she went on as silence was her only response, "that this is my claim and that you have no business whatever on my homestead. You must keep off of it." She was somewhat emboldened by his ap- parent fear. "That's painters in thet thar ravine," he mumbled. "Yer better watch out." [ 173] When the Forests Are Ablaze "Painters — cougars? In what ravine?" A dirty hand protruding from a tattered sleeve pointed toward the other corner of her claim. "Are there cougars on my claim ?" She was trying to see the squatter's face. Wild eyes, a dense bushy beard in a face browned by the sun, the whole appearance caricatured by the tattered clothing and crownless hat, she could make out nothing except that he was rather a fearsome- looking creature. He was evidently a fugitive. His furtive, watchful air, his neglected appear- ance, all gave evidence to that. But her com- mon sense told her that any man as dirty and neglected and in similar clothes would look about as disreputable. She could n't tell in the least whether he looked like a criminal or not. "Have you seen the cougars?" But the squatter was moving off, with Salt straining at his leash to get at him. Jane watched him go with a sense of relief as he shambled through the underbrush and vanished amidst the trees. A big fir seemed to blot him out. She watched for his further movements, but there were none. "Stopping behind that fir, I guess. He's [174] Improvements horrible looking but I am glad I had the courage to face him. I wish he would go on." She turned back to her cabin and crossed the bridge to the Widdy's. Mrs. Patton was sew- ing on a patchwork quilt. "Do you know anything about the man?" she asked as she finished telling of her encounter. "Has he ever come around here before?" "Not sence I ben here. But he 's no harm. He 's too afeard," was the Widdy's answer. [175] CHAPTER XI "brookside" Letter from Hope Denham to Jane Myers. Dear Jane: I am glad I 'm not up in those dense forests! Goodness! And with a forest fire possible eight months in the year! No, thank you. And it must be awfully lonely in there under all those great trees with the "dim forest gloom" that poets are so fond of talking about. I have been having some experiences here, too. This is the last day of October and this past month has been ages long. There was a girl named Winters who came out here to visit Miss Woods — you remember I told you Miss Woods had the claim about a quarter of a mile from me. They used to teach in the same school. Miss Woods is awfully nice — about thirty, I guess. Well, this Miss Winters came out here because of nervous exhaustion, but, dear me, Jane, if she were to exhaust all her [176] Brookside nerve, she would be so shrunk there would n't be anything left. Jack Strong comes over to see me — you met him, didn't you? — and sometimes he goes to see Miss Woods. It 's attentions without in- tentions, you know, because we neighbors have to be friendly out here on these great plains. Well, anyway, she found out he came here rather often because he 's a special friend of Uncle Mart's, — oh, yes, I have named my claim "Brookside"; isn't that pretty? — and promptly this awful Miss Winters set her cap for him. I'm not jealous — you understand that! Be- cause we 're just good friends, but he is good- looking you know, big and strong and broad- shouldered, and — and dependable, you know. He makes me think of the Virginian, and I guess that 's why I like him so much. So she began to come over here Sunday evenings when she knew he was here — so busy keeping house dur- ing the week. And then one night she an- nounced she could sing. Of course we asked her to, because you have to be polite, even if you are homesteading. Then she wanted me to ac- company her on my mandolin. She plays the [ 177] When the Forests Are Ablaze guitar, and she really does have a good voice and a repertoire of clever pieces, and Jack — that is, Mr. Strong — Uncle Mart always says Jack — liked it very much. That was her cue. She just sang at all times and places. She came over twice a week to "practice" with me — in spite of that heavy housekeeping for two. And one day, when we were all out horseback riding — we four with Uncle Mart went on a picnic to a pretty spot twenty miles away just at the beginning of the foothills, — and, oh, Jane, it was the most glorious day! It had rained a little the nighc before and with the light breeze from the moun- tains, and the freshness of the air, the glorious October sunshine and magnificent blue sky above us, and, those boundless, endless, limit- less plains behind us, — it was just beyond words. And we did have such a good time. But you know Miss Winters is very fond of music — very. Why, she got off her horse in front of a barbed- wire fence and sang all the dots on her veil! I did hear once of a girl who put a peek-a-boo waist in a piano player and the thing ground out a Beethoven sonata. I almost believe this Miss Winters could get Lohengrin out of a pair of [178] ( Brookside J open-work stockings! Well, anyway, we had a perfectly glorious day. This Miss Winters told me once, apropos of her housekeeping that she always kneaded bread with her gloves on. I told her I needed bread with my sweater on, but she did n't see the joke at all — it was n't musical. Well, she 's gone now. Her parting joke was musical. Sampson was purring in front of the fire and she said the cat had begun to boil! I go over real often to see Miss Woods, and so does Jack. He 's sorry for her because of her health — but do you know, I believe it's rather a relief to him that Miss Winters 's gone. It certainly is to me. But of course I was n't jealous. She was just disagreeable. Miss Woods is awfully lonely, and I guess Miss Win- ter's visit did mean a good deal to her. This is her third year on her claim and her courage seems to be going. They say that the last year is sometimes the longest one, but I can't see how that would be. Mine — I mean my first one — was ages long. Uncle Mart had an Irishman helping him a while this last summer, and the Irishman was much interested in a woman's tak- [ 179] When the Forests Are Ablaze ing up a homestead. He said the whole thing was a bet: "Th' Guvermint is willin' to bet ye a hundred an' sixty acres uv land agin fourteen dollars thot ye can't live on it foive year widout starvin' to death." There might be a little truth in that for some people, but not for me. I '11 stick to this place until my five years are up. Then, maybe, I will visit city sights again. I hope Miss Woods won't give up her claim. I 'm going to do everything I can for her — and Uncle Mart does, too. Oh, yes! That Miss Winters's first joke about the cat was that the way to make a Maltese cross was to step on the cat's tail — just because Sampson is part Maltese! I have n't had a letter from you in ages. Do write, because you can't be so busy up there in those dense forests as I am cultivating my ground here, even if you do put on a flannel gym suit once in a while and pull up brush. Why don't you just wear overalls? I should think that would be all right up there, — there are so few men and those just forest rangers. No- body you care anything about. I should think it would be all right to wear overalls. Of [180] ( Brookside y course I would n't want to do that here. Mr. Strong pops in too unexpectedly, but you have n't any Mr. Strong there. Uncle Mart goes over for the mail — five miles away in an- other direction, — so I don't have to worry about that. I love you, Jane. I wish we could homestead together. Your harum-scarum friend, Hope Denham. P. S. I am going to get a cow. I never milked one in my life, but I 've had lots of ex- perience with fountain pens. [181] CHAPTER XII HUNTING NO sound had broken the stillness of the en- tire day. Under a dull sky, after a week of gloom, Jane was beginning to feel isolated. Some days she felt that the forest had with- drawn itself from her. It seemed wrapped in impenetrable mystery. Silence seemed to have settled over the mountain sides, even though there was always the crashing of Thunder Creek as it passed her cabin. She had thought that there was always a murmur in the forest. Sometimes when she dropped down quietly on the trail, or sat on the Douglas fir looking into the maze of green on the forest side, she had be- come conscious of an almost inaudible scurry- ing among the salal and fern brakes, a quiver- ing of the crimson berries of the kinnikinnick, of the soft light patter of soft little feet, and sometimes, but especially at evening, she could hear the faint, lonely cry of the loon. But that [182] Hunting was only when the stream had been lower. It was higher now, through recent rains. She imagined that in the very heart of the forest there might be absolute stillness, though at the edge of Thunder Creek and the tiny clearings around the cabins there had been a light flutter and ripple and rustling, evidence of life and action among the alder saplings and the spruces, for leaves and branches and treetops and tor- rent kept up incessant movement. But under the gray sky everything seemed quieter. She sat mending a three-cornered tear this afternoon of early November, thinking of the old proverb: "Wherever a man dwells, he is sure to have a thorn bush near his door." The thorn bush this winter was going to be the isola- tion. That was clear. The Widdy might be some protection but she certainly was no com- pany. Jane stirred the fire for heat and opened the door for light. She looked up again at the gray, somber sky. Then her eye caught a movement far down the trail. She watched anxiously for a moment until she heard the yodel, already growing familiar. Burnham was the one man [183] When the Forests Are Ablaze who dropped in on his way up and down the trail, but this seemed to be some one else. As he came nearer he waved his hat. A moment later she recognized the ranger. He sprang off his horse and dropped the bridle to the ground. "I know it 's a little late," he said a little apol- ogetically, after greetings had been exchanged, "but I wondered if you would care to go hunt- ing. We are so busy now, cutting trails before the snow flies, that I cannot take a full day off." "Are there calling hours in the forest? Come in." He studied her face a moment as he entered the cabin and seated himself. He wondered if she were angry about the cutting of the Douglas fir. He himself never saw the splendid tree ly- ing on the earth without a sense of regret, and yet a sense of relief. Jane studied him. "Dear me! How shall I talk to him? What shall I say? If I am silent or quiet he will think me angry." Her thoughts flew from one subject to another, as a possible outlet for conversation. She never had any trouble in talking with Burn- ham. Yet her chief fear with this man was lest he should think her inhospitable. She suc- [184] Hunting ceeded in making a few aimless remarks, until he spoke again of hunting. "Yes, indeed. I should enjoy it. Is it far? Is there hunting right around here?" "There are pheasants and deer. I suppose you have discovered there is fishing in the lake above." "The Wid — er — Mrs. Patton — said there was. I went fishing there one day." "Catch anything?" "No-o." "Perhaps you did n't have the right bait." "I did n't stay very long. It was so quiet and so lonely I could n't stand it." "We '11 go fishing with you some day — Burn- ham or I." His fine, strong face had softened at her confession. He picked up her gun and examined it. He noted that it was in good con- dition. "This is all right for large game." "You mean for deer. I never could shoot a deer, — never. I saw a deer's eyes once after it was shot. I 'd rather starve than kill one my- self." "It is almost murderous to kill them merely [185] When the Forests Are Ablaze for sport, or merely for the head and horns. But where one shoots them for food — the only fresh meat we have out here — is it any worse than fishing? Or shooting pheasants?" "But fish never look at you in that human way, or pheasants, either." "Do you want to take my fowling piece and let me take your gun? I started out with the idea of shooting pheasants." The gun question settled, with another log on the fire to keep it until their return, they started off. Goss led the way, stepping surely as though following a trail, though to Jane the forest looked, as it always did, like an impenetrable tangle. There could be but little talk except a few words now and then, as he held back a branch which might strike her in the face, pointed out an unusual clump of sword ferns waving high over some old decayed log, its for- mer trunk a mere shell of rotten wood ready to sink under the lightest step. Jane was a fairly good mountaineer. With flannel waist of gray- blue, high boots which met at the knee her short dark-blue skirt (Bert Fairfax had warned her against ever wearing brown during the hunting [186] Hunting season), and a soft felt hat, she moved lightly over log bridges, or sprang from rock to rock over some small brook with a steady footing which made the walk a pleasure to her com- panion. The ranger, less artistic but none the less practical in his dress, looked like many an- other hunter until he turned and she caught the pleasant lines in his face and the pleasant light in the steady gray eyes. "We might have brought the dog," said Goss suddenly as they paused near the edge of the creek. "He 's lost — I don't know where. I can't find him." Her voice was distressed. "Lost! How?" "I don't know. One day I was digging around a little, cutting at salal bushes, when he began to chase a squirrel. The squirrel ran from one tree to another in the most provoking way, and then I heard Salt far off, barking in the strangest way. I had never heard him bark like that before. And then there was some other sound — I can't tell what it was. It sounded al- most as if — as if — I can't express it. But it frightened me so that I jumped up and ran into [187] When the Forests Are Ablaze the house, though I left the door open after a minute for Salt. But he did n't come. Then I took my gun and went out to the corner of the house and whistled for him the longest while. There was n't a sound and I have n't seen him since." Goss stood looking down upon her gravely. "I am sorry," he said very gently. "It was a real loss for you." "I felt like such a coward. I do yet. If poor Salt was attacked by some wild animal I ought to have gone to his rescue. Don't you think so?" "No, indeed," he answered emphatically. "Indeed I do not. You did the very thing you should have done." "Run into the cabin and shut the door and shake like a leaf? It was cowardly. And I 'm lonely without the dog." The ranger's sympathetic manner had made the girl forget her awe of him. "It is possible," he explained, "that some wild animal attacked Salt; more possible, I think, that Salt attacked the wild animal first and brought [188] Hunting about his own destruction. I 'm sorry he 's gone. A dog is jolly good company. But you did right not to follow him." He had almost forgotten pheasants until his eye caught sight of one, a mass of gray feathers, close up against the trunk of a small spruce tree whose low branches brought the bird well within range. He pointed it out to Jane. She raised her gun and aimed it, but her hands were trembling. Goss stepped backward in order not to distract her. Bang! went the gun. The pheasant flapped its wings and flew into the for- est. "Oh," exclaimed Jane, crimson with mortifi- cation. She realized that she had shut her eyes when she fired. The ranger's face was perfectly grave. "Any one might have missed it," he said quietly. "It was very close to the trunk." "You would n't have missed it." She had no wish to defend herself. "I had a funny experience in the Maine woods one autumn," he laughed. "A party of us were out, including one young woman who could n't [189] When the Forests Are Ablaze shoot as well as you can. She was with me and we both aimed for a pheasant at the same mo- ment. When we picked up the bird, we could see at a glance that both our shots had not taken effect. She fairly shouted with exultation: 'I shot it! I shot it! You missed P It never en- tered her mind for two years after, as she herself told me, that she might have missed it and I shot it." The deep pleasant voice as they walked on was pitched low for fear of disturbing possible game, but some sound caused a stir in a clump of young Christmas trees. Goss fired as a startled brown head was lifted above the bushes. Some- thing fell. Both ran forward but Goss reached the spot first and called back: "Don't come, Miss Myers. It 's — er — ven- ison." They reached the cabin in high spirits, for a venison dinner and good company would take off the edge of isolation for days to come. Goss carved out a generous share for the Widdy. "I don't know where she will keep it, though," he added as he started for the door. "I know where I am going to keep mine," [ 190] Hunting said Jane triumphantly. "I shall hang it up in my screen pen." "And bring all the cougars in the forest down around your cabin?" He started out of the door. When he returned, Jane felt again her sense of awe of him. He, in turn, was silent also. The venison dinner was not a very gay one. "Do you think you 're going to like it here?" he asked at last, glancing around the cozy little room. "Yes, indeed." "The snows are deep in winter, you know. You will be shut in." "I shall be happy here. I am positive of that." "Do you know the definition of 'positive'?" He was smiling now. "Absolutely certain, is n't it?" "Some one defined it as 'being mistaken at the top of your vo?:e.' " "Perhaps I shall be bored. But I was so tired of teaching. Do you ever get tired of your work?" "I love it. It means so much to me." [191] When the Forests Are Ablaze "I should think you would get tired of the rough life — or is n't it rough?" she added, half timidly, hoping that she was not offending him. "You love the beauty of the forests. I have heard you say so. Do you remember the view of the snow-capped peak towering high over the valley and the rounded lower mountains, on the road as you came out?" "Yes, indeed." "Can you imagine what that scene would be if instead of these magnificent forests, green and fresh, bending and swaying and murmuring in the breeze, far below you, and above you as well — what that scene would be if instead it were merely thousands of acres of mountain side covered with charred and hideous stumps?" Jane began to gather up the dishes. Goss rose and stood by the hearth, leaning against the primitive mantle. "Our work," he went on, "is to care for the forests. Theoretically it is not simply fire fighting, but practically, under the present con- ditions, it is. But it 's the old story of an ounce of prevention. The way to fight fires is to pre- vent them from starting. We try to protect ex- [ 19 2 J Hunting posed borders from fires among rubbish left in logged-off lands — " "Those logged-off lands are fearful. They are blots and scars on the face of nature." "Some lands, useful for agriculture, ought to be logged off, you know. Then when the stumps are disposed of by burning or pulling out, you have land of high value. But I mean where the land is simply stripped of its timber and left to go to ruin, with piles of debris which ought to be burned and are not. Usually such lands are near a railroad or on a logging road, and sparks catch in the dry tinder. They begin to smolder a light blaze comes and the flames sweep up into the standing timber on a near-by hillside — perhaps into a reserve or a national park. If we can protect the borders of the for- est from fires among debris, and from fires in slashings, we can keep the mountain sides for- ested. Otherwise, — perhaps not." "I noticed in coming into the mountains in August," Jane answered, "that along the tracks piles of old ties were burning. The valleys were full of thick blue smoke, cutting off all view, and in some places the fire from the ties [ 193] When the Forests Are Ablaze had run through the dry bushes and set fire to trees. Section hands were around, watching the fires I suppose, but they did not seem to be do- ing anything to put them out." "They take it for granted they will burn out before a breeze springs up. The railroads are one of our worst enemies on fires. Besides burn- ing their ties at the driest time of the year, the engines on the upgrade emit volcanoes of sparks. That starts a good many fires. Spark arresters partially prevent that, but they cut off power from the engine, too. They ought to burn oil. Lightning starts some fires, and the sheep men start them — " "Why?" "They want more pasturage. Campers start a lot of fires by pure carelessness — start fires against dead logs and leave them smolder- ing. Throw cigars and cigarette ends in dry brush and leave them there to go out or to start a little piece of dry humus to smoldering. Then a breeze springs up — and away goes a smart blaze up into the timber. Miners and prospectors are sinners, as well. Loggers burn [ 194] Hunting their slashings in dry summer weather — same story." "Is n't there some law about slashings?" "That they be burned, — yes. But they should be burned only in late fall or in the early spring. Some day the loggers and railroads will have to come to time — but we can't control the lightning yet." Jane had piled the dishes up on the broad board which she, like many others, used as a kitchen table. Goss paced up and down the small room, while she dropped into the smaller rocker. "You were trained in the forestry school, were n't you?" she asked at length. "Yes. That 's where Burnham and I learned to know each other. Burnham is a fine fellow. My family do not like my profession, though. Mother wanted me to be a lawyer, and my sister cannot understand why I enjoy looking and liv- ing like a tramp, as she expresses it. She 's rather fond of social life. But I don't expect to be a ranger always," he added. "I was a lit- tle slow in getting started, thanks to an A. B., [195] When the Forests Are Ablaze and then a try at law, and then the forestry school. Then Mother and Madge wanted to go abroad and could n't go without a man. Fi- nally, we arranged it so that Madge did the cathedrals, and I studied European forestry methods. Mother vibrated between us until she is reasonably certain, I think, that Westminster cathedral is in the middle of the Black Forest. So I was twenty-seven before I came out here." Jane did some rapid figuring. This was his second year as ranger, she knew. So he was twenty-nine. He looked a little older. She had put him down for thirty or thirty-one. "And your promotion?" "I understand that I am slated for deputy supervisor of this reserve within a few months — oh, possibly it may be delayed until next sum- mer. But I need this experience if I am to manage other rangers. I can gauge their work better." "What does a forestry school teach?" Goss had become unusually talkative. Jane decided that the best way to interest him was to keep him talking about his work. He did not answer directly as he paced up and down the [196] Hunting room, stopping now and then to lean against the mantle and look down at her. Outside the gray afternoon was dimming into twilight. "The examination for ranger is the funniest thing you ever saw. Part of it is practical, you know. A man is given a mixed-up assortment of frying pans, blankets, tin plates and cups, axes, coffeepots, shovels, provisions, clothing, ropes, and anything that is necessary, and told to fasten them on a horse's back for a trip into the mountains. You can imagine such an array on a tricksy little cayuse that will have to climb, swing, slide, jump, — yes, and wade, — through streams and over steep roads barred by logs and sometimes almost impassable. You see such a test shows his ability to make a hitch that will hold — and when a man loses his coffeepot ten miles from another one, it 's food for reflection even if no hot drink for his other self." He paced the floor a few minutes and sud- denly stopped by her chair. "What do you do here all by yourself?" "Mend and sew, cook and keep house, and read — and write letters. Sometimes I grub around the bushes and cut out vines that may [ 197] When the Forests Are Ablaze trip me up on the trail to the creek — and some- times I dream dreams and see visions." "Do you?" His whole face lighted up, as he added mentally: "You 're all right then. I thought you might be a man hater." His keen glance studied her face. Why should a woman like this take up a homestead in the forest? He was certain that there was a love affair back of it somewhere, — "even if her name is Jane," he added to himself, smiling at a certain recollec- tion. "I don't mean to be curious," he said aloud, "but I cannot understand why a woman should take up a claim in such an isolated place. It 's natural to think of her in a home." Jane flushed. He was on that tack, was he!! "I was thoroughly tired of teaching," she said with a certain indifference in her tone, — "thor- oughly tired of it — and — and I think every woman has a right to live her own life. That is, make the most of herself." "And you think you are making the most of yourself out here — with the Widdy and the bears?" She started to say "And you and Mr. Burn- [198] Hunting ham," but caught herself as she remembered she was indebted to Bert Fairfax for their attentions. "Why not?" she answered. "I have more time for reading than I ever had before — more time for thinking — more exercise." "How about other people? And it 's for five years, you know." He was beating around that same old circle again. She could almost hear Bert Fairfax say, in his frank, honest way, "Jane, why don't you marry?" "Tell me something more about your work." She was anxious to change the subject. "What are the plans for this reserve?" "We are only one reserve in many." The smile left his face. He felt a little disappointed in the girl. "Take all the reserves together and the government is planning something like thirty thousand miles of trail — that includes pack trails and blazed trails, both, — some sixteen thousand miles of telephone wire, and about seven thousand miles of good, passable roads. But Congress cuts down the appropriations to such an extent that heaven only knows when we will get all this. And we need it — need it des- E 199] When the Forests Are Ablaze perately — if we are to save the forests. Tell me what you dream about." He was standing in the chimney corner now, looking down at her. The tall, finely built figure leaned forward a little with a certain earnestness. Then suddenly realizing how he towered above her, he sat down in the other rocker and turned the chair so he could face her. Jane answered a little guardedly. "I have learned an immense amount of salt folklore since I came out here," she laughed. "I have found out that salt is the remedy for everything evil — why did n't I think of that be- fore?" "Of what?" "Putting salt on that pheasant's tail. It would have saved me the mortification of seeing the bird flap its wings and fly off. I know that joke is a trite one — or used to be. But with the Widdy's ideas, I see it in a new light. And I have learned, from a friend of mine who has access to a library, that witches are fond of lurk- ing under alder trees — and just think of all the alder trees which border Thunder Creek. But the bracken will break the spell if you cut the [ 200] Hunting root the right way, because at the joints you will find the letter C. Also holly is fatal to witches, and I think the Oregon grape ought to be. It is the holly-leaved barberry. Sue Fairfax is getting to be an expert in witchcraft lore, and I have lots of fun about the Widdy with her. Of course, I don't think the Widdy really believes in witches, but she is always guarding against in- visible evils; therefore her quantities of salt. But then, I Ve had experiences, too." "What kind?" "I Ve seen nixies when I went to get water. And once when I was sitting perfectly still on a trunk, I saw some of the moss people. They are the same size as little children but very gray and old-looking, hairy and dressed in moss. Once, in the moonlight, I caught a glimpse of Queen Mab." "Did you go out in the moonlight alone?" "Yes. I had forgotten to bring in fresh water." "Don't do it, please. It is n't safe." There were two very striking things about Leonard Goss, and his request brought out both of them. Jane took her turn in looking at him [ 201 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze as she studied over the matter a moment. He was a man who commanded as a matter of course. And he expected to be obeyed. Yet there was nothing dictatorial in his voice, and he possessed a wonderful gentleness of manner. Jane remembered a remark her mother often made : — that a man who is truly strong is always the gentlest of men. Especially with women, easily crushed by such strength, are they defer- ential. His request had been made in the pleas- antest way, in the kindest manner; yet it was a command and she recognized it as such without resentment. "Do you never dream of people when you dream dreams?" he asked. He was wondering whether there were any man-hating propensities in this capable, energetic girl. She answered guardedly again: "I see visions for all my friends. I feel sure Mrs. Fairfax's Teddy will be a philosopher. Sue has two beautiful children. You know Mr. Fairfax, don't you?" "I have just met him — through Mr. Burn- ham. That is all." "Then I have another friend who is a home- [ 202 ] Hunting steader, near the foothills in Colorado. She is the one who inspired me. I dream about Hope — and her friend." "She is engaged?" "She was — yes, she is." "She has n't broken it?" Little enough Goss cared about the friend's friend. He was trying to study out the woman before him. "I don't know. She 's very impetuous — and her letter is not very clear. But I have dreamed about both of them and how happy they are going to be." The strong face relaxed. She was n't a man hater, then, — even if some love affair had driven her into the wilderness. She was independent enough, but there were no apparent distortions of view. The ranger was hardly conscious of his own thoughts, or where they were leading him. "You must remember one thing," — and he rose to go. "The snows here are deep some- times, although the winters are never severely cold. Many a winter it does not reach any- where near zero. But you must fill your house [203 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze here with plenty of wood. That is absolutely necessary." "It will clutter up my cabin." "Never mind that. The crowding will stead- ily diminish after the cold and snow come. Fill up your extension also, and use that first." "I 'd rather use that last." "Impossible. Use the wood from out-of- doors first; save this inside for emergencies." Jane looked up at him. He almost dictated to her. Why could he never remember it was her cabin and not his? Perhaps he caught her thought, or perhaps he was recalling winter experiences, for he looked down upon her very thoughtfully. He knew something of what was before her. Jane sud- denly realized again that the gray eyes could be exceedingly kind. It was only late afternoon, yet dark, when Dick trotted down the trail. Goss looked back as he began to wind among the trees and his face lighted up again as he saw the girlish figure silhouetted in black against the bright light of the cabin. Then the door closed and all was dark. t 204] Hunting "She 's plucky, all right, Dick. If she can pull through this first winter, she '11 win." He fell into a brown study, letting the canny horse pick his own way, but just before he reached the main trail his trained ear caught from somewhere the far-off cry of a cougar. "I was afraid of it, Dick," he said aloud. He was perfectly certain then as to what had become of poor Salt. As Jane turned back to the fire, she took again a much-read letter from her workbasket. It was in a different tone from Hope's buoyant one. Dear Jane: I have had the most harrowing experience this last week. I am so upset. I have sud- denly discovered that Jack Strong is the brother of Mac, my old principal. Can you imagine anything more unexpected? It seems that they were both very small children when their mother married again and Mac took his step- father's name. Jack was the elder and he liked the ring of his own name so well that he would n't give it up. [205 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze Really, it has upset me. I don't hate Mac, even though I did have such a time with him, for you know I have always felt Mrs. Mac was much to blame for his distorted views of things. When a man is prejudiced, you know, he is a good deal worse than a woman. She talked so much that it was from her half-statements, I have been told, there grew up all those exagger- ated stories about my defying him and telling him I would wear crape to school if I wanted to. I have Mrs. Mac to thank for some very unpleasant gossip. And if Jack insists that I shall go right into his family and subject my- self to his sister-in-law's ungenerous tongue, we shall have to call it off. She does n't spare her dearest friends. Oh, dear! Why did they have to be brothers? Do write and give me some good advice, that's a dear. I love Jack so dearly. And to have the shadow of this old annoyance come in, makes me sick. Just now I 'm nothing but A forlorn Hope. Jane studied the letter a long while. She had known of the difficulty at the time, had [206] Hunting known of Mrs. Mac's share in it because she had called there one day when Mrs. Mac, not knowing of their intimacy, started to gossip with her about Hope. Mac was not an easy man to get along with. After one year of it, Jane had asked for a transfer. Her mind drifted from Jack Strong to Jack Burnham and his cordial friendliness. She was beginning to feel that it was not all due to his friendship for Bert Fairfax. And this Mr. Goss — she studied over him for a long while. It was only when the fire log broke apart with a sputter and a shower of sparks that she aroused. "After all, Jane," she said as she wound the clock, "there are some pretty nice men in this world." [ 207 ] CHAPTER XIII MY CABIN FRESH snow had fallen during the night. Softly the flakes sifted down from the low- hanging clouds, covering everything with a clinging mantle of white. The green tops of the tall cedars were crowned with fleecy soft- ness, and soft bits of the same white fleece trans- formed the wide-spreading branches of the spruces. The seamy ridges of the firs were softened and rounded into full curves by the white down which clung to them. In the clearings around the cabins snow lay a foot deep, though under the protecting trees the sword ferns pierced with their long green points their white covering. Nor had the weight of snow concealed altogether the glossy leaves of the salal bushes. Jane opened the door to look out upon the first beauty of the day. The fresh color in her face and the clearness of the violet eyes told of [208] My Cabin the vigor which had come with days spent working in the open air. Behind her, the fire glimmered and crackled on the open hearth. "Isn't it wonderful!" She had used that phrase so often this last autumn. Every month brought some new beauty. She looked at the tall firs and then at the spruces with their bur- dens of white. Toward the forest she could see the dark trunks black against the snow. "This certainly is better than teaching school. And I can't see that it is going to be as uncom- fortable as last winter in La Casa. Those sharp, icy blasts across the prairies — straight from the north pole. And the storms and drifts and half-frozen children and blown-in windows! Besides an uncomfortable boarding house! Oh, it 's the woods for me. And it 's my cabin and my land. Those glorious trees all belong to me — and just now they 're getting ready for Christmas." She looked at the stump of the Douglas fir. She would beautify that stump next spring. She would nail pieces of bark to it, fill in the hollow with rich earth from the woods and plant in it great sword ferns, filling in the bare [ 209 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze spots with the dainty leaves of the red-berried kinnikinnick. She would redeem the loss of that fir so far as she could. She looked again to where the mighty Douglas fir lay, its entire length covered with the soft white snow. Her eye followed the trunk to its upper end, free now from the green top which had withered and faded and dropped away in the fall. The branches of other trees and its own shattered branches, as well, lay piled in an unsightly heap near the trail. "I '11 have that cleared away next summer. It is unsightly and it might be dangerous in case of fire. It 's so near the trail." The practical side of things recalled her to herself. She put on the snowshoes which Burnham had sent out to her, and threw her shawl around her. She needed fresh water for coffee. Thunder Creek had risen, she knew, during the past few days. The water was swirl- ing almost level with the bank in the deep pool from which she usually dipped it. She stood there a few moments watching the flecks of foam which swept by her, listening to its steady roar. On the other side of the creek she could t 210] My Cabin see the footprints of some wild animal which had come down to drink during the night. She began to hum a little song. The Widdy's door opened as she stood there and she waved her hand. The old woman ac- knowledged it with a half wave of hers and the door closed again. "It's the forest for me," she exclaimed as she looked around her. "I love it. I love it." Suppose the snow did get deeper. She had been told that it was very deep in midwinter in the higher mountains. But what did it matter I There was plenty of food, of firewood, of books and leisure to read them, sewing enough to vary the monotony, beautiful surroundings and scenery, good health, a chance for exercise on the snowshoes, nothing to worry about, and the companionship, such as it was, of a woman old enough and experienced enough to be a source of safety to her. Moreover, there were the two friends of Bert Fairfax's who had been so kind to her. What more could any one want? Jane recalled the arguments which had been made against her taking up a homestead and the predictions of loneliness and unrest. [211] When the Forests Are Ablaze "It 's the modern craving for something new," she explained to herself. "It 's a sort of universal restlessness. And I love this beauty and quiet. I certainly can get along without people for one winter, anyway." She almost tripped herself on her snow- shoes. She was not at all expert in managing them. "There was Mrs. Winthrop. She went up into the mountains one winter with her husband and everybody told her she would go crazy with the loneliness and monotony after they were snowed in. They were shut in for five months and she said she never had a better time. She had leisure to read books she had waited half her life to read. Even 'Les Miserables!' I asked for that once at the public library and they offered me three fat volumes — an armload. So I decided to wait to read it until I stopped teaching and could devote myself to it. Oh, I 'm glad I came. Now I have my very own cabin. And I can plow through the snow far enough to get water." She leaned over the creek to dip up a pail of water, but the toe of one clumsy snowshoe [ 212 ] My Cabin caught on a rock. Catching her balance, she dropped the bucket. "Gracious! I '11 need to be more careful." She picked up the pail and bracing herself carefully, dipped up the water from the racing stream. As she stood there, the sun came out. The air was soft — not at all cold. She knew that the cold was never intense in the Northwest. Bert had tried to explain the influence of the Japan current — or Japanese current, which was it? All she got out of it was the fact that the Northwest had an unusually temperate climate, summer and winter. So now as the gray clouds broke away and she could see the clear blue sky above, and the sunlight gleaming on the fresh whiteness of the snow, she hummed her little song again. What more could any one want? "It's a good sign. A happy winter — snow outside, perhaps, but plenty of sunshine within. Why does the Widdy think the winters are so hard? She won't give me anything like a rea- son. And why did those two men urge me to go into town until spring? It's because they think I 'm a tenderfoot! They don't realize what storms I faced last winter." [213 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze Still she stood there, looking up the creek and down, humming her little song and planning for the spring. She glanced at the Thunder Creek trail — so-called. It made her think of a fragment from some poem: "The path that seemed a twisted dream Where everything came true." "Now what does that mean?" Jane gazed at the trail and meditated over the lines. The trail and the fragment seemed to fit, but just what did it mean? "I 'm going to clear that trail next spring, also the one to the fishing pond above. I '11 need both, especially the fishing trail." The girl never dreamed how badly she would some day need that trail. "I did n't suppose, Jane, that there would be work enough in one small cabin to keep a per- son busy all the time, but truly with your im- provements you have n't wasted much time. I wish Sam was here. I 'd have a snowballing match with him." Sam's company had been a real pleasure to the homesteader. With him she felt like going [214] My Cabin further into the forest on short exploring ex- peditions. Otherwise she liked to sit on a log and look around her quarter section and remem- ber it was all hers. All she had to do was to "sit down on it," as that woman had said, for five years, and improve it, according to law, of course. She had been there nearly four months. That was almost half a year. And it only took the two halves to make a whole year. The Widdy was an element of safety. She considered it all, as she stood there. Mono- syllabic Sam afforded a certain amount of com- panionship, and the two men who occasionally came up the trail supplied the sense both of protection and companionship. She did not realize how much it meant to both of them to step inside that cozy room with its feminine be- longings, the sewing basket on the table, a book with a handkerchief in it to mark the place, pictures hung on the rough log walls against a background of dull brown burlap. She did not know that she was something of a study to them. She thought she was doing all the studying of character. And they were a study, those two. Burnham, with his jolly laugh, his bright talk [215] When the Forests Are Ablaze and humorous turns of expression, and Goss with his air of command and of protection, the pleasant gray eyes that said so much even though the lips were rather silent, — a man who gave always the impression of strength. And it was so especially nice that they were intimate friends. Jane wondered as she picked up her water bucket and turned toward the cabin where they were now. Burnham was probably in Illahee, figuring on lumber, but Goss, she felt sure, was up in the forest somewhere, loving the beauty of it as she did. She recalled what he had said once about protecting the deer from hunters who shot out of season, and his half-vexed re- mark, "I wish hunters were half as fond of shooting cougars and timber wolves as they are deer." Fifty feet from her cabin door, glancing up, she was startled to see some wild animal sitting on the upper half of the Douglas fir, watching her. The animal was perhaps a hundred feet from the cabin door. The door was open, too, she remembered, as she stopped abruptly and stared at the terrifying vision. It was a cougar, [216] My Cabin — she was sure of that. The tawny back, the catlike face! She dropped the bucket of wa- ter and started on the run for the door. But she had forgotten the snowshoes and, quick as a flash, she tripped herself up and went down into the snow. The shawl tangled itself about her head. A wave of sickening fear took pos- session of her. Even without that wretched shawl, she might scream all day and not make the Widdy hear. She was done for! Perhaps she might get herself free from those clumsy snowshoes. She tried to free her arms and head from the entangling shawl, but it only made matters worse. As she struggled to get on her feet, something sharp caught her ankle. Was it the cougar? The shriek she gave was muffled in shawl and snow. But Jane deter- mined to die hard and struck at the animal with the other shoe. She could feel long claws scratching her skin, cutting in deeper and deeper. Why did n't he kill her at once and be done with it! If only somebody would come! She struggled and floundered until finally with a desperate effort, in striking at the cougar, she freed herself from one snowshoe. Another ef- [217] When the Forests Are Ablaze fort and she got upon her feet, her hair all down and full of snow, the shawl wound around her neck, her eyes full of snow. But the cougar seemed to have retreated for a moment. Per- haps she might gain the cabin. She glanced cautiously about her. Perhaps it had gone into the open cabin door! Again that sickening sense of fear. Jane started again on a run, as well as she could, the free foot sinking deep into the soft snow, the other one striking her at every moment. The snow behind her was dripping with blood, she was certain, but she was so en- tangled in that confounded shawl she could not see anything. As she neared the cabin door, in this unequal struggle between the two feet, the snow partly brushed from her eyes, she looked again to the log where the animal had been. The cougar was still there! But as she looked it rose, moving slightly its long, lithe body. It lifted one foot — and Jane burst in at her cabin door, sprawling full length on the floor as that wretched snowshoe again tripped her up. It was but a moment before she sprang up, expecting every second to see that tawny body springing in the door. She dropped the [218] My Cabin long wooden bar into its place with trembling hands, and herself into the nearest chair. When she had pulled herself together again, she stepped carefully to the nearest knife, and de- liberately and viciously cut the lacings of the snowshoe. She had tied them on, around her ankles! It was such a relief to kick it into the corner. A glance at the broken frame ex- plained the "clawing" she had received. She laughed, though half hysterically. In her long stay at the creek, she had com- pletely forgotten her breakfast. She forgot it still longer as she sat down, with two ordinary shoes clothing her feet and studied over the situation. No more snowshoes for her I Not if the snow was ten feet deep! She looked at her ordinary shoes with gratitude. She would trust to them, snow or rain. But the bacon, having fried to a beautiful brown, shrunk into black, burned bits. The graham gems were hard as rocks and black as cinders. Jane did not heed. The water for her coffee was some- where on the trail between the cabin and the creek. She sat in the chair, looking at her feet, and considered. The bottom suddenly seemed [ 219 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze to have dropped out of everything. And all because a tawny cougar had sat on the end of a fir log that morning and watched her get a bucket of water. [ 220 ] CHAPTER XIV CHRISTMAS Letter from Jane Myers to Hope Denham. Dear Hope: I suppose you and Uncle Mart and Jack Strong and Miss Woods are planning all sorts of jolly good times for to-morrow. I don't believe it 's half as lonesome homesteading on the plains as in the forest. At least you can see far, far away. But here everything is sol- emn and mysterious, and on a gray day the somberness fairly gets on my nerves. I some- times wonder if I were perfectly wise in taking up this homestead — and then when the sun comes out, and the forest rangers — I mean Mr. Goss and Mr. Burnham — his name's Jack, too, I think I told you — come, why, then I know it is wise. Because I was so tired of teaching, and you know when you get a square peg in a round hole, it 's hard on the hole as well as on the peg, [ 221 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze and I do feel myself at home here — especially when the sun shines. Of course, I can't look four years and a half ahead and see what results are going to be, because you know results are what you expect but consequences are what you get. And there are times when I feel that the mountain range I should most enjoy would be a good-sized cook stove — withi reach of civiliza- tion. You '11 think I am blue, but really I am not. I am very cheerful, indeed — smiling like For- tune, but Mr. Burnham said once that Fortune sometimes smiled because she had to, the cir- cumstances were so ludicrous. But will you believe it? I am here in my cabin, the day before Christmas absolutely and entirely alone — unless that squatter 's around the woods somewhere. Yesterday when I went to the creek to get some water, the Widdy opened her door and flagged me. We make signals, you know, be- cause we could n't possibly hear over the rush of the water. But in spite of the crash of the creek, I could hear the wind muttering some- thing to itself up in the treetops, and everything t 222 ] Christmas was a little gloomy. So I went over the bridge and she told me she was going into Illahee for Christmas. Her son-in-law was there, too, — though I had n't seen him come — he had come out for her and she is n't coming back for ten days. And I know Jack Burnham — Mr. Goss always calls him Jack and it seems more natural to speak of him that way, but I could n't imagine myself speaking of Mr. Goss as Leonard — is in the city, and heaven only knows where Mr. Goss is. Anyway, I don't, and I don't much care. He's not the most sociable man on earth, though he does have a pleasant face, I '11 have to admit, and pleasant eyes. But anyway, he 'd never put himself out for me. So I 'm alone in the world, with just those hor- rible wood rats thumping over my cabin roof every night in their wild efforts to get in. Did you ever hear anything equal to the thump! thump! thump! of their feet! So here I am, nine o'clock in the morning, with my housework all done and a perfect gale blowing outside. Mr. Burnham says that wind is air when it gets in a hurry. I can't go out if I want to, and it seems so awfully dreary I [ 223 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze don't want to. There 's about a foot of snow on the ground, but it is rather wet — we Ve had no real cold weather yet. It has snowed off and on, but I think it 's going to be a very pleas- ant open winter. Only this wind! It 's one of those soft, warm, wet winds from the ocean — I think they call it a Chinook — and it started to blow last night — perhaps that 's what the tree- tops were muttering about in the morning. But all night it blew and blew and blew! And this morning the snow was all slushy with little rivulets everywhere, and the creek was a raging, untamed, irresponsible rive — Two o'clock. Well, I got just that far, because I have n't an earthly thing to do except to write you this long spiel, when over the rush of the wind and the roar in the trees and the thunder of the wa- ter, I heard a fearful crash. Everything in the cabin shuddered and shook. You can see the blot of ink. I thought of an earthquake, but there was n't any more shaking, so then I looked out. What do you think? The fir nearest my cabin, but almost on the creek edge, had fallen [ 224] Christmas down — blown down by the wind, I guess, the things are so shallow rooted — and the branches clear at the tip edge landed across our tree bridge! Maybe it didn't jar that bridge! I would n't dare cross it now even if the Widdy were here. And the water is rising in the creek bed and just whirling down. I wonder if there's any danger of a flood! I wish I had thought to ask whether it ever does overflow. But yet, I believe Mr. Goss would have warned me if there was. Jack Burnham might have forgotten it, or not wanted to frighten me, but I believe Mr. Goss would have told me straight out. He 's not so sensi- tive about hurting people's feelings — only I would n't care much about the feelings, if I just knew I was safe. I don't believe the water can touch me, because I am on higher land, yet I do feel worried. It 's dark and gray outside and the snow is still melting, and what will hap- pen before to-morrow morning, / don't know. Just the same, Jane will hang up her stock- ing at the chimney place and set out the presents she has made for herself and have a sure-enough Christmas, even alone. I have baked a plum [225 ] When the Forests Are Ablaze pudding this week, and I shall have hot rolls, and salt mackerel for breakfast, and some smoked venison for dinner, and maybe a chafing dish omelet for supper. I saw such a good definition of a chafing dish the other day — a frying pan that 's got into society. You see, all my Christmas presents, — and I suppose I have some — are at Illahee. The Widdy's son-in-law brought out no mail when he came because she was going back and he forgot me! I am go- ing to spend the day making a taboret. Thank goodness I like to hammer and nail and pound! I inherited that taste from my father. And I have his liking for whittling, too. Mother used to tell me about him. Do you know, I can't make up my mind whether this sort of a life makes a woman strong-minded or weak-minded — one never hears of anything in between. We learn to be so mighty independent, and yet when you run up against the elemental forces of primitive na- ture, as one does in the forest here, — men are, well, — conveniences, anyway. And I am be- ginning to understand why past generations were perfectly willing to accept merely a wom- [226] Christmas an's privileges and let the men have all the rights. I don't believe I ever was very strong on woman's rights, anyway, but I 'm beginning to get another view of things from that seen by city women. There is n't one bit of fun in this letter, Hope, but I can't seem to be jolly to-day. The Widdy told me once that the way to cure a boy of home- sickness was to put salt in the hem of his trousers and make him look up the chimney. If I only had those overalls you preach about! But I should scandalize all right thinking people, I am sure, if I were to regard my gym suit as trousers and they're the nearest thing I have. So that remedy won't work with me — and I for- got for the moment I was n't a boy. I read an odd quotation yesterday, from some old Anglo-Saxon source, I think. "The flood wave and the swift ebb tide; what the flood wave brings you in, the ebb sweeps out of your hand." What does it mean? Do you think it means that as soon as I prove up on this claim — after five years of life in the forest — that some- thing, perhaps a forest fire, will sweep it all away? I wish I had n't read the old thing. [227] When the Forests Are Ablaze Do write to me when you can. I need let- ters. Affectionately, Jane. P. S. Don't be anxious about the wrinkles on your cow's horns. They are not caused by worry. P. S. 2. I had n't sealed the envelope, so I '11 add this note. It 's about ten o'clock, and it's a fearful night outside. The rumble and roar and crash and thunder of the wind and wa- ter, — did I ever tell you there was a fifty-foot fall about six hundred feet down the trail — and the way in which the water dashes over that, why, I can't hear myself think, even on bright days. But now! The tumult outside is fear- f