Boy Scouts in the Northwest; Or, Fighting Forest Fires

by G. Harvey Ralphson

  CHAPTER I.--A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY.

  On a sizzling hot afternoon near the middle of August, in the yearnineteen eleven, three boys dressed in the khaki uniform of the BoyScouts of America stood on a lofty plateau near the British frontier,watching with anxious eyes the broken country to the south and west.

  "Nothing stirring yet!" Jack Bosworth said, turning to Pat Mack andFrank Shaw, his companions. "Ned and Jimmie may be in trouble somewhere.I wish we had waited and traveled with them."

  "Traveled with them!" repeated Frank Shaw. "We couldn't travel withthem. We were fired--given the grand bounce--twenty-three sign. Nedseemed to want the space in the atmosphere we occupied at Missoula.Serve them good and right if they do get distributed over the scenery."

  "Never you mind about Ned Nestor and Jimmie McGraw," Pat Mack put in."They can get along all right if someone isn't leading them by the hand.Suppose we fix up the camp and get ready for our eats?"

  The boys turned away from the lip of the canyon upon which they had beenstanding and busied themselves putting up shelter tents and unpackingprovisions and camping tools, as they called their blankets and cookingvessels.

  They had passed the previous night in a sheltered valley lower down,sleeping on the ground, under the stars, and had breakfasted from thescanty stock of eatables carried in their haversacks. Early that morninga train of burros had landed their outfit at the end of a rough trailsome distance below, and the boys, with long labor and patience, hadcarried it up to the plateau.

  The men in charge of the burros had of course volunteered to assist inthe work of carrying the goods to the place selected for the camp, buttheir offers had been declined with thanks, for the Boy Scouts weredetermined that for the present no outsider should know the exactlocation of their temporary mountain home.

  Those who have read the previous books of this series[1] will not be ata loss to understand why the location of the camp in the Northwest wasfor a time to remain a secret, so far as possible. Ned Nestor, for whomthose on the plateau were now waiting, had, some months before that hotAugust afternoon, enlisted in the Secret Service of the United Statesgovernment.

  Accompanied by Frank Shaw, Jack Bosworth, Jimmie McGraw and others, hehad seen active diplomatic service during the Mexican revolution, hadunearthed a plot against the government in the Panana Canal Zone, andhad rendered signal service in the Philippines, where he had assisted inpreventing an armed revolt against the supremacy of the United Statesgovernment.

  At the close of his service in the Philippines, he had been commissionedto investigate forest fire conditions in the Great Northwest. The boyhad a wonderful native talent for detective work, and, besides, it wasthought by the officials in charge of the matter that a party of BoyScouts, camping and roving about in northern Idaho and Montana and inthe southern sections of British Columbia, would be better able to sizeup the forest fire situation than a party of foresters or governmentsecret service men.

  So Ned and his four chums had sailed away from Manila, reached SanFrancisco in due season, and, after receiving further instructions andarranging for supplies, had headed for the frontier. At Missoula,Montana, he had sent Frank, Jack and Pat on ahead, after giving them theexact location of the future encampment and arranging for thetransportation of supplies.

  From the first there had been some mystery in the minds of the threeconcerning Ned's strange halt at Missoula. They could not understand whyhe had sent them on ahead of him, for he usually directed every detailof their journeyings. When questioned concerning this innovation, Nedhad only laughed and told the boys to keep out of the jaws of wildanimals and not get lost.

  "I'll be in camp almost as soon as you are," he had said, "and will takethe first mountain meal with you."

  Yet the boys had reached the vicinity of the chosen location on theprevious day, and Ned had not made his appearance. Naturally the boyswere more than anxious about the safety of their leader.

  "Did Ned say anything to you while at Missoula, about an aeroplane?"Jack asked of Frank as they unpacked bacon and corn meal. "You know,before we left the Philippines," he went on, slicing the bacon for thecoming repast, "the officials said we were to have a governmentaeroplane. I was just wondering if the thing would get here after wehave no use for it."

  "He said nothing to me about the arrival of the aeroplane," Frankreplied, "but I presume he knows when the government air machine will beon hand. It may be packed up at Missoula, for all we know," he added,"and Ned may have waited there for the purpose of getting it ready forflight."

  "What the dickens can we do with an aeroplane in this wilderness?"demanded Pat, wiping the sweat from his face. "We can't run around amongthe trees with it, can we? Nor yet we can't get gasoline up here to runit with. Anyway, I'm no friend to these airships."

  "When they travel with upholstered dining coaches in connection, andsleeping cars on behind," laughed Jack, "you'll think they're all to thegood. If we can't chase around among the trees in an aeroplane," hecontinued, "we can sail over the forests and high peaks, can't we?Without something of the sort, it would take us about a thousand yearsto get a look-in at this wild country."

  "Well," Pat grumbled, "I only hope we won't get our necks broken fallingout of the contraption. It may be all right to go up in one of thefoolish things, but I think I'd rather take chances on going overNiagara Falls in a rain-water barrel."

  "I half believe he will come in the aeroplane," Frank said, shading hiseyes with his hand and looking out to the south. "He wants to surpriseus, I take it, and that is why he acted so mysteriously about thematter."

  "What about Jimmie?" demanded Pat, who would take almost any risk onwater, but who was filled with horror the moment his feet left the solidearth. "He can't bring Jimmie along in his pocket, can he? And even ifhe managed to get the little scamp up on the thing, some trick would beturned that would land the 'plane on top of a high tree."

  "Two can ride an aeroplane, all right," Frank insisted. "Anyway, quityour knocking. Ned knows what he is about, and we'll wait here for himif we have to remain until the Rocky Mountains wash down into thePacific Ocean."

  "Suppose we climb up on the shelf above," Jack suggested, "and see if wecan find anything in the sky that looks like an aeroplane. I reallythink Ned and Jimmie will travel here on the air line."

  Pat fished a field-glass out of his haversack and passed it over toJack.

  "You boys go on up," he said, "and see what there is to be seen. I'llstay here and cook this bacon. I could eat a hog on foot right thisminute. Where did you put those canned beans?"

  "Never you mind the canned beans," laughed Jack. "It will be time enoughto open them when you get the bacon fried to a crisp. I see our finishif you got one of the bean cans opened. Say, but I could eat a peak offthe divide!"

  "Well, the divide is up there, all right," Pat grinned, "go on up andtake a bite off it. On this side that ridge away up there the rivers runinto the Pacific ocean. On the other side they run into the Atlanticocean. Split a drop when you get on top and send your best wishes toboth oceans. And don't you remain away too long, either, for this baconis going to be cooked in record-breaking time."

  Leaving Pat to prepare the supper, Frank and Jack turned their facesupward toward the main divide of the Rocky Mountains, 4,000 feet abovetheir heads. It was a splendid scene, and they enjoyed it to the full.To the north the green forests of British Columbia stood crinkling underthe almost direct rays of the August sun, to the east, almost over theirheads, stood the backbone of the continent of North America, to thesouth stretched the broken land of Montana, while to the west lay thevalleys and ridges of Idaho, Montana, and Washington beyond which pulsedthe mighty swells of the Pacific.

  Immediately to the north of the position occupied by the camp, andwithin a mile of the international boundary line, Kintla lake lay like amirror in the lap of the mountains, reflecting peaks and silent grovesin its clear waters. From the lake, ten miles in length by half that inwidth, an outlet flowed westward into the Nort
h Branch of the Flatheadriver.

  The level plateau where the camp had been pitched was not far from twoacres in extent, with the bulk of the mountain to the east, a drop of athousand feet to the south, and steep but negotiable inclines to thewest and north. The lake was 300 feet below the level of the plateau,which was about 3,000 feet above the sea level and 4,000 feet below thesummit of the divide at that point in the long range of mountains.

  There were peaks to the north and south which showed eternal snow andice, but there was a lowering of the shoulder of the great chaindirectly to the east, so there was no snow in sight there. There wereforest trees low down in the canyon to the south, and on the slopes tothe west and north, but the plateau and the sharp rise toward the summitwere bare.

  While Pat sliced his bacon and mixed corn-meal, soda, salt and water tomake hoecakes, to be fried in bacon grease, Frank and Jack wormed theirway up the face of the mountain, toward a shelf of rock some hundredfeet above the plateau. It was hard climbing, but the lads persisted,and soon gained the elevation they sought, from which it was hoped togain a fine view of the country toward Missoula.

  "Good thing we don't want to go any farther," Frank exclaimed, throwinghimself down on the ledge and wiping his streaming face. "We couldn'tscale the wall ahead with a ladder. Now," he went on, "look out there tothe south and see if there's an aeroplane in sight."

  Jack brought out the field-glass and looked long and anxiously, butthere was no sign of a man-made bird in the clear sky.

  "I don't believe, after all, that he'll come in an aeroplane," the boysaid, directly. "Suppose he took a notion to get a motor boat and run upthe north branch of the Flathead river, and so on into Kintla lake, downthere? How long would it take him to make the trip?"

  "About ten thousand years," was Frank's reply. "He never could get upthe north branch. There's too many waterfalls. Why, man, the streamdescends several thousand feet before it gets to sea level."

  "Anyway," Jack replied, "if you'll get out of my way I'll take a look atthe lake through the glass."

  "You'll probably see him come sailing up the slope in a battleship,"Frank said, in a sarcastic tone.

  Jack, without speaking, turned his glass to the north and gazed long andanxiously over the lake. Presently Frank saw him give a start ofsurprise and lean forward, as if to get a closer view of some objectwhich had come into the field of the lens.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  Jack passed him the glass with no word of explanation, and the boyhastily swept the shores of the mountain lake.

  "I don't see any motor boat," he said, directly.

  "Well, what do you see?" Jack asked, expectantly.

  "For one thing," Frank replied, "the smoke of a campfire."

  "I saw that, too," Jack said, "and didn't know what to make of it. Also,I saw a rowboat sneaking around that green point to the east."

  "That is what is puzzling me," Frank replied. "Years ago there was aBlackfoot reservation just over the divide, and a Flathead Indianreservation down by Flathead lake, to the south, but I had no idea theIndians were still about. Still, the people you saw were probablyIndians. Suppose we go down there and look the matter up. We've got tohave some sort of a yarn to tell Pat when we get back to camp."

  The two boys scrambled down almost vertical surfaces, edged along narrowledges, slid down easier inclines, and finally came to the rim of beachabout the lake. There, at the eastern end of the pretty body of water,they came upon the still glowing embers of a fire.

  Close to the spot where the remains of the fire glimmered in the hotair, they saw the mouth of a cavern which seemed to tunnel under thebody of the mountain to the east. There were numerous tracks about thefire, and some of them led to the entrance to the cavern.

  "Whoever built this fire," Jack exclaimed, "wore big shoes, so it wasn'tIndians. No, wait!" he added, in a moment, "there are tracks here whichshow no heel marks. What do you make of that?"

  "Must be moccasins," Frank said. "The Indians may still be in the woodsabout here."

  "I'm going into the cavern to see what's stirring there," Jack said,"and before I go I'll have a look at my artillery."

  The boy looked his revolver over, and before Frank could utter awarning, he darted away into the gloom of the cave. Frank did not followhim, but turned in the direction of the point where the boat haddisappeared.

  A dozen yards on his way he stopped and listened. A voice, sounding likethat of a person in a deep well, reached his ears, and he turned back.

  He gained the mouth of the cavern in half a minute and plunged inside.It was dark a dozen feet from the entrance, but he struck a match andmoved on, finally coming to a smooth wall which appeared to shut offfarther progress.

  When he turned about and faced the opening every object between where hestood and the mouth stood revealed against the bright sunshine outside.There were a few loose rocks, a rude bench, a small goods box, andnothing else. Jack was nowhere in eight.

  He examined the walls of the cavern but discovered no lateral passages.He called out to his chum, but received no response. Where was Jack? Ifhe had left the cavern he would have been seen. It was a perplexingmystery, and the boy sat down on the box and listened for a repetitionof the sounds he had heard.

  For a moment no sounds came, then a voice, seemingly coming out of thesolid wall behind him reached his ears. He could distinguish no wordsfor a time, and then it seemed that he was being called by name.

  He called to Jack again and again, but received no answer. Jack wasevidently there somewhere, but where? The smooth walls gave noindication of any hidden openings, and there was in view no crevicethrough which a voice behind the walls might penetrate. It seemed eithera silly joke or an impenetrable mystery.

  -----[1] "Boy Scouts in Mexico; or, On Guard With Uncle Sam," "Boy Scouts inthe Canal Zone; or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam," and "Boy Scouts in thePhilippines; or, The Key to the Treaty Box." Chicago: M. A. Donohue &Company, Publishers.