CHAPTER VIII
DOWNING A GIANT LUMBERJACK
"I don't believe," said Wilbur the next morning as they rode along thetrail that led to the nearest of his "lookout points," "that any king oremperor ever had as fine a palace as this one."
The comparison was a just one. Throughout the part of the forest inwhich they were riding the whole sensation was of being roofed in andenclosed, the roof itself being of shifting and glowing green, throughwhich at infrequent intervals broad streams of living light poured in,gilding with a golden bronze the carpet of pine needles, while thepurple brown shafts of the trunks of the mighty trees formed a colonnadeillimitable.
"I reckon every kind of palace," replied the Ranger, "had some sort of aforest for a pattern. I took an artist through the Rockies one time, an'he showed me that every kind of buildin' that had ever been built, andevery kind of trimmin's that had been devised had started as mere copiesof trees an' leaves."
"Well," said Wilbur, his mind going back to a former exclamation of theold woodsman, "you said this was your house."
"My house it is," said Rifle-Eye, "an' if you wait a few minutes I'llshow you the view from one of my windows."
For two hours the hunter and the boy had been riding up a sharp slope,in places getting off their horses so as to give them the benefit of aslittle unnecessary carrying as possible, constantly ascending on a greatgranite spur twenty miles wide, between the Kaweah and King's Rivercanyons. Now, suddenly they emerged from the shadowy roof of the forestto the bare surface of a ridge of granite.
"There's the real world," said Rifle-Eye; "it ain't goin' to hurt youreyes to look at it, same as a city does, and your own little worryin'ssoon drop off in a place like this."
He turned his horse slightly to the left, where a small group ofmountain balsam, growing in a cleft of the granite, made a spot ofshadow upon the very precipice's brink. The boy looked around for aminute or two without speaking, then said softly: "How fine!"
Three thousand feet below, descending in bold faces of naked ruggedrock, broken here and there by ledges whereon mighty pines foundlodgment, lay the valley of King's River, a thin, winding gleam of greenwith the water a silver thread so fine as only to be seen at intervals.Here and there in the depths the bottom widened to a quarter of a mile,and there the sunlight, falling on the young grass, gave a brilliancy ofgreen that was almost startling in contrast with the dark foliage of thepines.
"What do you call that rock?" asked the boy, pointing to a tall,pyramidal mass of granite, buttressed with rock masses but little lessnoble than the central peak, between each buttress a rift of snow,flecked here and there by the outline of a daring spruce clinging to therock, apparently in defiance of all laws of gravity.
"That is called 'Grand Sentinel,'" said the hunter, "and if you willtake out your glasses you will see that from here you can overlook milesand miles of country to the west. This is about as high as any place onthe south fork of the King's River until it turns north where BubbsCreek runs into it."
Wilbur took out from their case his field-glasses and scanned thehorizon carefully as far as he could see, then snapping them back intothe case, he turned to the hunter, saying:
"No fire in sight here!"
"All right," replied Rifle-Eye, "then we'll go on to the next point."
That whole day was a revelation to Wilbur of the beauty and of the sizeof that portion of the forest which it was his especial business tooversee. Here and there the Ranger made a short break from the directline of the journey to take the boy down to some miner's cabin or Indianshack, so that, as he expressed it, "you c'n live in a world of friends.There ain't no man livin', son," he continued, "but what'll be thebetter of havin' a kind word some day, an' the more of them you give,the more you're likely to have."
Owing to these deviations from the direct trail, it was late when theyreturned to Wilbur's little camp. But not even the lateness of the hour,nor the boy's fatigue, could keep down his delight in his tent home. Hewas down at the corral quite a long time, and when he came backRifle-Eye asked him where he had been. The boy flushed a little.
"I hadn't seen Kit all day," he said, "so I went down and had a littletalk to her."
The Ranger smiled and said nothing but looked well pleased. In themeantime he had quickly prepared supper, and Wilbur started in and ateas though he would never stop. At last he leaned back and sighed aloud.
"That's the best dinner I ever ate," he said; "I never thought fishcould taste so good."
But he jumped up again immediately and took the dishes down to thespring to wash them. He had just dipped the plates into the pool underthe spring when the old woodsman stopped him.
"You don't ever want to do that," he said. "There ain't any manner ofuse in foulin' a stream that you'll want to use all the time. Littlebits of food, washin' off the plates, will soon make that water bad ifyou let them run in there. An' not only is that bad for you, but efyou'll notice, it's the overflow from that little pool that runs downthrough the meadow."
"And it would spoil the drinking water for the horses," exclaimedWilbur; "I hadn't thought of that. I'm awfully glad you're along,Rifle-Eye, for I should be making all sorts of mistakes."
Under the advice of his friend Wilbur washed up and put away the dishesand then settled down for the evening. He made up his day's report, andthen thought he would write a long letter. But he had penned very, fewsentences when he began to get quite sleepy and to nod over the paper.The Ranger noted it, and told him promptly to go to bed.
"I'll finish this letter first," said Wilbur.
A moment or two later he was again advised to turn in, and again Wilburpersisted that he would finish the letter first. There was a shortpause.
"Son," said Rifle-Eye, "what do you suppose you are ridin' from point topoint of the forest for?"
"To see if there's any sign of fire," said the boy.
"And you've got to look pretty closely through those glasses o' yours,don't you?"
The boy admitted that they were a little dazzling and that he had tolook all he knew how.
"Then, if you make your eyes heavy and tired for the next mornin',you're robbin' the Service of what they got you for--your eyesight,ain't you? I ain't forcin' you, noways. I'm only showin' you what's thesquare thing."
Wilbur put forward his chin obstinately, then, thinking of the kindnesshe had received from the Ranger all the way through, and realizing thathe was in the right, said:
"All right, Rifle-Eye, I'll turn in."
About half an hour later, just as the old woodsman stretched himself onhis pile of boughs outside the tent, he heard the boy mutter:
"I hope I'll never have to live anywhere but here."
The following day and the next were similar in many ways to the first.Wilbur and the Ranger rode the various trails, the boy learning thelandmarks by which he might make sure that he was going right, andmaking acquaintance with the few settlers who lived in his portion ofthe forest. On Sunday morning, however, the Ranger told the boy he mustleave him to his own devices.
"I've put in several days with you gettin' you started," he said, "an' Ireckon I'd better be goin' about some other business. There's a heap o'things doin' all the time, an' as it is I'm pressed to keep up. ButI'll drop in every now an' again, an' you're allers welcome atheadquarters."
"I hate to have you go, Rifle-Eye," the boy replied, "and you certainlyhave been mighty good to me. I'll try not to forget all the thingsyou've told me, and I'll look forward to seeing you again before long."
"I'll come first chance I can," replied the hunter. "Take care ofyourself."
"Good-by, Rifle-Eye," called the boy, "and I'll look for your comingback." He watched the old man until he was lost to sight and then waiteduntil the sound of the horse's hoofs on the hillside had ceased. Hefound a lump in his throat as he turned away, but he went into the tent,and went over his reports to see if they read all right before theSupervisor arrived. Then, thinking that it was likely his chief wouldcome ab
out noon, he exerted himself trying to make up an extra gooddinner. He caught some trout, and finding some lettuce growing in thelittle garden, got it ready for salad, and then mixed up the batter forsome "flapjacks," as the old hunter had shown him how. He had everythingready to begin the cooking, and was writing letters when he heard hisguest coming up the trail, and went out to meet him.
After Wilbur had made his reports and got dinner, for both of which hereceived a short commendation, the Supervisor broached the question ofthe timber trespass.
"Loyle," he said, "McGinnis and I have measured up the lumber stolen.There's about four and a half million feet. You were with us when wefirst located the trespass, and I want you to come with us to the mill."
"Very well, Mr. Merritt," answered the boy.
"I don't want you to do any talking at all, unless I ask you a question.Then answer carefully and in the fewest words you can. Don't tell mewhat you think. Say what you know. I'll do all the talking that will benecessary."
Wilbur thought to himself that the conversation probably would not bevery long, but he said nothing.
"That is," continued the other as an afterthought, "McGinnis and I. Idon't suppose he can be kept quiet."
Wilbur grinned.
"But he usually knows what he is talking about, I should think," hehazarded.
"He does--on lumber." Then, with one of the abrupt changes of topic,characteristic of the man, the Supervisor turned to the question ofintended improvements in that part of the forest where Wilbur was to be.He showed himself to be aware that the lad's appointment as Guard wasnot merely a temporary affair, but a part of his training to fit himselffor higher posts, and accordingly explained matters more fully than hewould otherwise have done. Reaching the close of that subject he rose togo suddenly. He looked around the tent.
"Got everything you want?" he demanded.
"Yes, indeed, sir," the boy replied. "It's very comfortable here."
"Got a watch?"
"No, Mr. Merritt, not now."
"Why not?"
"Mine got lost in that little trouble I had with the bob-cat, and Ididn't notice it until next day."
"Saw you hadn't one the other day. Take this."
He pulled a watch out of his pocket and handed it to the boy.
"But, Mr. Merritt," began the boy, "your watch? Oh, I couldn't--"
"Got another. You'll need it." He turned and walked out of the tent.
Wilbur overtook him on the way to the corral.
"Oh, Mr. Merritt--" he began, but his chief turned sharply round on him.The boy, for all his impulsiveness, could read a face, and he checkedhimself. "Thank you very much, indeed," he ended quietly. He got out theSupervisor's horse, and as the latter swung himself into the saddle, hesaid:
"What time to-morrow, Mr. Merritt?"
"Eleven, sharp," was the reply. "So long."
Wilbur looked after him as he rode away.
"That means starting by daybreak," he said aloud. "Well, I don't thinkI'm going to suffer from sleeping sickness on this job, anyway." And hewent back into the tent to finish the letter which he had started twoevenings before and never had a chance to complete.
By dawn the next morning Wilbur was on the trail. He was giving himselfmore time than he needed, but he had not the slightest intention ofarriving late, neither did he wish the flanks of his horse to show thathe had been riding hard. For the boy was perfectly sure that not adetail would escape the Supervisor's eye. Accordingly, he was able totake the trip quietly and trotted easily into camp a quarter of an hourahead of time. He was heartily welcomed by McGinnis, while Merritt toldhim to go in and get a snack, as they would start in a few minutes.There was enough to make a good meal, and Wilbur was hungry after ridingsince dawn, so that he had just got through when the other two men rodeup. He hastily finished his last mouthful, jumped up, and clambered intothe saddle after the Supervisor, who had not waited a moment to see ifhe were ready.
Merritt set a fairly fast pace, and the trail was only intended forsingle file, so that there was no conversation for an hour or more. Thenthe head of the forest pulled up a little and conversed with McGinnisbriefly for a while, resuming his rapid pace as soon as they werethrough. Once, and once only, did he speak to Wilbur, and that was justas they got on the road leading to the sawmill. There he said:
"Think all you like, but don't say it."
When they reached the mill they passed the time of day with several ofthe men, who seemed glad to see them, and a good deal of good-naturedbanter passed between McGinnis and the men to whom he was well known.The Supervisor sent word that he wanted to see the boss, and presentlyPeavey Jo came out to meet them.
"Salut, Merritt!" he said; "I t'ink it's long time since you were here,hey?"
The words as well as the look of the man told Wilbur his race andnation. Evidently of French origin, possibly with a trace of Indian inhim, this burly son of generations of voyageurs looked his strength.Wilbur had gone up one winter to northern Wisconsin and Michigan wheresome of the big lumber camps were, and he knew the breed. He decidedthat Merritt's advice was extremely good; he would talk just as littleas he had to.
The Supervisor wasted no time on preliminary greetings. That was not hisway.
"How much lumber did you cut last winter off ground that didn't belongto you?" he queried shortly.
"Off land not mine?"
"You heard my question!"
"I cut him off my own land," said the millman with an injuredexpression.
"Some of it."
"You scale all the logs I cut. You mark him. I sell him. All right."
"You tell it well," commented the Supervisor tersely. "But it don't go,Jo. How much was there?"
"I tell you I cut him off my land."
Merritt pointedly took his notebook from his breastpocket.
"Liars make me tired," he announced impartially.
"You call me a liar--" began the big lumberman savagely, edging up tothe horse.
"Not yet. But I probably will before I'm through," was the unperturbedreply.
"You say all the same that I am a liar, is it not?"
"Not yet, anyway. What does it matter? You cut four and a half millionfeet, a little over."
A smile passed over the faces of the men attached to the sawmill. It wasevident that a number of them must know about the trespass, and probablythought that Peavey Jo had been clever in getting away with it. Themill-owner laughed.
"You t'ink I keep him in my pocket, hey?" he queried. "Four and a halfmillion feet is big enough to see. You have a man here, he see logs, hemark logs, I cut them."
The Supervisor swung himself from his horse and handed the reins toWilbur. McGinnis did the same.
"You don't need to get down, Loyle," he said; "it will not take long tofind where the logs are."
The big lumberman stepped forward with an angry gleam in his eye.
"This my mill," he said. "You have not the right to walk it over."
"This is a National Forest," was the sharp reply, "and I'm in charge ofit. I'll go just wherever I see fit. Who'll stop me?"
"Me, Josef La Blanc--I stop you."
Just then Wilbur, glancing over the circle of men, saw standing amongthem Ben, the half-witted boy who lived in the old hunter's cabin.Seeing that he was observed, the lad sidled over to Wilbur and said, ina low voice, questioningly:
"Plenty, plenty logs? No marked?"
"Yes," said Wilbur, wondering that he should have followed thediscussion so closely.
"I know where!"
"You do?" queried Wilbur.
Ben nodded his head a great many times, until Wilbur thought it wouldfall off. In the meantime Merritt and Peavey Jo, standing a few feetapart, had been eying each other. Presently the Supervisor steppedforward:
"Show me those logs," he ordered.
"You better keep back, I t'ink," growled the millman.
Merritt stepped forward unconcernedly, but was met with an open-handpush that sent him reeling backward.
"I not want to fight you," he cried; "I get a plenty fight when I wanthim. You no good; can't fight."
"I'm not going to fight," said the Supervisor, "but I'm going to seewhere those logs are, or were. Stand aside!"
But the big Frenchman planted himself squarely in the way.
"If you hunt for the trouble," he said, "you get him sure," he saidmenacingly.
"I'm not hunting for trouble, Jo, and you know it But I'm hunting logs,and I'll find them."
He was just about to step forward, trusting to quickness to dodge theblow that he could see would be launched at him, when Ben, who had beenwhispering to Wilbur, lurched over to the Supervisor and pulled his arm.
"Plenty, plenty logs, no mark," he said loudly; "I know where. I showyou. They are up--"
But he never finished the sentence, for the lumberman, taking one stepforward, drove his left fist square at the side of the boy's jaw,dropping him insensible before he could give the information whichMerritt was seeking.
But unexpected as the blow had been, it was met scarcely a second laterby an equally unexpected pile-driver jolt from McGinnis.
"Ye big murdhering spalpeen," burst out the angry Irishman, "ye thinkit's a fine thing to try and shtop a man that's trying to do his duty,and think yerself a fightin' man, bekass ye can lick a man that doesn'twant to fight. This isn't any Forest Service scrap, mind ye, and I'msaying nothing about logs. I'm talking about your hittin' a weak,half-crazed boy. Ye're a liar and a coward, Peavey Jo, and a dirty oneat that."
"Keep quiet, McGinnis," said Merritt, who was stooping down over theinsensible lad, "we'll put him in jail for this."
"Ye will, maybe," snorted the Irishman, "afther he laves the hospital."
"You make dis your bizness, hey?" queried the mill-owner.
"I'll make it your funeral, ye sneaking half-breed Canuck! How aboutit, boys," he added turning to the crowd, "do I get fair play?"
A chorus of "Sure," "'Twas a dirty trick," "The kid didn't know nobetter," and similar cries showed how the sentiment of the crowd lay. Ina moment McGinnis and the Frenchman had stripped their coats and facedeach other. The mill-owner was by far the bigger man, and the play ofhis shoulders showed that his fearful strength was not muscle bound, buthe stood ponderously; on the other hand, the Irishman, who, while tall,was not nearly as heavy, only seemed to touch the ground, his step wasso light and springy.
The Frenchman rushed, swinging as he did so. A less sure fighter wouldhave given ground, thereby weakening the force of his return blow shouldhe have a chance to give it. McGinnis sidestepped and cross-jolted withhis left. It was a wicked punch, but Peavey Jo partly stopped it. As itwas, it jarred him to his heels.
"Lam a kid, will ye, ye bloated pea-jammer," grinned McGinnis, who wasbeaming with delight now that the fight was really started.
"You fight, no talk," growled the other, recovering warily, for the oneinterchange had showed him that the Irishman was not to be despised.
"I can sing a tune," said McGinnis, "and then lick you with one hand--"He stopped as Peavey Jo bored in, fighting hard and straight and showinghis mettle. There was no doubt of it, the Frenchman was the stronger andthe better man. Twice McGinnis tried to dodge and duck, but Peavey Jo,for all his size, was lithe when roused and knew every trick of thetrade, and a sigh went up when with a sweeping blow delivered on thepoint of the shoulder, the Frenchman sent McGinnis reeling to theground. He would have kicked him with his spiked boots as he lay, in thefashion of the lumber camps, but the Supervisor, showing not theslightest fear of the infuriated giant, quietly stepped between.
"This fight's none of my making or my choosing," he said, "but I'll seethat it's fought fair."
But before the bullying millman could turn his anger upon theself-appointed referee, McGinnis was up on his feet.
"Let me at him," he cried, "I'll show him a trick or two for that."
Again the fight changed color. McGinnis was not smiling, but neither hadhe lost his temper. His vigilance had doubled and his whole frameseemed to be of steel springs. Blow after blow came crashing straightfor him, but the alert Irishman evaded them by the merest fraction of aninch. Two fearful swings from Peavey Jo followed each other in rapidsuccession, both of which McGinnis avoided by stepping inside them, hisright arm apparently swinging idly by his side. Then suddenly, at athird swing, he ran in to meet it, stooped and brought up his right withall the force of arm and shoulder and with the full spring of the wholebody upwards. It is a difficult blow to land, but deadly. It caughtPeavey Jo on the point of the chin and he went down.
One of the mill hands hastened to the boss.
"You've killed him, I think," he said.
"Don't you belave it," said McGinnis; "he was born to be hanged, an'hanged he'll be."
But the big lumberman gave no sign of life.
"I have seen a man killed by that uppercut, though," said the Irishman alittle more dubiously, as the minutes passed by and no sign ofconsciousness was apparent, "but I don't believe I've got the strengthto do it."
Several moments passed and then Peavey Jo gave a deep respiration.
"There!" said McGinnis triumphantly. "I told ye he'd live to behanged." He looked around for the appreciation of the spectators. "Butit was a bird of a punch I handed him," he grinned.
TRAIN-LOAD FROM ONE TREE.
Temporary railroad built through the forest to the sawmill.
_Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]
Boy With the U. S. Foresters Page 8