The Rules of the Game

by Stewart Edward White

  VI

  Bob stood still for a moment, looking at the injured member. CharleyMorton touched him on the shoulder. When he looked up, the rangermotioned him back. Casting a look of regret at his half-completeddefences, he obeyed. To his surprise he found the other four alreadygathered together. Evidently his being called off the work had nothingto do with his broken finger, as he had at first supposed.

  "Well, I guess we'll have to fall back," said Morton composedly. "It'sgot away from us."

  Without further comment he shouldered his implements and took his way upthe hill. Bob handed his hoe and rake to Jack Pollock.

  "Carry 'em a minute," he explained. "I hurt my hand a little."

  As he walked along he bound the finger roughly to its neighbour, and onboth tied a rude splint.

  "What's up?" he muttered to Jack, as he worked at this.

  "I reckon we must be goin' to start a fire line back of the nextcross-bridge somewheres," Jack ventured his opinion.

  Bob stopped short.

  "Then we've abandoned the old one!" he exclaimed.

  "Complete," spoke up Ware, who overheard.

  "And all the work we've done there is useless?"

  "Absolutely."

  "We've got it all to do over again from the beginning?"

  "Certain sure."

  Bob adjusted his mind to this new and rather overwhelming idea.

  "I saw Senator What's-his-name--from Montana--made a speech the otherday," spoke up Elliott, "in which he attacked the Service because hesaid it was a refuge for consumptives and incompetents!"

  At this moment Amy rode up draped with canteens and balancing carefullya steaming pail of coffee. She was accompanied by another womansimilarly provided.

  The newcomer was a decided-looking girl under thirty, with a full,strong figure, pronounced flaxen-blond hair, a clear though somewhatsunburned skin, blue eyes, and a flash of strong, white teeth. Bob hadnever seen her before, but he recognized her as a mountain woman. Sherode a pinto, guided by a hackamore, and was attired quite simply in theuniversal broad felt hat and a serviceable blue calico gown. In spite ofthis she rode astride; and rode well. A throwing rope, or riata, hung inthe sling at the right side of her saddle pommel; and it looked asthough it had been used.

  "Where's Charley?" she asked promptly as she rode up. "Is that you? Youlook like a nigger. How you feeling? You just mind me, and don't you tryto do too much. You don't get paid for overtime at this job."

  "Hullo, Lou," replied Charley Morton; "I thought it was about time youshowed up."

  The woman nodded at the others.

  "Howdy, Mrs. Morton," answered Tom Carroll, Pollock and Ware. Bob andElliott bowed.

  By now the fire had been left far in the rear. The crackling of flameshad died in the distance; even the smoke cleared from the atmosphere.All the forest was peaceful and cool. The Douglas squirrels scamperedand barked; the birds twittered and flashed or slanted in long flightthrough the trees; the sun shone soft; a cool breeze ruffled thefeathery tips of the tarweed.

  At the top of the ridge Charley Morton called a halt.

  "This is pretty easy country," said he. "We'll run the line square downeither side. Get busy."

  "Have a cup of coffee first," urged Amy.

  "Surely. Forgot that."

  They drank the coffee, finding it good, and tucked away the lunches Amy,with her unfailing forethought, had brought them.

  "Good-bye!" she called gaily; "I've got to get back to camp before thefire cuts me off. I won't see you again till the fire burns me out a wayto get to you."

  "Take my horse, too," said Mrs. Morton, dismounting. "You don't need mein camp."

  Amy took the lead rein and rode away as a matter of course. She wasquite alone to guard the horses and camp equipage on the little knollwhile the fire spent its fury all around her. Everybody seemed to takethe matter for granted; but Bob looked after her with mingled feelingsof anxiety and astonishment. This Western breed of girl was still beyondhis comprehension.

  The work was at once begun. In spite of the cruel throb of his injuredhand, Bob found the labour pleasant by sheer force of contrast. The airwas cool, the shade refreshing, the frantic necessity of struggleabsent. He raked carefully his broad path among the pine needles, layingbare the brown earth; hoed and chopped in the tarweed and brush. Severaltimes Charley Morton passed him. Each time the ranger paused for amoment to advise him.

  "You ought to throw your line farther back," he told Bob. "See that'dead-and-down' ahead? If you let that cross your fire line, it'll carrythe fire sooner or later, sure; and if you curve your line too quick togo around it, the fire'll jump. You want to keep your eye out 'wayahead."

  Once Bob caught a glimpse of blue calico through the trees. As he camenearer, he was surprised to see Mrs. Morton working away stoutly with ahoe. Her skirts were turned back, her sleeves rolled up to display awhite and plump forearm, the neck of her gown loosened to show a roundand well-moulded neck. The strokes of her hoe were as vigorous as thoseof any of the men. In watching the strong, free movements of her body,Bob forgot for a moment what had been intruding itself on him with moreand more insistance--the throb of his broken hand.

  In the course of an hour the fire line was well under way. But now wispsof smoke began to drift down the tree aisles. Birds shot past, at firstby ones and twos, later in flocks. A deer that must have lain perdu tolet them pass bounded across the ridge, his head high, his nostrilswide. The squirrels ran chattering down the trees, up others, leapedacross the gaps, working always farther and farther to the north. Thecool breeze carried with it puffs of hot air. Finally in distantopenings could be discerned little busy, flickering flames. All at oncethe thought gripped Bob hard: the might of the fire was about to testthe quality of his work!

  "There she comes!" gasped Charley Morton. "My Lord, how she's runto-day! We got to close the line to that stone dike."

  By one of the lightning transitions of motive with which theseactivities seemed to abound, the affair had become a very deadly earnestsort of race. It was simple. If the men could touch the dike before thefire, they won.

  The realization of this electrified even the weary spirits of thefire-fighters. They redoubled their efforts. The hoes, mattocks and axesrose and fell feverishly. Mrs. Morton, the perspiration matting herbeautiful and shining hair across her forehead, laboured with the best.The fire, having gained the upward-rising slope, came at them with thespeed of an enemy charging. Soon they were fairly choked by the denseclouds of smoke, fairly scorched by the waves of heat. Sweat poured fromthem in streams. Bob utterly forgot his wounded hand.

  And then, when they were within a scant fifty yards of the dike whichwas intended to be their right wing, the flames sprang with a roar tonew life. Up the slope they galloped, whirled around the end of the fireline, and began eagerly to lick up the tarweed and needles of theridge-top.

  Bob and Elliott uttered a simultaneous cry of dismay. The victory hadseemed fairly in their grasp. Now all chance of it was snatched away.

  "Poor guess," said Charley Morton. The men, without other comment,shouldered their implements and set off on a dog-trot after theirleader. The ranger merely fell back to the next natural barrier.

  "Now, let's see if we can't hold her, boys," said he.

  Twice again that day were these scenes reenacted. The same resultobtained. Each time it seemed to Bob that he could do no more. His handfelt as big as a pillow, and his whole arm and shoulder ached. Besidesthis he was tired out. Amy had been cut off from them by the fire. Intwo days they had had but an hour's sleep. Water had long since givenout on them. The sun beat hot and merciless, assisting its kinsman, thefire. Bob would, if left to himself, have given up the contest longsince. It seemed ridiculous that this little handful of men should hopeto arrest anything so mighty, so proud, so magnificent as this greatconflagration. As well expect a colony of ants to stop a break in thelevee. But Morton continued to fall back as though each defeat were amatter of course. He seemed unwearied, th
ough beneath the smoke-blackhis eyes were hollow. Mrs. Morton did her part with the rest, strong asa man for all her feminine attraction, for all the soft lines of herfigure.

  "I'll drop back far enough this time," Charley muttered to her, as theywere thrown together in their last retreat. "Can't seem to get farenough back!"

  "There's too few of us to handle such a big fire," his wife replied."You can't do it with six men."

  "Seven," amended Charley. "You're as good as any of us. Don't youworry, Lou. Even if we don't stop her--and I think we will--we'rechecking the run of her until we get help. We're doing well. There'sonly two old fire-fighters in the lot--you and me. All the rest is greenhands. We're doing almighty well."

  Overhearing this Bob plucked up heart. These desperate stands were notthen so wasted as he had thought them. At least the fire was checked ateach defence--it was not permitted to run wild over the country.

  "We ought to get help before long," he said.

  "To-morrow, I figure," replied Charley Morton. "The boys are scatteredwide, finishing odds and ends before coming in for the Fourth. It'll beabout impossible to get hold of any of 'em except by accident. Butthey'll all come in for the Fourth."

  The next defence was successfully completed before the fire reached it.Bob felt a sudden rush of most extraordinary and vivifying emotion. Amoment ago he had been ready to drop in his tracks, indifferent whetherthe fire burned him as he lay. Now he felt ready to go on forever. BertElliott found energy enough to throw his hat into the air, while Jackshook his fist at the advancing fire.

  "We fooled him that time!" cried Elliott.

  "Bet you!" growled Pollock.

  The other men and the woman stood leaning on the long handles of theirimplements staring at the advancing flames.

  Morton aroused himself with an effort.

  "Do your best boys," said he briefly. "There she comes. Another hourwill tell whether we've stopped her. Then we've got to hold her.Scatter!"

  The day had passed without anybody's being aware of the fact. The coolof the evening was already falling, and the fierceness of theconflagration was falling in accord.

  They held the line until the flames had burned themselves out againstit. Then they took up their weary patrol. Last night, when Bob wasfresh, this part of fire-fighting had seemed the hardest kind of hardwork. Now, crippled and weary as he was, in contrast to the day'sgreater labour, it had become comparatively easy. About eight o'clockAmy, having found a way through, appeared leading all the horses,saddled and packed.

  "You boys came a long way," she explained simply, "and I thought I'dbring over camp."

  She distributed food, and made trips down the fire line with coffee.

  In this manner the night passed. The line had been held. No one hadslept. Sunrise found Bob and Jack Pollock far down the mountain. Theywere doggedly beating back some tiny flames. The camp was a thousandfeet above, and their canteens had long been empty. Bob raised his wearyeyes.

  Out on a rock inside the burned area, like a sentinel cast in bronze,stood a horseman. The light was behind him, so only his outline could beseen. For a minute he stood there quite motionless, looking. Then hemoved forward, and another came up behind him on the rock. This oneadvanced, and a third took his place. One after the other, in singlefile, they came, glittering in the sun, their long rakes and hoesslanted over their shoulders like spears.

  "Look!" gasped Bob weakly.

  The two stood side by side spellbound. The tiny flames licked past themin the tarweed; they did not heed. The horsemen rode up, twenty strong.It seemed to Bob that they said things, and shouted. Certainly ahalf-dozen leaped spryly off their horses and in an instant had confinedthe escaping fire. Somebody took Bob's hoe from him. A cheery voiceshouted in his ear:

  "Hop along! You're through. We're on the job. Go back to camp and take asleep."

  He and Pollock turned up the mountain. Bob felt stupid. After he hadgone a hundred feet, he realized he was thirsty, and wondered why hehad not asked for a drink. Then it came to him that he might haveborrowed a horse, but remembered thickly after a long time theimpassable dikes between him and camp.

  "That's why I didn't," he said aloud.

  By this time it was too late to go back for the drink. He did not care.The excitement and responsibility had drained from him suddenly, leavinghim a hollow shell.

  They dragged themselves up the dike.

  "I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!" said Pollocksuddenly.

  They stumbled and staggered on. A twig sufficed to trip them. Pollockmuttered between set teeth, over and over again, his unvaryingcomplaint: "I'd give a dollar and a half for a drink of water!"

  Finally, with a flicker of vitality, Bob's sense of humour cleared foran instant.

  "Not high enough," said he. "Make it two dollars, and maybe some angelwill hand you out a glass."

  "That's all right," returned Pollock resentfully, "but I bet there'ssome down in that hollow; and I'm going to see!"

  "I wouldn't climb down there for a million drinks," said Bob; "I'll sitdown and wait for you."

  Pollock climbed down, found his water, drank. He filled the canteen andstaggered back up the steep climb.

  "Here you be," said he.

  Bob seized the canteen and drank deep. When he took breath, he said:

  "Thank you, Jack. That was an awful climb back."

  "That's all right," nodded Jack shortly.

  "Well, come on," said Bob.

  "The hell!" muttered Jack, and fell over sound asleep.

  An hour later Bob felt himself being shaken violently. He stirred andadvanced a little way toward the light, then dropped back like a plummetinto the abysses of sleep. Afterward he recalled a vague,half-conscious impression of being lifted on a horse. Possibly hemanaged to hang on; possibly he was held in the saddle--that he neverknew.

  The next thing he seemed conscious of was the flicker of a camp-fire,and the soft feel of blankets. It was night, but how it came to be so hecould not imagine. He was very stiff and sore and burned, and his handwas very painful. He moved it, and discovered, to his vast surprise,that it was bound tightly. When this bit of surgery had been performedhe could not have told.

  He opened his eyes. Amy and Mrs. Morton were bending over cookingutensils. Five motionless forms reposed in blankets. Bob counted themcarefully. After some moments it occurred to his dulled brain that thenumber represented his companions. Some one on horseback seemed to bearriving. A glitter of silver caught his eye. He recognized finallyCalifornia John. Then he dozed off again. The sound of voices rumbledthrough the haze of his half-consciousness.

  "Fifty hours of steady fire-fighting with only an hour's sleep!" hecaught Thorne's voice saying.

  Bob took this statement into himself. He computed painfully over andover. He could not make the figures. He counted the hours one after theother. Finally he saw.

  "Fifty hours for all but Pollock and me," he said suddenly; "forty forus."

  No one heard him. As a matter of fact, he had not spoken aloud; thoughhe thought he had done so.

  "We found the two of them curled up together," he next heard Thorne say."Orde was coiled around a sharp root--and didn't know it, and Pollockwas on top of him. They were out in the full sun, and a procession ofred ants was disappearing up Orde's pants leg and coming out at hiscollar. Fact!"

  "They're a good lot," admitted California John. "Best unbroke lot I eversaw."

  "We found Orde's finger broken and badly swelled. Heaven knows when hedid it, but he never peeped. Morton says he noticed his hand done up ina handkerchief yesterday morning."

  Bob dozed again. From time to time he caught fragments--"Fourfire-lines--think of it--only one old-timer in the lot--I'm proud of myboys----"

  He came next to full consciousness to hear Thorne saying:

  "Mrs. Morton fought fire with the best of them. That's the ranger spiritI like--when as of old the women and children----"

  "Don't praise me," broke in Mrs. Morton tart
ly. "I don't give a red centfor all your forests, and your pesky rangering. I've got no use forthem. If Charley Morton would quit you and tend to his cattle, I'd bepleased. I didn't fight fire to help you, let me tell you."

  "What did you do it for?" asked Thorne, evidently amused.

  "I knew I couldn't get Charley Morton home and in bed and _resting_until that pesky fire was _out_; that's why!" shot back Mrs. Morton.

  "Well, Mrs. Morton," said Thorne composedly, "if you're ever fixed sosass will help you out, you'll find it a very valuable quality."

  Then Bob fell into a deep sleep.