Buffalo Roost Part 9

"My dream was a very queer one, but most too short to have a real meaning. I dreamed I was in a big barnyard and all I could see was pigs--little pigs, big pigs, and all kinds of pigs--and they were all standing around an empty trough. Now, Mr. Wise Man, tell me what that has to do with a quest for a cabin site, will you?"

Phil rolled over and chuckled to himself. "Oho, Fat, you will eat bacon for supper, will you? while your poor fellow-travelers sup on a rare and expensive can of beans. Ha-ha-ha! Eat pork and you dream of pigs."

Ham looked long into the fire, then, turning, cried out:

"I have it, I have it, the Spirit speaks. Fat, you will run out of provisions long before this journey is over. You will eat all you have by to-morrow, and never think of the days to follow. Beware, for so the Spirit tells me."

A roar of laughter went up from the others.

"Mr. Allen, your dream next," called Ham, mystically.

"Well, I dreamed of beautiful autumn days, spent in a splendid grove of trees, cutting choice timbers for a cabin; and then I dreamed of a crowd of old men, sitting before an open fire-place, telling about how they had built a cabin long years before, when they were boys."

"That needs no interpreter. Phil, your dream is now demanded. Tell it truly, lie and you will live to suffer. Careful, now, and do not hurry."

"Well, I dreamed a dandy," cried Phil. "I saw a crazy loon standing in front of a fire, gazing into fiery embers, and--" There was a crackling in the fire, a shower of sparks went up, and one of the altar stones turned over.

"O, how sad," groaned Ham, "that such a man should lie so to the great Spook Doctor. In wrath he tears down the altar--hisses forth his disapproval in clouds of tiny spark-thoughts. Willis, you are next. Now, do not rile the mighty Master." "Well," said Willis, "my dream was not so strange. I just dreamed over and over the thoughts I took to bed with me.

I saw cabins and mines and tunnels and miners of all descriptions, only that there was one that looked very familiar, and it was a very hard one to find and get to." Ham had failed to replenish the fire, and it had burned to a tiny, smoldering heap of ashes.

"I can not answer that one," said Ham, "for the Great Spirit has now left me. Let's eat our breakfast, and I hope it will be more substantial than these dreams."

Soon breakfast was under way. It was a simple meal and soon over with.

Cooking utensils were washed and packs rolled, ready for the day's journey.

"What time of day?" asked Chuck.

"Seven-ten," promptly replied Willis, "and just the time to be starting through the Park, if we want to see it before the dew is gone." At the spring they stopped to drink and to examine the deer tracks in the soft, black muck. From there the trail led off, zigzaging down the gentle slope. On either side of the path the wild gra.s.ses and ferns grew in rank profusion, while scattered here and there on the soft, green carpet were great numbers of dainty Maraposa lilies. Now and then a tall, green stalk of the columbine could be seen, and occasionally a wooly circle of bracts on the stem of a late anemone. At intervals tall ferns bent over the woodland pathway, as if to hide and protect it for the private use of the many tiny wild feet that scampered over it daily.

"Isn't this great," cried Ham. "Just take a peek at that grove of trees.

I'll bet that gra.s.s is full of snakes and rabbits. I'd like to take a shot at a big 'jack' this morning."

"It's an old swamp," replied Willis. "Perhaps there was once a little lake here. Wouldn't it be a swell place for a shanty? I'll bet it's full of grouse."

"I suppose it was once an Indian camping ground," suggested Mr. Allen.

"Just a little flat oasis on the summit of a granite mountain. Remember where we came up last night? Now, look away off there," pointing his finger. "We are ten thousand feet above the sea up here; up where we can see how the world is made, and how beautiful it is."

Soon the little park came to an abrupt end, and great boulders began to loom up on every side. They came to the edge of the cliff, and could look far down into the valley below. Away to the west stood Black Mountain, a rounded bluff, so densely covered with young timber that it seemed at a distance to be a mountain of black dirt. Far below them could be seen the silver thread of a tiny stream as it followed the canyon toward the sandy plains. They had climbed out onto a great boulder, now, that overlooked the canyon far below on one side and the level plains on the other. Here they sat down to rest and talk.

"Do you see that hollow spot in the plain there, just at the foot of the mountain?" Mr. Allen was saying. "It is what has been known for many years as the Big Hollow Ranch. It was homesteaded in the early days, before the war, by our friend, Daddy Wright. There is a story that tells of how, in those days, the Indians would lie in wait and steal cattle from the great Texas roundups as they pa.s.sed, enroute to Kansas City, and would drive large numbers of the cattle into that great hollow. After the cattle were driven inside, a few men could guard the opening while the other Indians drove the cattle off into lonely ravines."

"My! what a fire there must have been here sometime," exclaimed Willis, noting the dead trees. "I have always wanted to see a forest fire; it must be a grand sight."

"Yes, if you're far enough away to be safe," joined in Chuck. "I saw one once, but it was several miles away. It looked fine from there. It was the year we camped at the old hatcheries up in the Middle Park. Mount Deception was very much like Black Mountain, then--very heavily timbered with fine, large trees. As the years went by a very large slab pile began to acc.u.mulate back of the mill. Some way, no one ever knew just how, those slab piles got afire. It was on a very windy summer night, when everything was as dry as chips and the hills were covered with heaps of dry toppings and pine slash. Well, the fire got into a few piles of toppings, and before the men at the mill realized that there was a fire, it was running over the hills like a wild thing. The dry pine needles are just like turpentine to burn, so in less than two hours there were several square miles of timber land afire. The mill and hundreds of thousands of feet of sawed lumber were burned, and an area of many square miles stripped of every stick of wood, so far as value was concerned."

"Did you see them fight it?" asked Phil.

"No, I didn't see them, but I've heard them tell how they did it."

"I was in a forest fire once," said Mr. Allen. "It wasn't such an awfully big one, but there was plenty of excitement while it did last, I tell you that."

"Tell us about it," came in a chorus.

"It's pretty hard to describe a forest fire, but it was a very exciting experience. It was up not many miles from Mount Deception, while I was stopping with a friend at Manitou Park. We were eating our Sunday dinner, when suddenly the door opened and in rushed the man from the adjoining farm.

"'Fire, boys,' he called. 'I'm sorry to disturb you, but we need you, and you know the law. I'll have the buggy ready in a shake, and you be ready.' As he left, my friend cried, 'Come quick, Allen, into your old clothes.' 'Why,' I said, 'we don't have to fight the forest fire, do we?'

He laughed aloud. 'Well, you just bet we do!' he cried. 'The law says that every able-bodied man in reach of a forest fire must give his services. If a fire starts on Government land and burns onto private land, Uncle Sam has to pay for all the private loss. But if it starts on private land and burns onto Government land, the land owner is responsible.'

"I jumped into some old clothes, and was ready just as the buggy drove up to the door. The man handed me a big brown jug and told me to fill it with drinking water. Off to the north we saw a great cloud of gray smoke rising from the forest, but no flame. The farmer handed my friend the lines, told us to take the shortest route, and not to stop for anything, that he would follow on horseback in a few moments. I never shall forget how the little mare did go that day. We drove north on a county road until we got even with the smoke, then we turned in directly toward it through a very large potato field. After an hour's hard driving, we came to the entrance of a narrow canyon. We tied the horse, and, with as many shovels as I could carry on my shoulder, and with the jug, I followed my friend, who had taken a couple of shovels and two heavy axes. It was a sultry midsummer day, and how I did sweat!

"We hurried on, the smoke getting thicker and thicker, and still we could see no flames. We went up a long, narrow canyon in which there was a tiny stream, and about every hundred yards we stopped to drink. By and by we came to the top of a low ridge, and the farmer met us.

"'Hurry, fellows, hurry!' he shouted. 'Give me a couple of those axes.

Report to the first man you meet, and come home in the buggy when you can.' He swung his horse round, and in a moment was gone. I was tired out already, and the jug of water was very heavy to carry by so small a handle. As we got near the top of the ridge, we came to an old prospect hole. An idea struck me. I would leave the jug there by the hole, and it would be easy to find when I wanted it, and I would hurry on with the shovels. As we reached the top of the ridge, the fire came into full view. My, what a sight! A great sea of burning, crackling trees below, and above an ocean of heavy smoke, floating upward in great billows. Far away, at least it seemed so to me, I heard chopping, chopping. I don't know how long I stood there wondering at the sight, but presently an old man--he looked to me like a wild man, came toward me, eyeing me with a scornful look.

"'Well, ye goin' to stand there all day with them implements, son?' He mopped away the great beads of perspiration from his forehead with a big blue bandanna handkerchief. A large Russian hound stood, panting, by his side. Nearly a year afterwards I learned that the old man was no other than Old Ben himself.

"'Where's that jug of water that Jim said ye was a bringin',' he howled as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the best shovel from my hands. I don't know what I said, but I know that he cursed me roundly and I started for the prospect hole to get the jug. I was excited to the limit. I came to the prospect hole, and the jug was gone. I was starting back when I came to another hole, then a third, then a fourth. I raised my eyes and surveyed the hillside.

There were at least a hundred prospect holes. Which one did I leave the jug by? Was it lost, that precious jug of water? Would I ever find it?

The great clouds of smoke drifted past me and darkened the landscape; then I began to hunt for the jug, one hole at a time. But I could find no jug. While I was searching all over the hill, up rode the farmer. He called for me to follow him. I tried to explain to him that I was looking for the water, but I couldn't make him understand. When we got back to the east of the fire, he handed me an ax and showed me what to do. They were cutting an aisle down the south ridge. There were great trees cracking and crashing to the ground all along the line and all around me.

I could not see more than a hundred feet ahead, but I worked like a Turk.

O, but I thought my ax was dull and the tree hard! It seemed that I could never cut it through. I struck a heavy blow; there was a singing noise in the air, and the head of my ax went flying somewhere into the brush. I heard the farmer, chopping near me, yell something about a fool and a greenhorn.

"'Go, bring the water,' he yelled. I asked what water, and he yelled back, 'The jug, the brown jug.'

"I started again to find it. I don't know how long I looked, but by accident I stumbled onto it. I raised it to my lips to drink, but the water was warm and insipid. It made me feel faint. My head began to get dizzy and everything looked burned. I straightened up and went back toward the fire. When I reached the farmer, he gave me his ax and started off with the jug. I chose my tree, and began to work. I had cut but one, and was started on another, when a dozen rugged, sweating men pa.s.sed me on the run and shouted, 'Look out for the blast!' I dropped my ax and followed them. The earth shook under my feet, as one after the other I saw mighty pine trees rise into the air a few feet, then crash headlong down the mountain into the flames. The fire was coming nearer. O, such a sight! The heat was intense, but the coloring was beautiful. I followed the men, but one man tripped and fell; the others hurriedly picked him up, and we went onto a safe place. Then a hurried conference was held, and orders given to cut the underbrush in a great circle around the fire. By and by the wind changed, and soon the smoke cleared away from where we were working. To my surprise, there were at least fifty st.u.r.dy men--mountain ranchmen, most of them--cutting the underbrush ahead of me, and just next to me worked Ben.

"We worked on until dark. My friend found me, and we started for the buggy. We got home some way--he drove. I was exhausted. That was my only forest fire experience, but I don't care for another. I was stiff and sore for a week."

The little party worked its way into the gulch, and then proceeded up the canyon on an old cattle trail in the second range. Every now and then they would pa.s.s a prospect hole, which showed that they were not, by any means, the first to tramp up the gulches and drink at the crystal streams. On a great, flat stone, close by a tiny spring, they stopped to eat their dinner and rest.

"Let's get as far as we can by night," suggested Phil, "for we'll never find a cabin site here in this canyon. It's too far away. We'll have to get in closer, near St. Peter's Dome."

"Let's make the Little Fountain by night. It must cross this canyon, and perhaps it will yield us a trout for breakfast. What do you say?"

inquired Mr. Allen.

"Little Fountain, or bust," called Ham. "I'm in for it. Say, we ought to find a few squirrels this afternoon up in this lonesome canyon. A squirrel would taste pretty fine, stewed in a little rice, for supper.

I'll bet I get the first one."

"Got some salt in your pocket?" asked Willis.

"Salt, what do I want with salt? Just keep your eye on me. I'm dead-shot at squirrels."

"h.e.l.lo, here, what's this?" called out Mr. Allen about the middle of the afternoon. "This looks interesting to me. See here, I've found a few small pieces of aspen that have been cut by beaver." He held them up for inspection. Sure enough, on the ends were the marks of the tiny chisel teeth of the little water workmen. "I'd certainly like to see a real beaver dam. I've seen pieces of dams and old, wrecked dams, but never a real good one. Keep your eyes open for more sticks like this, and for stumps along the stream. This ought to be good beaver country, because it's wild and quiet."

"What do you suppose killed all those fine big trees in that valley?"

asked Willis.