CHAPTER THIRTEEN – A FOREST FIRE
“Now, friends, let us get away as soon as possible, or the guides may spend all their reward money on firewater, and be unable to start for a week,” suggested Mr. Gilroy, confidentially, to the scouts.
“Why don’t you take the money and deposit it for them in a bank?” asked Julie.
“I offered to keep it for them, but they were not overanxious to part with the cash. I know the boys too well to dream that they can withstand temptations of a town when they have such easy money to burn.”
So the riders planned to leave immediately, starting away soon after the midday meal.
“I’m not sorry to leave the Springs with its ailing visitors behind,” remarked Joan, as they got back into the saddles.
“Thank goodness we are not rheumatic, or gone to pieces, to have to come here to be mended again,” declared Julie.
“I should think the horrid water would kill them, instead of curing,” added Ruth, making a wry face at the remembrance of her taste of the waters.
“It isn’t the water that cures, remember,” said Mr. Gilroy, “it is the people’s faith in it. And some folks believe that the more disagreeable a cure tastes, the better it will act.”
From Hot Sulphur Springs the party rode through Goré Canyon, and then over the Goré Range, as Mr. Gilroy had planned. The climb up the latter mountains was one of the thrilling experiences of the trip.
Following Tally through an unbroken wilderness, they unexpectedly came upon an old lumber-road. Along this they trailed until it ended in a natural clearing of over a thousand acres. The park was surrounded by dense forests with apparently no trail leading from it.
“Here we are, boys! In, all right, but no way out,” called Mr. Vernon, smiling at the perplexed looks of the riders.
“That means that every one has to hunt for a blaze of some kind,” returned Mrs. Vernon.
“The blazes are here, all right, but the trail is such an old one that the young timber has, likely, grown up and hidden the old pines which carry the signs,” added Mr. Gilroy.
Thereupon, every scout began to thrash through bushes and between young trees, hunting for the much-desired blaze. It was Betty’s luck to find it, although she really wasn’t looking as anxiously for it as were the other scouts.
She saw a queer scar on an old pine before her when she broke through some brush, and she was studying its strange formation when Tally came up behind her. He recognized the blaze and laughed.
“Betty find him! Come see!” shouted he.
The others galloped across the park and stared at the deeply scarred pine, while Tally read its meaning to them.
“It must have been blazed in the days of the First People,” said Julie.
But little attention was paid her remark, as every one was eager to go on. Tally broke a way through the jungle of bush and young timber, and finally they all came out to the silent woods again.
They rode through twilight forests of gigantic red-spruce trees, measuring from three to six feet in diameter and towering over a hundred feet in height. The ground under these was carpeted with pine needles, which lay, year after year, until no sound echoed from the hoofbeats upon them.
Looking in any direction, the scouts could see only dense forests, with not a crevice in their vaulted roofs of green where the sun might filter through. These pines seemed to waft down virgin incense upon the heads of the riders, who fully appreciated the still beauty of the place, and the velvety corridors they went along.
Then the trail became steeper, and the trees grew smaller, allowing great splashes of sunshine to bask here and there upon the passive treetrunks, or to sprawl out upon the thick pine needles that covered the ground.
After riding for several hours, the scouts left the pine forest behind, and rode out upon a faint trail that ran through aspen brakes. Now and then they came to parks where the trail lost itself, and every one had to seek for it again.
A great deal of time was lost in each park they came to, over thus finding the trail, as so many misleading ones were made in the thick buffalo grass by wild animals that came to graze there. The only thing Tally relied upon for the right way was by finding a blaze upon an old tree nearby.
During the climb, the horses often came upon sudden precipitous descents that had to be zigzagged down through loose stone and débris, then up again on the other side. When the riders reached the highest altitude of the Goré Range and looked about, they found themselves among sheer cliffs, that obstructed any distant views.
“Feels like lunchtime to me,” ventured Anne.
“I should think you’d say dinnertime – that’s the way it feels to me,” laughed Julie.
“I was afraid to say that, because I am always credited, – unjustly of course, – with being the gourmand of the Troop,” retorted Anne.
Tally now led along a trail that ran through a small park, that lay between two towering cliffs which shut off all sight of anything on either side of them. Along the bottom of this ravine-like park a clear stream of water gurgled noisily.
“Shall we camp here for luncheon?” asked the Captain, seeing the sweet green grass and cooling stream.
“Oh, no, Verny! Let’s find some woods to stop in. It’s not very inviting to feel shut in so far down,” returned Julie.
So they rode on, the horses picking their careful way over stones and roots, and their riders having to pay strict attention to the trail.
The trail wound about upthrusts of rock, where other streams ran to fall down the sides of the ravine, causing it to widen as it needed more space to carry the added waters. And at last, the scouts could see, in the distance, that the cliffs ahead ended and the stream also passed from view.
“Where the cliffs end will be a dandy spot for camp. We shall be able to sit and gaze over the park that most likely is to be found there,” suggested Joan, eagerly.
“If you don’t camp somewhere soon, you’ll find me ended there!” sighed Anne, comically.
Before they reached this “end” however, the Captain held up a hand for silence, as she said, “That’s a queer sound I hear!”
The others reined in their horses and listened. They then heard it, also. Mr. Vernon said, “Sounds like thunder, I think.”
“No, it sounds more like a stampede of cattle on a ranch. If you’ve ever heard the hoofbeats of a herd of steer, you’d know that this is like it,” came from Mr. Gilroy.
Tally grinned at both men. “Him waterfall!”
“Waterfall! All that volume of sound?” asked Mr. Gilroy, skeptically.
“Him big waterfall,” repeated Tally.
“Let’s hurry to find it, then!” declared Julie, urging her horse forward and gaining the corner of the cliff at the end of the ravine, ahead of her companions.
The crags completely hid all that might be beyond them; but as the riders went along, the volume of sound increased until the roaring of water convinced every one that the Indian must be right in his surmise. Then they passed around the obstructing crag, and sat spellbound at the panorama spread out before them.
The first glimpse of this tremendous waterfall was that of tawny green water bounding headlong over the precipice. Its dynamic vehemence had cleft a fearful way through the crags on either side of it, and adown its course one could see black hulks of rock that projected out from the swirling flood. The roar and thunder of this tremendous stream prevented any one from hearing other sounds.
The group of riders sat enthralled by the sight, then they next permitted their eyes to wander beyond the immediate falls to the magnificent view spread out in such space below and beyond. In the far distance the snow-capped peaks lay, one behind the other, until they were lost to sight in the drifting clouds on the horizon. But, as if loath to merge so quickly with the clouds, here and there one or more peaks would appear with their sharp points above the mist, and there reflect the glory of the shining sun.
From the far horizon and its peaks, the eyes now dropped gradually from one height to the next lower down, until they rested upon a valley that lay fully fifteen hundred feet below the crags where the scouts stood. The panorama was so vast in extent and so impressive in its sense of infinitude, that the spectators scarcely drew their breath.
The whole scene shimmered through the soft clouds that hung above the waterfalls and made it look like the reflections in a soap-bubble, with iridescent colors shining on the sphere. So ethereal appeared the picture that it seemed as if a slight vibration would surely shatter the bubble. This grand painting had existed here for centuries before the coming of the scouts to admire it, and there it promised to remain intact for centuries more after mortals should pass from the earth.
Here and there across this valley a ribbon of water wound a silent course away out of sight. From the great falls a mighty river flowed for miles until that, too, appeared like a silver ribbon, tying the land fancifully in its loops.
The silence was broken at last by Anne. “Can we find a better place for dinner than this grand cliff?”
The tension broke with a snap, and the others glared at the perplexed scout. Finally Julie cried, scornfully, “Can you find anything in that scene besides patches where food is grown?”
Good-natured Anne laughed, and shrugged her shoulders. “I think it is as beautiful as the Great Spirit ever made, but unfortunately I am not yet entirely spiritual. I find I must eat a bite now and then, to enable me to enjoy these pictures.”
Her excuse for the interruption made every one laugh, and Mrs. Vernon then added, “I think Anne’s suggestion very good, – to camp here and have dinner.”
“Let Hominy lead the horses back to the grassy ravine to graze, while Tally cooks dinner,” added Mr. Vernon.
So Omney rode back, leading the rest of the horses and the two pack-mules. Tally soon had the dinner cooking, but there was no chance of catching fish in that swift water, so they were satisfied that day with pork and beans, bread and jam for dinner.
After descending the last rampart of the Goré Range, the scouts heard Tally speak confidently of the locality they were in, but Mr. Gilroy seemed to differ with the guide.
“Me think us mos’ here,” insisted the Indian.
“Maybe you’re right! I was mistaken before, so I’ll give in,” laughed Mr. Gilroy.
“What is it, Gilly?” asked some of the scouts.
“Tally says we are nearly at Steamboat Springs, and I say we are not. Now we will see who is right!”
They had not gone much farther along the trail, however, before the scouts discovered strawberries! Great luscious wild berries they were, and growing profusely everywhere in the grass.
“I guess Tally was right,” admitted Mr. Gilroy. “We’re in the wonderful strawberry belt that is so famous about Steamboat Springs.”
Colorado strawberries are as famous, throughout the West, as the Rockyford melons are in the East; so the scouts made the most of their opportunity to eat the delicious berries while they were at the Springs. They visited the plants where berries are packed and shipped, and also visited a factory where jams were prepared.
This progressive little town, although so young, compared favorably with the larger cities of the East. It was equipped with electric light, telephones, paved streets, first-class public service, and other modern welfare improvements.
The evening after the scouts had visited the packing-houses that shipped strawberries to the markets, Mr. Gilroy sat studying a large map. Julie kept silent for a long time (for her) and finally spoke.
“What’s the map for? Any change in plans?”
“I was figuring out whether or not we might possibly have time to go on a tangent trip, and take in Yellowstone Park, as long as we are so near Wyoming,” he returned.
“Oh, fine! Do let’s do that, Verny!” cried several of the girls.
“But that means an extended trip, Mr. Gilroy, and I do not see how we are going to finish all you have planned and still get back to Denver in time to take these girls back to school in September,” remonstrated Mrs. Vernon.
An argument instantly followed, in which the scouts sided with Mr. Gilroy, arguing that time was no consideration when such wonderful sights as the geysers of the Yellowstone could be seen. Mrs. Vernon was firm, however, in her protest that school came before all such other considerations. Mr. Vernon also added his weighty decision by saying that he had to be back in New York City the first week in September, without fail.
“Then we will have to retrace our trail across the Rockies and travel slowly southward on the west side of the mountains,” was Mr. Gilroy’s reluctant rejoinder.
“Does that mean we can’t go any farther than Steamboat Springs?” asked Julie, querulously.
“We might go on to Craig, and visit Cedar Mountain from the peak of which we can look over into Wyoming. That seems to be as near to it as we will come this summer,” laughed Mr. Gilroy.
Julie pouted, and the other scouts sat and waited for developments. Mr. Vernon thought for a time, then turned to his friend with a suggestion.
“You wanted to cross the Divide at Milner’s Pass because of the scenic beauty of the Fall River Road; now, why not cross it in going back to the eastern slope of the Rockies, and thence turn south?”
“I had thought of doing that, but the point at issue now seems Wyoming ‘to be or not to be?’”
“That was just settled, as far as Uncle and I are concerned,” added Mrs. Vernon, hastily. “It’s ‘not to be’ because I swore solemnly that these girls would be home before Labor Day if they were permitted to take this trip. So home we go in time to begin school the first day of the Fall term.”
“Dear me! It looks as if Verny had the wire-pulling this time!” sighed Joan, in such a tone that every one laughed.
“And of course where she goes, I have to follow!” said Ruth.
“Yes, sort of a ‘Ruth and Naomi’ proposition,” retorted Julie.
This decision reached, without further resistance from the scouts, they retired for the night with the plan agreed upon to leave Steamboat Springs in the morning and start for the Park Range of the Divide.
The packs had been well filled for the new venture in the mountains, and having breakfasted royally early in the morning, the tourists started out on the trail. The horses had had such a good rest and the mules were so frisky again, that the line of riders made splendid time from Steamboat Springs to the hills.
They had climbed up one mountain and down the other side, then the next one, and then another, until Tally called a halt for something to eat. It was long past noon, and the horses were hungry, too. They were very near the summit of one of the lower ranges of mountains, and Mr. Gilroy suggested that they go on to the top and there rest and eat.
“And look out for a stream of water which is palatable for use,” added Mr. Vernon.
As they rode to the summit of the mountain, the scouts conversed with Mr. Gilroy on various matters. But the thing that seemed to impress them most, was the fact that here they were back in the same mountains, and yet every day added new scenes and delights to the tour.
“It really doesn’t seem as if we had ever been in one of these mountains before, because every step brings out new wonders,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, as they all neared the top of the peak they had been ascending.
The sound of falling water now attracted Tally’s attention, and he broke into the heavy undergrowth to locate the stream. This done, he came back and reported that he had found a fine place for the dinner.
They all dismounted at the spot, and the two men started downstream to fish, while the guides assigned various tasks to the different members of the party. Then, when the scouts had finished their work and the men were not yet back from fishing, they climbed to a crag of rock whence they expected to have a fine view.
“Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Ruth, the first to reach the top of the crag.
“What a queer fog for a mountainside!” was Julie’s reply.
The other scouts now crowded up to see what caused these remarks, and as they gazed down upon a thick mantle of yellow, one of the girls called to Mrs. Vernon. She hastily climbed up beside them and looked as perplexed as her charges.
“Tally,” called she, turning to beckon the Indian, “see if this is smoke, will you?”
“Him smoke!” affirmed Tally, the moment he saw the blanket beneath them.
“What! A fire in the forest?” cried several of the girls.
“Then we can’t go through, can we?” asked Julie.
“Mebbe. Us wait and see,” returned Tally. “But scout get camera ready dis time. Fine picksher pooty soon when an’mals run f’om fire.”
“Verny, get the camera! Hurry up!” exclaimed the scouts, while Tally returned to his cooking.
His indifference to the fire that enveloped the forest tended to allay any fears they might have had. So they sat and watched the consuming flames as they swept across the forest and everywhere destroyed the fine timber. Unfortunately, the fire started at the base of the mountain so it quickly spread upward; had it begun at the top it would have burned itself out slowly for lack of fuel above where the draught always blows it.
Joan now leaned forward, and cried, “Look, quick!”
The scouts turned to gaze in the direction she pointed, and saw a number of beavers crossing a small park in order to reach a stream that flowed through the clearing. Immediately after the colony of beavers came a few deer, stopping now and then to turn and stare wonderingly at the heat that caused them such discomfort.
Then, to the amazement of the scouts, a large bear followed upon the heels of the deer, but he had no thought now of making a meal of venison. He seemed anxious only to reach a place where smoke and fire would not annoy him. Now and then the girls saw him stop, return a few paces and sound a queer growl. Then they saw the cause of this action.
A fat little cub finally ran out from the thick blanket of smoke, and hurried after its mother. When it came up to the old bear, it jumped about gleefully, never dreaming of the danger they were fleeing from. But the she-bear evidently thought this was no time for unseemly play, and gave the cub a smart cuff over the ear. The little fellow rolled over with the force of the slap, but then ran along beside his mother in meek submission to authority.
Tally now joined them again on the crag, and when the scouts had told of the bear, Ruth added, “But there are no birds escaping, Tally.”
“Dem gone long go. Fire drive dem firs’.”
“I’m glad of that, but just think of all the fledglings that can’t fly and escape,” said Betty.
“Let’s think of something pleasanter,” retorted Julie.
“Yes, let’s think of dinner that Tally says is waiting,” added Anne, laughingly.
As they sat down to dine, the scouts saw Omney sitting up on their former post of observation. As they wanted to ride on as soon as possible, one of the scouts asked why the guide didn’t eat his dinner, too.
“Him watch if fire jump. Him kin eat dere as here.”
“The fire is burning the other way, Tally,” said Julie.
“Mebbe him jump back, if wind change. So Omney watch.”
“If it blows this way, what must we do?” asked the Captain.
“Ride back trail us come. An’ ride fas’, too.”
But the fire kept on burning its way in the direction it began to go, and after a long rest on the crags to permit the pall of smoke to be blown away, the guides led the way down the slope. All the down-timber had been burned to ash which was still hot in spots. So the horses picked their way between these heaps. Every vestige of brush, all vegetation, and living creatures were gone. Charred tree trunks showed where the flames had licked up the bark to get at the pine branches overhead, and there, high above the heads of the riders, the fire still raged through the resinous tops.
“It’s a Sodom and Gomorrah for desolation, isn’t it?” said Julie.
In all the fire-swept district the scouts saw not one charred body of animals that live in the woods. A coyote lay at the edge of the area, dead from the blow of an animal with sharp claws, but that had happened after the fire. Julie thought the bear probably did it because the horrid little coyote tried to get a bite of fat little cub.
“But see all the poor, poor trees,” sighed Betty.
“Yes, these fires destroy more timber than all other forces put together,” returned Mr. Gilroy. “Because of the resinous matter in pine or spruce, they burn quicker and make a hotter fire than other trees. But fortunately for future forests, the flames never can reach the roots and seedlings buried under ground, so these shortly sprout up and start new timber.
“It is not often that a fire sweeps over the same area again for centuries, unless some fool tenderfoot leaves a campfire burning, or shakes the hot ashes from a pipe.”
They all rode forward as quickly as possible, for night was coming on apace, and every one was anxious to get out of the burnt district before dark. So they pitched camp as soon as they got beyond the fire line.
That night, flares like torches shot up from many of the standing trees on the hillside, and they continued burning for several days after the under fire had passed along. The light from these treetops cast weird shadows upon the camp.
“I never want to see another forest-fire,” declared Joan, as she turned her face away from these flickering glares.
“None of us do, but as long as there was a fire, we are glad to have seen it,” replied Julie.
“And I’m glad it was a little one,” added the Captain.
“You wouldn’t say that was a little fire, would you?” asked several of the scouts.
“Tally said it was not over a mile frontage, and that, he says, is a small one. If we saw a fire that stretched for miles along a forest ridge and kept on burning for days and days, – that, he claims, would be a big fire!”
All through that night blood-curdling cries came from the devastated district. The howls of panthers, growls of the bears, cries of coyotes, and yelps of timber-wolves, kept the campers awake. In the morning, Tally started early to seek the cause of such a clamor in the night.
“Dat ole dead coyote! Him mak all dat trubble,” laughed the guide, upon his return to camp. “Dem starvin’ an’mals all wand’da eat him, so dey fight and fight, but ole grizzle fight bes’ an’ git him.”