The Young Wireless Operator-As a Fire Patrol Part 3

The cut saplings and brush had been burned in the trail itself, but the work had been done so carefully that never a tree had been scorched. Even the marks of fire had been obliterated by the subsequent grubbing of the roots.

"Bully good!" cried Lew, when he saw the path lying smooth and open before him. "The forest rangers have been making a fire trail of this old path.

We can make great time here."

He pushed on at top speed. Charley hung close at his heels. Neither boy said a word, each saving his breath for the task in hand; for with the packs on their backs even a down-hill trail was not easy.

"We can go scout pace here," said Lew over his shoulder, and suiting his action to his words, he broke into a trot. Fifty steps he went at that gait, then walked fifty. Then he ran fifty more. So they went down the mountain in a mere fraction of the time it had taken them to ascend. But long before they reached the bottom, Lew dropped back to a steady walk.

"We've got to save our wind for the climb up Old Ironsides," he said over his shoulder.

It was well he did so. Before them a long, high mountain stretched across their way, like a giant caterpillar. No notch cut through its rugged side, to give an easy way to the valley beyond. Only by climbing directly over the rugged monster could the two boys reach the snug little valley on its far side, where they expected to find the trout teeming tinder the dark pines. Old Ironsides was the rocky barrier that confronted them. Even Stone Mountain was not more rugged and rocky. Like Stone Mountain it seemed to be a mammoth rock pile. Rocks of every size and description covered its steep slope. Mostly the mountain was shaded by a good stand of second-growth timber; but in places there were vast areas of rounded stones, like flattish heaps of potatoes, that for acres covered the soil of the hill so deeply as to prevent all plant growth. Old Ironsides could have been called Stone Mountain as appropriately as its neighbor, for truly it was rock-ribbed. But the stones on its slopes, unlike those of Stone Mountain, contained a small percentage of iron. Hence its name. The nearer slope of this hill was as dry as it was stony. Not a spring or the tiniest trickle of water wet its rocky side for miles. But part way down the farther slope a splendid stream gushed forth among the rocks. It was this spring, or the stream issuing from it, that Charley and Lew hoped to reach before they made their camp for the night.

Thanks to the work of the forest rangers in clearing the fire trail, it looked as though the two boys would reach their goal before dark. Could they have gone straight up the slope of Old Ironsides, they would have come almost directly to the spring itself. But the grade was far too steep to permit that. They would have to zigzag up the hill and find the stream after they topped the crest. Because of the peculiar formation of the land below this spring, the water did not run directly down the hill toward the bottom, but flowed off to one side and made its way diagonally down the slope.

At the bottom of the fire trail Lew and Charley sat down and rested for five minutes. Then they began their difficult climb upward. And difficult it was. There was no semblance of a path. The way led over jagged ma.s.ses of rock, through dense little stands of trees, and among growths that were hard to penetrate because of their very thinness; for where the stand was spa.r.s.e the trees had many low limbs to catch and trip and pull at those who sought to pa.s.s through.

There were great areas of bare stones to be crossed--stones rounded and weathered by the elements through thousands of years, and finally heaped together like flattish piles of pumpkins on a barn floor. Acres and acres were covered by these great deposits of rounded, lichened rocks.

In crossing these rocky areas it was necessary to use the greatest caution. Many of the stones rested so insecurely that the slightest pressure would send them rolling downward. If one stone started, others might follow, and great numbers of rocks might go rus.h.i.+ng down the hill as coal pours down a chute into a cellar. Serious injury was certain to result if either of the lads got caught in such a slide; for some of the stones in these piles weighed hundreds of pounds.

Rattlesnakes const.i.tuted a second danger. The mountains hereabout were full of them. One never could tell at what instant a rattler might be found lying among the stones, or coiled on a flat rock that had been warmed by the sun. So like the rocks themselves in color were these snakes that in the dull light it would have been easily possible to step on one of them without seeing it. So the two boys advanced slowly and cautiously across these barren stretches, stepping gingerly on stones that looked insecure and ever keeping a sharp watch for anything that might suggest snakes.

Up they went and still upward. Across bare rock patches, through brushy growths and among dense stands of young trees, the two boys forced their way, ever ascending, ever working upward toward the summit. Now they made their way to the right, now to the left, and sometimes they climbed straight upward in their efforts to avoid obstacles.

"Gee!" cried Charley after they had been climbing for some time. "This is what I call tough going. Let's have a drink."

They sat down on a stone to rest. Perspiration was pouring down their faces. Both boys were breathing hard. The canteen was uncorked and they took a good drink.

"Not too much," cautioned Lew, as Charley started to take a second draught. "You can't climb if you fill up too full."

After a short rest they went on again. The way grew rockier. There were fewer piles of loose stones, but more outcropping rocks, the bare bones of the earth. Constantly the light dwindled. Their progress grew slower. From time to time they paused to drink and rest.

"We're never going to make it before dark," said Charley, again pausing to get his breath. He took a drink and pa.s.sed the canteen to his companion.

"Then we'll have to make it after dark," said Lew. "For the canteen is about empty and we've got to have water. I'm so thirsty I could drink a gallon."

They said no more, but pushed ahead as fast as their weary legs would carry them.

"We're not far from the top now," Lew said after a time. "I see our old landmark over to the left. It isn't more than half a mile from that to the water. We'll make it all right."

But he had hardly gone fifty yards before he stopped and cried out. Before him lay a blackened, desolate area that stretched the remainder of the way to the summit. Fire had swept over the spot. But it was not the fact that fire had been through the region that made Lew cry out. Fire and subsequent storms had practically leveled the stand of trees between the spot where Lew stood and the summit. Here and there a blackened tree thrust its bare trunk upward, limbless, its top gone, a ragged, spectral, pitiful remnant of what had been a beautiful tree. But mostly the thick stand of young poles had been laid low even as a scythe levels a field of grain. And these fallen poles lay in almost impa.s.sable confusion, twisted and tangled and in places heaped in towering ma.s.ses. A barbed wire entanglement would hardly have been a worse obstacle. To penetrate the ma.s.s, even in the light of noon, would have been no easy work; but to cross the area now, with dusk fast deepening to darkness, was indeed a difficult task.

"Well," said Lew, after a few searching glances at the burned area, "we've got to go on, and we might as well plow straight through it. I can't see that one way looks any easier than another."

They went on, slowly, painfully. Now they were forced to crawl underneath a fallen tree, now to climb over one. Again and again their way was completely blocked by high barriers of interlocked trunks and branches.

Sometimes they had to mount the fallen trunks and cautiously walk from one to another. Darkness came on apace. They could hardly see. The flash-light was brought forth, the last drop in the canteen swallowed, and they started forward on their final push.

"It's only a few hundred yards to the top, now," said Lew. "It will be easier going down the other side."

Painfully slow was their progress. More than once each of them tripped and fell. The sharp ends of the broken branches tore their clothes and scratched them badly. But silently, doggedly, they pushed on. At last there remained but one barrier between them and the summit. It was a great pile of fallen trunks that had no visible ending. There was nothing to do but go over it. From one log to another they scrambled up, each helping the other, advancing a foot at a time, feeling the way with hands and feet and searching out a path with the little light. So high were the trees piled that at times the boys walked ten feet in air, making their way gingerly along the slender trunks. Eventually they got beyond the log barrier and the remainder of the way to the top was more open. At last they stood on the very summit.

"I wonder where our landmark is," queried Lew, flas.h.i.+ng his light this way and that. "I understand now why we saw it so plainly from below. There were no standing trees to hide it. We never saw it from so far away before."

The landmark was a great, upright rock like a huge chimney. It was not far distant and presently Lew found it. The boys made their way to it.

"Now," said Lew, with a sigh of relief, "we go straight down. We should come to the brook flowing from the spring in a few minutes. We'll have to make it soon or I'll die of thirst."

They started down the slope. The fire had swept over the summit and the way before them was like the area they had just crossed. But they were now going down-hill and it was far easier to force their way. A few yards at a time they advanced, now held back by a fallen log or turned aside by dense entanglements of prostrate trunks.

Presently Lew gave a cry. "Do you see that big stone like an altar, Charley?" he called, turning the light on a great rock. "That's the stone where we made our fire the last time we were here. It stands within twenty-five feet of the brook."

"Thank goodness!" answered Charley. "My back is about broken. This pack weighs a ton! And I'll die if I don't get water soon."

Recklessly they pushed forward, almost running in their eager haste.

"Here we are," exulted Lew, a moment later. "Here's the brook."

Before him he could dimly make out the depression in the earth where the stream ran. He dropped his pack and ran forward, then threw himself flat in the darkness and felt in the stream bed for a pool deep enough to drink from. His fingers touched only dry sand and stones.

"The light, Charley," he panted. "Bring the light, quick."

His comrade flung his own pack on the earth and ran forward to the bank of the stream. He turned his light downward and flashed it right and left along the bed of the brook. There was no answering sparkle of light. The bed of the brook was not even moist. The spring had gone dry.

Chapter IV

In the Burned Forest

The two boys were almost stunned by their discovery. For a moment neither spoke. Indeed neither dared to speak. Their disappointment was so keen, their thirst so intense, that both boys were near to tears. But presently they got command of themselves.

"I knew it had been a mighty dry season," said Lew, in amazement, "but I never imagined it was anything like this. I supposed that spring never went dry."

The two lads stood looking at each other in consternation.

"What in the world shall we do?" asked Charley, slowly.

"I don't see that we can do anything," rejoined Lew. "I'm all in myself. I couldn't go another rod if somebody would pay me. We'll just have to make the best of it."

"Well, we can eat if we can't drink," said Charley. "Start a fire and I'll get out the grub."

Charley began to unroll his pack, while Lew gathered up a few twigs and made a cone-shaped little pile of them close beside the great rock. He struck a match and in a moment flames were drawing upward through the twigs. With the hatchet Lew cut some short lengths of heavier wood and soon the flames were leaping high, lighting up the forest for rods around.

Dismal, indeed, was the sight the two lads looked upon. Nowhere could they see anything green, save a few scattered ferns. Everywhere gaunt, ragged, blackened trees thrust their sorrowful looking trunks aloft. The earth was littered with blackened debris--burned and partly charred limbs and fallen trees. The very rocks were fire-scarred and scorched. Hardly could the mind of man conceive a picture more desolate. As the two boys looked at the scene before them, Lew quoted the sign on the hemlock.

"Everybody loses when timber burns," he said. But though both boys were looking directly at what seemed the very acme of destruction and loss, neither as yet comprehended the full significance of the statement Lew was quoting.