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Title: The Young Wireless Operator--As a Fire Patrol
       The Story of a Young Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire Patrol

Author: Lewis E. Theiss

Release Date: July 7, 2004 [EBook #12839]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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[Illustration: The Forester, Charley and Lew Crossed to the Brook Where
the Battle with the Flames Had Begun]




The Young Wireless Operator--As a Fire Patrol

or

<i>The Story of a Young Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire Patrol</i>

By

Lewis E. Theiss

Illustrated by
Frank T. Merrill

W. A. Wilde Company
Chicago Boston




<i>Copyright, 1921,</i>
By W. A. Wilde Company
<i>All rights reserved</i>



The Young Wireless Operator--As A Fire Patrol.




This book is dedicated to

Gifford Pinchot

sometime forester for the United States of America, and now Commissioner
of Forestry for Pennsylvania, whose ceaseless and undiscouraged efforts to
save from spoliation the vast timber stands and other natural resources of
America have inspired this story




Foreword



Boys and dogs go well together. So do boys and trees. When a boy gets to
love the forest and can live in it, that is best of all. For the forest
makes real boys and real men.

Not only does the forest do that, but it keeps the Nation alive. No one
can eat a meal without the help of the forest, for it takes more than half
the wood cut every year in the United States to enable the farmer to grow
the food and the fibres to feed and clothe the Nation. No one can live in
a house without the help of the forest, for whether we speak of it as a
wooden house, a brick house, a stone house, or a concrete house, still
there is wood in it, and without wood it could not have been built.

We are apt to think of the city dwellers as people who are not dependent
on the forest. As a matter of fact, they are the most dependent of all,
for the cities would be deserted, the houses empty, and the streets dead,
except for the things which could not be grown nor mined nor manufactured
nor transported without the help of wood from the forest.

Pennsylvania--Penn's Woods--is the greatest industrial commonwealth in the
world. Without its woods, it could never have been made so. Unless its
woods are restored, it cannot continue to be so, and unless forest fires
are stopped, there is no way to restore Penn's Woods.

I have read "The Young Wireless Operator--As a Fire Patrol" with the
keenest interest, not only because it is about the forest, but because it
is a thrillingly interesting story of a real boy and the real things he
did in the woods. I like it from end to end, and that is why, when Mr.
Theiss asked me to write this foreword, I gladly consented.

No one loves the woods more than I, as boy and man, or loves to be in them
better. One of the things I want most is to see more and better forests in
our great State of Pennsylvania, and in the whole United States. Without
our forests we could not have become great, nor can we continue to be so.
For the men and boys who love the forest and understand it are of the kind
without whom great nations are impossible.

Gifford Pinchot.




Contents



     I. Vacation Plans
    II. What Came of Them
   III. Off to the Mountains
    IV. In the Burned Forest
     V. A Lost Opportunity
    VI. Trout Fishing in the Wilderness
   VII. The Forest Afire
  VIII. Making an Investigation
    IX. Charley Becomes a Fire Patrol
     X. An Encounter with a Bear
    XI. The Secret Camp in the Wilderness
   XII. On the Trail of the Timber Thieves
  XIII. Spying Out the Land
   XIV. The Trail in the Forest
    XV. The Telltale Thumb-Print
   XVI. Good News for the Fire Patrol
  XVII. An Accident in the Wilderness
 XVIII. The First Clue to the Incendiary
   XIX. The Forester's Problem
    XX. Charley Wins His First Promotion
   XXI. A Trouble Maker
  XXII. Charley Finds Another Clue
 XXIII. A Startling Discovery
  XXIV. Checkmated
   XXV. The Crisis
  XXVI. More Thumb-Prints
 XXVII. Trapped
XXVIII. Victory




The Young Wireless Operator--As a Fire Patrol




Chapter I

Vacation Plans



Charley Russell sat before a table in the workshop in his father's back
yard. In front of him were the shining instruments of his wireless
outfit--his coupler, his condenser, his helix, his spark-gap, and the
other parts, practically all of which he had made with his own hands.
Ordinarily he would have looked at them fondly, but now he gave them
hardly a thought. He was waiting for his chum, Lew Heinsling, and his mind
was busy with the problem of his own future. Charley was a senior in high
school and was pondering over the question of what the world had in store
for him. While he sat meditating, Lew arrived. In his hand was a copy of
the <i>New York Sun and Herald</i>. He held it out to Charley and pointed to
the marine news.

"The <i>Lycoming</i> reaches New York to-day," he said. "Roy will send us a
wireless message to-night. Gee! I wish we had a battery strong enough to
talk back."

But Charley paid slight heed to the suggestion. Instead he said: "Roy
Mercer's a lucky dog. Think of being the wireless man on a big ocean
steamer when you're only nineteen. I wish I knew what I am going to do
after I graduate from high school."

Roy Mercer, like Charley and Lew, was a member of the Camp Brady Wireless
Patrol. With his fellows he had taken part in the capture of the German
spies who were trying to dynamite the Elk City reservoir and so wreck a
great munitions centre during the war; and with three other members of the
Wireless Patrol, especially selected for their skill in wireless, he had
later gone to New York with their leader, Captain Hardy, to assist the
government Secret Service in its search for the secret wireless that was
keeping the German Admiralty informed of the movements of American
vessels.

His fellows both envied and loved him. Roy warmly returned their
affection, and his vessel never came into port that he did not, regularly
at nine o'clock in the evening, flash out some message of greeting to his
former comrades of the Wireless Patrol. It was always a one-sided
conversation, however, because none of the boys in the Wireless Patrol
owned a battery powerful enough to carry a message from Central City to
New York. Just now each lad was engaged in trying to earn money so that
the club could buy a battery or dynamo strong enough for this purpose. So
each boy was working at any job he could pick up after school, and saving
all he earned. Both Charley and Lew had already earned more than their
share of the purchase money.

"You never can tell what will happen," said Lew presently. "Who ever
expected Roy to get the job he has? You may land in another just as good.
You stand pretty near the head of your class, and everybody knows you're a
corking good wireless operator."

"I can tell well enough what will happen, Lew. The minute I'm out of high
school, I'll have to go to work with Dad in Miller's factory. Gee! How I
hate the place! Think of working nine hours a day in such a dirty, smoky,
noisy old hole, where you can't get a breath of fresh air, or see the sky,
or hear the birds. Just to think about it is enough to make a fellow feel
blue."

"But maybe you won't have to go into the factory at all," argued Lew.
"Maybe you can find some other job you like better."

"No, I shall have to go into the factory," repeated Charley sadly. "Dad
says I've got to get to work the minute I've graduated, and earn the most
money possible. And there's no other place where I can get as much as they
pay at Miller's. Dad says I can get two-fifty a day at the start and maybe
three dollars."

Charley paused and sighed, then added, "What's three dollars a day if you
have to be penned up like an animal to earn it? I'd rather take half as
much if I could work out in the open and do something I like."

"Why don't you tell your father so?"

"I have--dozens of times. But he says it isn't a question of what I want
to do. It's a question of making the most money possible and helping him.
He says he's supported me for more than eighteen years and now I have to
help him for a year or two anyway."

"That's a shame!" cried Lew.

"No, it isn't, Lew," explained Charley. "It's all right about helping Dad.
He's been mighty good to me, and he's in the hole now. You see, Dad and
Mother have been married twenty years and Dad's worked hard all this time
and saved his money to build a house. And just about the time Dad was
ready to begin building, prices began to go up. Dad held off, thinking
they would drop. But they got higher instead, and finally Dad told the
carpenters to go ahead, lest prices should go higher still. Now the house
is going to cost almost double what Dad expected it would, and the awful
prices of everything else take every cent Dad can earn. With such a big
mortgage on the place, Dad says he's just got to have my help or he may
lose the house and all he has saved in those twenty years. It's all right
about helping Dad, Lew. I want to do that, but I can't bear to think of
going to work in that factory."

"It's too bad, Charley. I had hoped so much that we could go to college
together."

"Lew, if I could go to college I'd work my head off to do it. You know
that. If only I could go to college and learn about the birds and flowers
and rocks and trees and animals, I'd be willing to do anything--even to
work in Miller's factory for a time. But Dad will need every cent I can
earn until I am twenty-one, and I can't see how I can possibly go to
college."

"Never mind, Charley. You never can tell what will happen. Look at Roy. He
was worse off than you are, for his father died suddenly and Roy had to
care for both himself and his mother. And see what came of it. He isn't
much older than we are, yet he's got a fine job. Just keep your eyes open
and you may pick up something, too."

"It'll have to come quick, then," sighed Charley. "Here it is almost
Easter vacation, and I am to graduate in June. This will probably be the
last vacation I shall have in a long time."

"Then let's enjoy this vacation. I've been thinking what we could do, and
it occurred to me that it would be lots of fun for the Wireless Patrol to
make a trip up the river to that old camp of ours. It won't be too cold to
camp out if we take out our tents and our little collapsible stoves.
Suckers ought to be running good and we can catch a fine mess of fish,
take a hike or two, and have a bully trip up the river and back. Let's go
tell the rest of the fellows."

Lew jumped up and started for the door. Then he stopped suddenly and a
look of disappointment came over his face. "I'll bet none of 'em can go,"
he said. "They've all got jobs for the vacation. I'm glad we've got our
money earned."

"I just thought of another difficulty," sighed Charley. "Not one of us
owns a boat."

"We can borrow one," said Lew.

"I hate to borrow things," replied Charley. "You remember how I borrowed
old man Packer's bob-sled and broke it and then had to pay to have it
remade. No more borrowing for me."

"Why can't we make a boat? There's plenty of time between now and
vacation. If we do the work ourselves, it oughtn't to cost more than two
or three dollars and then we'd have a boat of our own."

"Bully!" cried Charley. "We can make it as good as anybody. We'll do it."

"All right. I'll go down-town and find the price of oars and rowlocks, and
you go over to Hank Cooley's and find out how his father made that boat of
his. It's a dandy and just what we need."

The two boys rushed off in opposite directions, each full of enthusiasm
over the plan to build a new boat and make a trip up the river during
their Easter vacation.




Chapter II

What Came of Them



A few hours later Charley Russell again sat before the bench in the little
wireless house in his father's yard. Before him lay some patterns for a
rowboat, and on a piece of paper Charley was trying to figure out how much
lumber it would take to build the boat.

"We'll need two sixteen-foot boards, each a foot wide for the sides," he
said, looking across the table at his chum, who sat ready, with pencil and
paper, to jot down the figures Charley gave him.

"Thirty-two feet," said Lew, setting down the number on his paper.

Charley bent over his patterns, measuring and estimating in silence.
"It'll take three more like 'em for the bottom," he said presently.

"That's forty-eight more," replied Lew, jotting down the number.

"And these cross braces," added Charley, after another period of
calculation, "will take ten feet more."

Again Lew set down the number.

"That provides for everything but the decks," said Charley. "They will
take seven or eight feet more. Better call it ten. That's all. What does
it make?"

Lew put down ten and added the column of figures. "One hundred feet
exactly," he said.

"Bully good!" replied Charley. "A hundred feet oughtn't to cost much of
anything. The rub's going to be to get the oars. You say they want five
dollars for the cheapest pair at the hardware store, and the sporting
goods store wants six-fifty."

"The robbers!" cried Lew. "Think of it. Six-fifty for about fifteen cents'
worth of wood. Maybe we can get a pair of second-hand oars somewhere.
Six-fifty is as much as we can afford to spend on the whole outfit."

"It will be all right to get second-hand oars," said Charley, "for we can
get new ones later, when we have the money. Besides, we want to put most
of our money into the boat itself. As long as we are going to build it, we
want to make it the very best boat possible. We want the best wood in the
market and we want our boat light enough so that the two of us can carry
it. I reckon it may cost two or three dollars if we buy such good wood as
that. But it will be worth while. We can get along with cheap oars for a
time. Let's go down to the lumber-yard and get our boards."

The two chums left the shop and hurried down the street toward the
lumber-yard.

"If we can get our lumber to-day," said Charley, "I'm certain we can get
our boat made before the spring vacation. We ought to be able to put in
three hours apiece every afternoon after high school lets out, and we can
get in another hour apiece before school, if we get up early enough.
That's four hours apiece, or eight hours a day. We certainly ought to get
it finished and painted inside of ten days."

"Sure," replied Lew. "We'll have her done all right. And we'll have just
about the finest boat in town."

"And I reckon we'll have just about the finest trip ever," went on
Charley. "If we start right after school closes for the Easter vacation we
can row up-stream that afternoon as far as Hillman's Grove, and camp there
for the night. That will give us almost half a day's extra time. Then we
can reach our old camping ground the next day and get the tent up and our
wood cut and maybe even catch some fish before dark. We'll have everything
ready so we can jump right into the boat and pull out the minute school is
over."

"Sure," assented Lew. Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "Ain't it a
shame none of the other members of the Wireless Patrol can go along? We'll
miss 'em, particularly Roy. And now that he's wireless man on the
<i>Lycoming</i>, he'll probably never go on another trip with the Camp Brady
Patrol."

"It's too bad for us, but mighty nice for Roy," said Charley. "Just think
of being the wireless man on a great ocean steamship when you're only
nineteen. He's made for life. Gee! I wish I knew what I am going to do."

"I know how you feel, Charley. Maybe something will turn up so that you
won't need to go into the factory after all. But here we are at the
lumber-yard. Let's get the boards and begin our boat at once. We'll have a
good time this vacation, no matter what happens afterward."

"Well, boys, what can I do for you?" inquired the lumber dealer, as
Charley and Lew approached him.

"We want one hundred feet of the lightest and best boards you have,"
replied Charley. "We are going to build a boat and we want it to be strong
but light, so that the two of us can handle it."

"White pine would be just the thing for you," replied the dealer, "but I
haven't a foot of it in the place and can't get any. I have some fine
cedar boards that would make a good light boat. Just come over to this
pile of lumber." And he led the way across the yard.

"That will suit us all right if it's wide enough," said Charley. "We want
foot boards."

"Well, that's what these are. And a good inch thick, too. They're mighty
good boards. Hardly a knot in 'em. We don't see much lumber like that
nowadays."

"They'll do all right," assented Charley, after examining the boards.
"What do they cost a hundred?"

"Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!" cried Charley in consternation. Then a smile came on his
face. "Quit your kidding," he said. "What <i>do</i> they come at?"

"Ten dollars," replied the lumber dealer soberly.

The two boys stared at him incredulously.

"Impossible!" cried Lew. "What are they <i>really</i> worth?"

"Ten dollars," replied the man. His voice was sharp and a frown had
gathered on his forehead. "Ten dollars, and cheap at that."

Charley turned to his companion with a look of dismay. "We can never build
our boat with wood at such a price," he cried. "With five dollars to pay
for oars, and two dollars for paint, and some more for nails and rowlocks,
and lock and chain, the boat would cost eighteen or twenty dollars just
for the materials. That's three times as much as we have got."

After an instant the look on Charley's face changed to one of intense
indignation. He had a quick temper, and now he turned to the lumber dealer
in anger.

"I guess the sugar profiteers are not the only ones who ought to be in the
penitentiary," he said hotly. "You can keep your old boards. And I hope
they rot for you."

Then he turned on his heel and started toward the gate, followed by Lew.

"Come back here!"

The words rang out sharp and sudden. The voice was commanding and
compelling. Involuntarily the two boys turned back. The lumber dealer
stood before them, his face ablaze with indignation. Under his fiery
glances the boys were speechless. For a moment the man said nothing.
Evidently he was struggling with his temper. When he had gotten control of
himself he spoke. His voice was deep and low, but harsh and cutting.

"Before you make a fool of yourself again, young man," he said, speaking
directly to Charley, "you had better know what you are talking about. You
called me a profiteer for asking $100 a thousand feet for those cedar
boards. Young man, those boards cost me $90 a thousand in the cars at the
station. That leaves me a margin of $10 a thousand for handling them. Out
of that I have to pay to have the boards hauled from the station, pay for
insurance on them, pay their proportionate share of overhead expense, and
pay for hauling them to customers. How much of that $10 do you think is
left for profit? So little it almost requires a microscope to see it. I
have to handle a good many hundred feet of lumber to make as much as the
cheapest sort of laborer gets for a day's pay. The fact is, young man,
that far from profiteering on that lumber, I am selling it at a smaller
profit than I ever sold any lumber before in my life. Some lumber I am
handling at a loss. But in these critical days, with factories closing
everywhere, and men by the thousands being thrown out of work, the best
thing a man can do, either for himself or for his country, is to keep
business moving. That's why I am selling lumber without profit."

Charley was suddenly abashed. "I'm awfully sorry I called you a
profiteer," he said humbly. "I beg your pardon."

"It's all right, young man," said the lumber dealer, a smile once more
lighting up his face. "You are too young to understand how critical the
business situation really is. But be careful in future how you call people
names."

"I certainly will," agreed Charley. "But I'd like to know this. Who <i>is</i>
profiteering in lumber? Who is responsible for such terrible prices?"

"Well, there <i>has</i> been profiteering in lumber, as in everything else. But
there is a real reason why the price of lumber is so high, and that is the
scarcity of timber."

"Scarcity!" cried Charley incredulously. "Why, the forests are full of
timber."

"And what is it like?" demanded the lumber dealer. "Go out to the forests
and look at it. There's nothing but little poles that will scarcely make
six-inch boards. We don't produce one-fourth of the lumber we use in this
state, and we are using wood ten times as fast as our forests are growing
it."

"I thought Pennsylvania was a great lumbering state," protested Lew.

"For a good many years it led the nation in the production of lumber,
young man, but now it ranks twentieth among the states. If only fire could
be kept out of the forests, we might some day raise our own timber again.
But the lumbermen chopped down the big trees and fire has destroyed the
little ones and even burned the forest soil so that nothing grows in it
again. We have not only destroyed our forests, but we have so injured the
land that new trees do not grow to take the place of those we cut."

The two boys stared at the lumberman in amazement. "Where <i>do</i> we get our
lumber from?" demanded Lew.

"Practically all of it comes from the South. That's one reason lumber
costs so much here. The people of Pennsylvania pay $25,000,000 a year in
freight charges on the lumber they use. That's one of the reasons those
cedar boards you were looking at cost so much. When the new freight rates
go into effect the cost of hauling our lumber to us will be something like
$40,000,000 a year."

The two boys were very thoughtful as they made their way back to Charley's
shop.

"What are people going to do for wood pretty soon?" Lew inquired of his
companion. "If we can't build a little boat because the wood costs too
much, how are people going to get homes and furniture and wagons and
motor-cars and a thousand other things? Seems to me pretty much everything
we use is made of wood."

"I don't know," replied Charley. "But what bothers me more just now is to
know what we are going to do during Easter vacation. It may be the last
vacation I shall ever have, and I'd like to have a good time."

"Why not follow the lumber dealer's suggestion and go out to the forests?
Easter doesn't come this year until after the trout season opens. We could
go out to our old camp in the mountains and spend the vacation there,
fishing and hiking."

"That's a mighty good suggestion, Lew. If we have our packs ready, we can
start from high school the minute it is dismissed. We can make that early
afternoon train and get off at that little flag-station at the foot of
Stone Mountain. Then we can hike through the notch and reach the far slope
of Old Ironsides before dark. We shall have to camp overnight along the
run from the spring there, as it is the only water for miles around. Then
the next day we can go on into that little valley where we saw so many
trout. That is so hard to reach that not many fishermen ever go there. The
little stream from the spring on Old Ironsides runs into that brook. Do
you remember what lots of little trout we saw not far below the spring?
They will have become big fellows by this time and moved down into the
larger stream. There ought to be some fine fishing there this spring."

"They say it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. I'm sorry we can't
build the boat, but we shall have just as good a time in the mountains as
we should have had on the river. We'll borrow that little pup tent of
Johnnie Lee's, and take our blankets, hatchets, fishing-rods, and grub."

"I'd rather leave the tent at home and build a lean-to after we get there.
Then we could take a portable wireless outfit and talk to the fellows at
home here in the evening. Half a dozen dry cells would give us one-sixth
of a kilowatt of current, and that ought to carry a message twenty-five or
thirty miles easily. At night we might be able to talk fifty miles. We can
carry six cells easily. The remainder of the outfit won't weigh much.
We'll have to go as light as we can, for it's a mighty tough hike over Old
Ironsides and on into that little valley."

"Shall we take our pistols?" asked Charley.

"We'd better have at least one. You never can tell when you're going to
need a pistol in the forest. Remember the time that bear treed me on the
first hike of the Wireless Patrol? I don't ever want to get into another
situation like that without something to shoot with."

Charley chuckled. "It wasn't a pistol that saved you then," he smiled,
"but Willie Brown and his spark-gap."

"Then we'll be doubly armed," replied Lew. "Since you have so much faith
in wireless, you can carry the outfit. I'll pack the gun. We're almost
certain to have some kind of adventure, for every time the Wireless Patrol
or any of its members venture into the woods, something exciting happens."




Chapter III

Off to the Mountains



Busy, indeed, were the succeeding ten days. The outfit that the two boys
were to carry was packed and repacked several times, and each time it was
overhauled something was eliminated from the packs; for both boys knew
well enough that the trip before them would test their endurance even with
the lightest of packs. Finally their outfit was reduced to two
fishing-rods, one hatchet, a first-aid kit, a flash-light, the necessary
food and dishes, one canteen, and one pistol, with the wireless equipment.

This was made as simple as possible. Six new dry cells were to be taken to
provide current. Then there were a spark-gap, a spark-coil, a key, and a
detector, with the receiving set, switch, and aerial. To be sure, the
entire aerial was not packed, but merely the wires and insulators, as
spreaders could be made in the forest. Then there was an additional coil
of wire to be used for lead-in and suspension wires. No tuning instrument
was necessary, because the wireless outfits of all the members of the Camp
Brady Wireless Patrol were exactly alike and so were already in tune with
one another. Without a tuning instrument, to be sure, it might not be
possible for Charley and Lew to talk with anybody except their fellows of
the Wireless Patrol, but in the present circumstances that made no
difference to them. They had no intention of talking to anybody else.

The various instruments were carefully packed so that they could be
carried without injury. The dishes were nested as well as possible. Then
all were stowed away in the pack bags, together with the food supplies.
The two blankets were tightly folded and tied, ready to be slung over the
shoulders. Long before that last session of school, everything was in
readiness. When finally that last session was over, the two lads had only
to strap their packs on their backs, sling their blankets into place, and
pick up their little fishing-rods, unjointed and compactly packed in cloth
cases. Lew buckled the pistol to his belt and suspended the canteen from
his shoulder, while Charley sheathed his little axe and hung it on his
hip. Then, completely ready, the two lads waved farewell to their envious
comrades and hastened away to the train. In less than an hour the train
stopped to let them off at the little flag-station at the foot of Stone
Mountain. In a moment more it had gone whistling around the shoulder of
the hill, leaving the two boys alone on the edge of the wilderness.

Quickly they adjusted their packs and started back along the
railroad-track toward the gap through which they were to pass to Old
Ironsides. Rapidly they made their way along the road-bed.

"We'd better hustle while the going's good," commented Lew, glancing at
the heavy clouds that obscured the sun, "for it will get dark early
to-night. It'll be slow enough going once we leave the track."

"There's one thing sure," replied Charley. "We won't be bothered with wet
ground. I think I never saw the earth so dry at this season of the year.
There was almost no snow last winter and we've hardly had a rain this
spring. Usually it rains every day at this time of year."

Charley's prediction proved true. When the boys at last reached the notch
in the mountains and left the railroad-track, they found the way almost as
dry as a village street. Years before, the timber had been cut from Stone
Mountain, and a logging trail had passed up the very gap through which the
boys were now traveling. But brush and brambles had come in soon after the
lumbermen left and now a thick stand of saplings also helped to choke the
path. The briars tore at the boys' clothing and blankets. The bushy
growths caught in their packs and straps and wrapped themselves about
their feet and legs. Very quickly it became evident that a hard struggle
lay before them.

Back from the trail, in the forest proper, there was little underbrush,
but the stand of young trees was dense and the way underfoot was so rough
and uneven that it was almost impossible to make any headway there. For
Stone Mountain was a stone mountain in very truth. It appeared to be just
one enormous heap of rocks and boulders. In a very little while both boys
were perspiring profusely from their efforts, and both were conscious that
they were tiring fast; for the grade up the notch was steep.

"Gee!" said Lew, at last. "This is tougher than anything I ever saw when I
was in the Maine woods with Dad. We've got to take it easy or we'll be
tuckered out before we get through this gap. Let's rest a bit."

He sat down on a stone and Charley followed his example. As they rested,
they looked sharply about them. They could see for some distance through
the naked forest. The tree trunks stood straight and tall, and seemed to
be crowded as close together as pickets on a fence.

"This sure is a fine stand of poles," remarked Lew, "but it's just as that
lumber dealer said. There isn't a tree in it that would make a board wider
than six inches. But there's some good timber farther back in the
mountains. Do you remember the fine stand of pines in that little valley
we're heading for? When we were there three years ago there hadn't been a
tree cut in that valley. There must be millions and millions of feet of
lumber there."

"And do you remember," replied Charley, "how dark it was under those
pines, and how cold the water in the run was, and what schools of trout
we saw? Gee! I wish it had been trout season then! But we ought to get'em
now. Oh boy! I can hardly wait to get there."

"Then we had better be jogging on. It'll be dark before we know it."

"All right," returned Charley, "but I'm going to get a drink before I go
any farther."

"I want one, too. Guess I'll fill the canteen. Then we won't have to, stop
every time we want a drink."

The two boys scrambled down the slope to the brook. The lumber trail was
near the bottom of the notch and they had only a few yards to go. The
little run was rushing tumultuously down the notch, splashing over rocks,
scurrying over little sandy stretches, ever singing, ever murmuring, in
its downward course. Their packs and blankets made it difficult to stretch
out flat and drink from the stream, so Lew rinsed out the canteen, filled
it, and handed it to his companion. Charley took a good drink and passed
the canteen silently back to his chum.

"If you didn't really know it was the brook," said Lew, "you'd be willing
to swear you could hear somebody talking. You can hear voices just as
plain as can be. And you can almost make out what they say. Many a time
I've caught myself listening hard to try to make out the words, when I
heard a brook talking."

"It's no wonder people get scared and pretty nearly go crazy when they are
lost in the forest," replied Lew. "Without half trying, you can imagine
the forest is full of people or spooks or animals or something, creeping
up behind your back."

Lew bent down and once more filled the canteen. He corked it tight and
dipped it bodily into the run to wet the cloth cover, so that the water
within would be kept cool by evaporation. Then he slung the canteen over
his shoulder.

"I never saw a mountain stream so low at this time of the year," he
remarked, as he followed his companion up the trail. "You might think it
was August. But with no snow to melt and no rainfall this spring, it isn't
to be wondered at."

On they went up the trail. For a long time neither boy spoke. The brambles
still tore at their clothes and the bushes tripped them. In places the
young saplings were so dense that to force a way among them was a
difficult task. Their packs began to grow very heavy. But they had one
advantage. As Charley had suggested, the ground was perfectly dry. There
were no slippery sticks to tread on, nor any moss-covered stones,
treacherous with their soggy coats. So they could give more attention to
the obstacles above ground. But at best it was a hard, difficult climb.

As they mounted higher and higher, the stream in the bottom constantly
dwindled. Long before the crest was reached, the brook had become a very
feeble stream, indeed. It had its source near the top of the pass, in a
great spring that welled up under a large rock. A single hemlock had
sprung up here in years past, and, watered by the spring, had grown to
enormous size. For some reason the lumbermen had passed it by. Now it
reared its giant bulk high above the younger growths around it, casting a
dense shade over the spring basin. Practically nothing grew in this deep
shade, so that the space above the spring was open and free from bushes.
On the trunk of this giant hemlock, where it could be seen by all who came
to the spring, was a white sign that read:

  <i>Everybody loses when timber burns.</i>
  Pennsylvania Department of Forestry.

"After our fight with the forest fire, when we were in camp at Fort Brady,
they don't need to tell any member of the Wireless Patrol to be careful
with fire," observed Lew. "But there are lots of people who do need to be
warned."

He dipped the canteen in the spring and passed on. "We're almost at the
top," he said, "and I'm not sorry."

"The light is already growing fainter," said Charley, "and it will bother
us to see before so very long. It's going to get dark awful early
to-night. We'd better hustle."

They reached the summit of the pass and started down the other slope. The
trail continued. At first it was choked with briars and bushes. But
suddenly they found the trail open. It had been cleared of all
obstructions and enlarged until it was several feet wide. Even the roots
of the bushes had been grubbed out, so that the path was smooth and clean.
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 masses
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
sparse the trees had many low limbs to catch and trip and pull at those
who sought to pass 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 rushing 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 constituted 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 passed 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 impassable confusion, twisted
and tangled and in places heaped in towering masses. A barbed wire
entanglement would hardly have been a worse obstacle. To penetrate the
mass, 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, flashing 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 débris--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.

Charley spread the grub out on his blanket and put the dishes together
near the fire. While he was waiting for a bed of coals to form, he cut
some bread and spread the slices with butter. Presently he put the little
frying-pan over the coals and began to cook some meat. Every time he bent
over his pile of grub, he smelled the coffee. The odor was tantalizing,
almost torturing. Never, it seemed to him, had he ever wanted anything so
much as he now wanted a drink of coffee. But with no water they could
have no coffee. Finally Charley put the package of coffee in the
coffee-pot and clamped down the lid so that the odor could reach him no
longer. From time to time Lew quietly stirred the coals. Charley fried the
meat in silence. Neither boy felt like talking.

When the meal was ready, they sat down on the dry ground and in silence
ate their food.

Presently Lew broke the quiet. "I wonder what Roy had to say to-night. I
thought maybe we'd be able to get our wireless up and listen in. But I'm
too tired to bother with any wireless to-night, even from Roy. It'll be
the hay for mine, quick."

He began to look for a place where they could sleep. When he had selected
a spot, he took the hatchet and with the back of it smoothed the ground,
removing all stones and little stumps. Charley, meantime, put the food
away and piled the dishes. They could not be washed. Then the two boys
rolled themselves in their blankets, put their pack bags under their heads
and were asleep almost instantly. Their difficult climb had tired them
utterly.

The next morning found them fully refreshed. No clouds hung above them,
and the sun's rays awoke them early. Aside from their intense thirst,
neither felt any the worse for his hard experience.

"It's still early," said Lew, as he looked at the sun that had hardly more
than cleared the summit of the eastern hills. "Let's push on down to the
bottom and cook breakfast after we reach water. It won't take very long
to get down, and then we can have some coffee. Oh boy! I never knew how
good coffee was."

"I could drink anything--even medicine," smiled Charley, "so it was wet."

Rapidly the packs were assembled and the blankets rolled. "Put things
together good," said Lew, "for it will be a tough journey even if we are
going down-hill. I've been looking at some of the tangles we came through
last night and I don't see how we ever made it."

"Sometimes," replied Charley, "it's a good thing a fellow can't know
exactly what he's attempting. If he did know, maybe he'd never have the
nerve to try."

They started down the slope, their packs and blankets securely slung about
them and even tied fast with strings, to prevent them from catching among
the fallen trees. Unintentionally they followed the dry bed of the stream.
It led along a slight depression that ran diagonally down the
mountainside. But quickly they realized that this was the most difficult
path they could have chosen. For along the margins of the brook, the
timber, fed by the flow of water, had been much denser and larger than the
timber farther from the bank of the stream. So dense was the tangle now
that at first the boys could see only a few hundred yards ahead of them.
Presently they noticed that they were traveling through the thickest part
of the timber, or what had been timber. If possible, their way was more
difficult than it had been in ascending the mountain. But daylight and the
fact that they were going down-hill made it possible for them to travel
with comparative rapidity. Once they noticed that they were advancing by
the most difficult route, they left the margin of the brook and cut
straight down the slope.

Now the way was more open. They could see farther. But both were so
preoccupied with what lay immediately around them that for a time neither
gave heed to more distant views. Furthermore, the bottom was still
obscured by a heavy night mist. The warm spring sun rapidly dissipated
this, opening the valley to view as though some invisible hand had rolled
back a giant cover. Presently Lew reached a little area that was swept
absolutely bare of everything. Nothing remained but the nude rocks and
soil. Lew, who was leading the way, paused to spy out the best path. Then
he cried out in dismay. A moment later Charley stood by his side and both
boys gazed in speechless horror at the scene before them.

The magnificent stand of pines that they had expected to see in the bottom
was no more. For miles the valley before them was a blackened waste. Like
giant jackstraws the huge pine sticks, that they had last seen as
magnificent, towering trees, were heaped in inextricable confusion or
still stood, broken, blasted, gaunt, limbless, spectral, awful remnants of
their former selves. No words could convey the terrible desolation of the
scene. Where formerly these giant pines had risen heavenward, higher and
more stately than the most exquisite church spires or cathedral columns,
there were now only scattered and blasted stumps, while the floor of the
valley was strewn with the horrible débris. The scene was sickening,
appalling.

For a moment neither lad spoke. The scene before them oppressed them, made
them sick at heart. They knew no language that would convey what was in
their minds. But even yet they did not fully understand the tragedy of a
forest fire. They were soon to learn. Silently they went on; but they had
gone no more than a hundred yards when they came upon a sight that fairly
sickened them. In a little circle, as though the animals had crowded close
together in their terror and helplessness, lay the remains of a number of
deer. The flesh had either been burned or had rotted away; but the most of
the bones and parts of the hides remained. There could be no mistake as to
the identity of the dead animals. The very positions of the skeletons told
a pitiful story. Blinded by smoke and flame, made frantic by the red death
that was sweeping the forest, confused, terror-stricken, weakened by gas
and fumes, the poor beasts had finally crowded together and perished under
the onrushing wave of fire. For a moment the boys gazed at the scene in
fascinated horror; then they turned away, to shut out the picture. They
were oppressed, almost stunned.

They went on. Not a vestige of its former magnificent vegetation covered
the slope. Nothing in the world could be more awful, more desolate, more
disheartening to behold than the area the two chums were now crossing.
Never had either seen anything that so oppressed him. For not only had the
slope of Old Ironsides been laid waste, but the entire bottom had been
swept by fire, and the opposite mountain slope devastated. Before them was
nothing but desolation.

Soon they were near enough to see the sparkle of water in the bottom. In
their horror at their immediate surroundings they had temporarily
forgotten even their terrible thirst. The sight of water recalled their
need.

"Thank God water can't burn!" cried Lew, as the sparkle of the brook
caught his eye. "We'd be in a fine pickle if the brook had been consumed,
too."

The prospect of a drink stirred them. They threw off the spell that so
depressed them and hastened downward, reckless alike of menacing branches
and loose stones and obstructing tree trunks. Headlong they pushed
downward. But fortune was with them and neither a broken bone nor a
strained ligament resulted, though more than once each lad slipped and
fell. Presently they reached the bottom of the slope and came to the very
brink of the run. Almost frantically they flung themselves on the ground
and drank.

Long, copious draughts they drank; and it was not until they had quenched
their thirst that they really noticed how shrunken the brook was. Instead
of the deep, rushing mountain stream they had seen when last they visited
the spot, they now found but a slender rivulet that flowed quietly along
the middle of the stream bed, leaving bare, bordering ribbons of stony
bottom along its margins. Nowhere did the water seem to reach from bank to
bank, excepting where some obstruction in the stream bed dammed the
current back. Like the forest, the brook was also a sorrowful picture. But
there was this difference. The forest was dead, whereas the brook, though
feeble, still lived.

The full significance of the shrunken stream did not strike the two boys
until they had traveled for some distance up the bank of the run.
Presently they came to a spot they recognized as a favorite trout-hole. A
great boulder jutted out from one bank, while opposite it, on the other
shore, stood or had stood, a mammoth hemlock. These obstructions had
formed a little pool, and the current had eaten away much earth from
beneath the roots of the great tree, forming an ideal lurking place for
trout. And in this dark, deep, secure retreat great fish had lived since
time immemorial. More than one huge trout had the two chums taken here.
Never was the pool without its giant occupant, for when one big fellow was
caught another moved in to take his place, the run being fully stocked
from year to year by the smaller fishes from the spring brooks, like the
vanished rivulet above. But now no trout hid under the hemlock's roots.
They stood high and dry, while the puny stream that trickled beneath them
would hardly have covered a minnow. The two boys looked at each other in
dismay.

"You don't suppose the entire stream is like that, do you, Lew?" asked
Charley. "There won't be a trout in it if it is." Then, after a pause, he
added: "What in the world do you suppose has become of the trout, anyway?"

His question was soon answered, at least in part. Continuing along the
bank of the run, the boys presently came to one of the deepest pools in
the stream. In the crystal water they could see many trout, for there were
no hiding-places in the pool at this low stage of water. Some of the fish
were large. At the approach of the boys the frightened trout darted
frantically about in the pool, vainly seeking cover.

Around the margins of this pool were innumerable little tracks in the
earth. "Raccoons!" exclaimed Lew. "There must have been dozens of them
here."

But not until he found some little piles of fish-bones near the farther
end of the pool did he grasp the significance of the tracks. He stopped in
amazement.

"Look here, Charley," he called, pointing to the piles of fish-bones.
"Those coons have been catching and eating trout." Then, after a moment's
thought, he added, "If this stream is like this in April, what will it be
in August? There will be hardly a drop of water or a trout left. Why, this
brook is ruined for years as a trout-stream--maybe forever. And it used to
be absolutely the finest trout-stream in this part of the mountains."

Depressed and silent, the two lads continued along the brook. The
mountains on either side of them and the entire bottom between lay black
and desolate. But far up the run they could now see green foliage again,
where the fire had been stopped.

"Let's go on to those pines before we eat our breakfast," said Charley.
"It would make me sick to eat here in these ruins."

"That's exactly the way I feel, too," replied Lew. "It is the most awful
thing I ever saw. Let's get out of it."

As rapidly as they could, they forced their way up-stream. The valley
became narrower as they advanced. It was shaped like a huge wish-bone; and
they were nearing the small end, where the mountains came together and
formed a high knob. As the valley narrowed, the grade became much steeper,
and their progress was correspondingly slower.

The pines they were heading for stood almost at the top of the knob at the
crotch of the wish-bone. They were, therefore, at a considerable
elevation. From the edge of these pines one would have to travel only a
short distance to reach the very summit of the knob. After a hard walk the
boys reached the end of the burned tract. They penetrated into the living
forest far enough to shut out the sight of the dead forest they had just
traversed. Then they threw down their packs and hastily set about cooking
their breakfast.

"Gee!" cried Lew. "I never was so glad to get away from anything in my
life. I hope I shall never again see a sight like that. It fairly makes a
fellow sick."

In their haste to start cooking, they were not as careful as they might
have been in building their fire, and they made considerable smoke. Before
they were half done eating, a man appeared farther up the run, advancing
through the pines at great speed. He seemed to be in a big hurry until he
caught sight of the two boys as they sat on the dry pine-needles. After
that he came forward at an ordinary gait.

"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, as he drew near. Then, catching
sight of their rods, he added, "If you came to get fish, you struck a
mighty poor place."

"It used to be the best place for trout I ever saw," replied Lew. "This
brook used to be full of 'em--big ones, too. But the season has been so
dry, the brook has almost disappeared."

"You mean that the fires that have swept this valley have burned it up,"
replied the stranger.

"It's too awful a thing to joke about," replied Lew.

"A joke!" exclaimed the stranger, frowning.

"It's the literal truth--and a most terrible truth, at that."

"I don't understand," said Lew, slowly. "How can fire burn water? I
supposed the lack of snow last winter and of rain this spring had made the
brook shrink."

"Not for a minute, young man, not for a minute. If fires hadn't swept this
valley the past two or three years, there would have been plenty of water
in the run, rain or no rain."

"I--I don't exactly understand," said Lew hesitatingly.

"It's like this," said the stranger. "The forest floor is like a great
sponge. The decayed leaves and twigs are so light and porous that they
soak up most of the rain as it falls and hold the water indefinitely. That
keeps the springs full, and the springs feed the brooks, and so there is
water all the year round. It is nature's method of storing up water. When
a fire sweeps through the forest, especially such awful fires as have gone
through this valley, the leaves and twigs above ground are burned, and
even the roots and the decaying vegetable matter under the earth are
consumed. Nothing is left but mineral matter--particles of rock, stones,
sand, and the like. The rain will no longer sink into the ground, nor will
the earth hold the water as the rotting leaves do. Then when it rains, the
water runs off as fast as it falls. The brooks are flooded for a few hours
and then they dry up until another rain comes. So you see I meant exactly
what I said. This trout-stream was burned up by the forest fires.
Likewise many of the trout were burned up with it, for in places the fire
made the water hotter than trout can stand. Thousands of them were
literally cooked."

For a while both boys were silent. The idea was a new one to them.

Presently Charley spoke. "I knew that fire burned up our timber," he said,
"but I never thought about its burning up our water, too. I know we're
getting awful short of lumber. Is there any danger of our running out of
water? But that can't be, surely."

"It surely can be," said the stranger. "I judge you boys have been here
before, and-----"

"We have," interrupted Lew.

"Then you know what a magnificent stream this run used to be. Look at it
now. I don't believe there is one-tenth as much water in it as there used
to be. Suppose all the mountains in this state should be devastated like
this valley. Where would the towns and cities get their water?"

"Great Cćsar!" said Lew. "I never thought of that. There wouldn't be any
water for them to get. If the brooks dried up, the rivers would dry up,
too. Why--why--what in the world would we do? There wouldn't be any water
to drink or wash in or cook with or run our factories. Why, great Cćsar!
If the forests vanished, I guess we'd be up against it. I never thought of
the forests as furnishing anything but lumber. And I never thought much
about that until we tried to buy a little lumber the other day and the
dealer wanted ten dollars for half a dozen boards."

"Exactly!" said the stranger. "That's the price you and I and the rest of
us in Pennsylvania pay for allowing our forests to be destroyed."

"They haven't all been destroyed," protested Lew.

"No, but the greater part of them have been."

"You don't mean really destroyed, do you?" asked Lew.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely destroyed. You came up this valley, didn't you?"

"Sure," said Charley.

"Would you call the forest there destroyed?"

"If it isn't, I don't know how you would describe it," said Lew.

"All right, then. There are some 45,000 square miles in this state.
Originally practically all of that area was dense forests. The early
settlers thought the timber would last forever and they cut and destroyed
it recklessly. The lumbermen that followed were just as wasteful. It was
all right to clear the land that was good for farming. But there are more
than 20,000 square miles in this state just like these mountains--land
that is fit for nothing but the production of timber. None of that land is
producing as much timber as it should. Much of it yields very little. And
more than 6,400 square miles are absolutely desert, as bare and hideous as
the burned valley below us. That's one acre in every seven in
Pennsylvania. Think of it! Six thousand, four hundred square miles, an
area larger than the states of Connecticut and Rhode Island put together,
that is absolute desert! Every foot of that land ought to be producing
timber for us. Then we should have lumber at a fraction of its present
cost. You see the freight charges alone on the lumber used in this state
are enormous."

"That lumber dealer told us they amounted to $25,000,000 a year," replied
Lew.

"They do," assented the stranger. "And when the new freight rates go into
effect the amount will be $40,000,000. What it will be when we get our
wood from the Pacific coast I have no idea, but I suppose it will be at
least double what it is now, anyway."

"The Pacific coast!" cried Lew. "Why should we get lumber from the Pacific
coast when we can get it from the South? The lumber dealer told us that
practically all the wood we use now conies from the South."

"He was right. But we shall presently be getting our lumber from the far
West for the same reason that we now get it from the South. In ten or a
dozen years there won't be any lumber left in the South for us to buy.
They will do well to supply themselves. Then we must bring our lumber from
Idaho and Oregon and Washington and California. The freight charges will
be something terrific, and the wood itself will cost a good deal more than
it now does because it will be so scarce."

"Great Cćsar!" cried Lew. "What will a poor devil do then if he wants to
build a boat?"

"Or if he wants to build a house?" suggested the stranger. "You know lots
of folks have to build houses every year. Look at all the people who get
married and build homes. Why, when I was a little boy, you could buy the
finest kind of lumber for ten or fifteen dollars a thousand. It didn't
cost much then to build a house. Now a man has to work for years before he
can save enough to pay for a home, even a very modest one. And what it
will cost when the wood from the South and the far West is all gone I hate
to imagine."

"The wood from the far West all gone!" cried Charley. "Surely that can
never be. Why, the forests there are enormous. I've read all about them."

"The forests here were enormous, too, young man. Forty years ago
Pennsylvania supplied a large part of the nation with its lumber. And
to-day we don't grow more than one-tenth of the wood we use. Yes, sir;
within twenty-five years or so after we have finished up the wood in the
South, there won't be any left in the far West, either."

"What in the world are we going to do?" asked Lew.

"God knows," said the stranger solemnly. "But there is one thing we've
<i>got</i> to do right now. Get these mountains to growing timber again. We
must take care of what has already started to grow and plant trees where
there are none. Most important of all, we must be careful with fire. I
came down here just to warn you boys to be careful with your fire."

"It wasn't necessary," said Lew. "We fought a forest fire once, and nobody
but an idiot would ever be careless with fire if he had seen what we have
seen this morning."

"Well, I must be moving, boys. There are lots of other fishermen that are
not as careful as you are. Good-bye."

The man started on, then turned back. "If you came here to fish," he said
slowly, "you're up against it. But I can tell you where to go to get all
the trout you want. Go on up to the top of this knob. Face exactly east
and you will see a gap in the second range of mountains. Make your way
through that gap and you'll find as fine a trout-stream as God ever made.
This is state forest and the Forestry Department wants everybody to use
and enjoy the forests. We are always glad to help campers."

"Are you connected with the State Forest Service?" asked Charley, all
interest.

"Of course," smiled the stranger. "I'm a forest-ranger," and he threw back
his coat, exhibiting a keystone shaped badge on his breast.

"And it's your duty to protect the forest from fire?" asked Charley.

"Yes; and do a lot more besides. A forest-ranger has to look after the
forest just as a gardener has to tend a garden. And that means we must
care for everything in the forest--birds and animals and fish as well as
trees, though, of course, the game wardens have particular charge of the
animals."

"And how do you take care of the animals and the trees?" demanded Charley
eagerly.

"Young man," he said, "it would take me all day to answer your question.
We do whatever is necessary to the welfare of the forest and its
inhabitants. We take out wolf trees, make improvement cuttings, plant
little trees, keep our telephone-line in shape, and do a million other
things, as we find them necessary. If I had time just now, I'd go down
this run and pile some stones in the pools for the trout to hide under. I
was through here the other day and I noticed that the coons are playing
hob with the fish."

"And does the state pay you for doing this work?"

"Certainly. Pays me well, too."

"Tell me how I could-----" began Charley.

But the ranger interrupted him. "I can't tell you another thing now," he
said. "I must be moving. You never can tell when some careless fisherman
will set the forest on fire. The fact is I ought to be at headquarters
with the other rangers. The chief keeps us pretty close to the office
during the fire season, so as to have a fire crew at hand to respond
instantly to an alarm. But we have had such difficulty in securing fire
patrols this spring that some of us rangers have to do patrol duty. This
piece of timber you are in is the most valuable part of this entire
forest. It is virgin pine. It would cut close to 100,000 feet to the acre.
There is very little timber left in all Pennsylvania as fine as this. A
good part of it has already been burned. We are keeping close watch on
what is left. You never can tell when or where fires will start and we
want to grab them at the first possible minute. So I must shake a leg."

"How do you grab a fire?" demanded Charley. "Please tell us. Maybe we
could help put one out some day if we knew how."

The ranger laughed. "You're a persistent Indian," he said, "and I'm glad
you like the forest."

"Like it!" exclaimed Charley. "I love it."

He poured a cup of hot coffee and handed it to the ranger. "Tell us how
you put out a fire," he pleaded.

The ranger chuckled. "You're a diplomat as well as a forest lover, I see,"
he said. "Well, I shall keep moving through this tract of timber all day
long. If I see a fire I shall hurry to it, the way I came down to your big
smoke. I'll put it out, if possible. And if I can't get it out, I'll
summon help. Then we'll fight it until we do get it out."

"How could you get help, when you're alone in the deep forest?"

"I'd make my way out to the highway where our wire runs and connect up
this portable telephone," and the ranger pointed to a little leather case,
like a kodak box, that hung from his shoulder by a leather strap. "In a
minute's time a fire crew would be on the way to my assistance in a
motor-truck."

The ranger handed Charley the empty cup and thanked him.

"Have some more coffee?" urged Charley.

"'Get thee behind me, Satan,'" quoted the ranger. "I believe you'd keep me
here all day if you could. I must be moving."

"Just a minute," pleaded Charley. "You said it was difficult to find fire
patrols. Could I get a job as a fire patrol? I don't know as much about
fighting fire as you do, but I can patrol the forest and report fires as
well as anybody."

"I wish you could be a patrol," replied the ranger heartily. "I'm sure
you'd make a good one. You seem to like the forest. But I don't believe it
is possible. The chief never hires anybody under twenty-one years of age
excepting in very unusual circumstances. In fact, I know of only two such
cases. And those two boys were almost of age and were unusualy well
qualified. I'm sorry, for I'd like to see you in the Forest Service.
Good-bye." He turned on his heel and was gone.

Lew watched the ranger until he disappeared from view. Charley scarcely
glanced at him. He was lost in thought. Evidently his thoughts were not
pleasant, for from time to time he scowled.

"Lew," he said, at length, "I never realized until this minute just what
that sign on the old hemlock meant." And he quoted: "'Everybody loses
when timber burns.' It's true. <i>Everybody</i> loses--positively everybody.
The sportsmen lose game, the fishermen lose fish, the towns lose their
water-supply, the mills lose their water-power, civilization loses wood.
Why, Lew, civilization's built of wood. How could we live without it? And
as for me, think what I've lost through forest fires. I've lost an
opportunity to own half of a boat. I've suffered from thirst. I've lost a
chance to catch some fish. And, Lew, I've lost a college education! I
never understood it before. If the cost of lumber hadn't gone up so much,
Dad could have paid for his house easily and helped me through college.
Now I've got to give up going to college. I've got to work two or three
years for Dad and if ever I get married and want to build a home, I see
where I've got to slave for the rest of my life to pay for the lumber
that's in it, and the wooden furnishings inside of it. Think of it, Lew!
You and I and all the rest of us have to work for years and years just to
pay for what a lot of reckless people did before we were born. It's
terrible, Lew, terrible. I've got to spend three years in a factory
because of it. I thought for a minute that I might get a job here in the
forest. That would have been grand. But there's no such luck. It's the
factory for me. I'm sure of it. I don't know how I'll ever stand it, Lew."




Chapter V

A Lost Opportunity



Half an hour later the two boys were all but ready to go on. Before
rolling his pack, Charley filled his coffee-pot in the run and thoroughly
soaked the last embers of their fire.

"You'll never burn any timber," he said, as he poured on the last potful.
Then he stowed the coffee-pot in his pack and in a few moments the two
boys were once more afoot.

They struck directly for the top of the knob, as the ranger had told them
to do. The slope of the ground alone guided them. So dense was the stand
of timber that the huge trunks shut off the view in all directions. It was
almost as though they were encircled by palisades. And so thick was the
shade that rarely did a sunbeam reach the earth. They were in the forest
primeval, a land of perpetual gloom. There was no underbrush and they
could travel rapidly. In a very short time they came to the top of the
knob.

The summit had been entirely cleared of timber. On the very highest point
one lone tree remained. A long pole had been planted near its trunk, with
its top fastened to a branch of the tree. Crossbars between the tree and
the pole made a sort of rude ladder of the affair. And well up the tree a
rough staging had been constructed of small limbs. The boys saw at once
that this was a rude sort of watch-tower, and they suspected that the
ranger had been in the tree when he discovered the smoke from their fire.

They climbed up the tree and surveyed the scene before them in silence.
Indeed, it was too sublime for words. On every side stretched the forest.
Mile upon mile, league after league, east, west, north, south, far as the
eye could reach, spread the leafy roof of the forest, seemingly
illimitable, boundless, vast as the ocean, a sea of trees. And like a sea
the forest rose and fell in huge billows. On either hand great mountains
reared their huge bulk heavenward. Beyond them other ranges heaved their
rugged crests aloft. And still other ranges lay beyond these. Over all was
a cover of living green, the canopy of the forest. Sublime, majestic,
awesome, almost overpowering was the spectacle. And neither lad could find
words to express the emotion that arose within him. So they stood and
looked in silent wonder. Finally Charley spoke.

"It's worth all we've been through, Lew, just to see this," he said. "I
shall be well paid for the trip, even if we never get a fish."

Presently Lew looked up at the sun. Then he examined the mountains a
little to the left of the sun.

"There's where we go," he said, pointing over the nearest ridge to a gap
in the mountain beyond it. "The trout-stream will be in the third valley.
We've got to travel due east. And it will be some hike, too--over a
mountain and through a high gap. Let's pick out our landmarks and get
under way. It will take us a good many hours to make it, but we ought to
be there in time to have trout for supper."

For a few moments the boys examined the way in silence.

"See that bunch of rocks on the summit?" asked Lew. "They look like
chimney-rocks from here. Anyway, they stick up higher than any other part
of the mountain. And there's three tall pines right beside them. That's a
good landmark. It's exactly in a straight line for the gap. We can find
that mark if we can find anything. But you can't see very clearly through
this timber. Was there ever anything like it?"

"Finest timber I ever set eyes on, Lew. Isn't it wonderful? and to think
that the whole state was once covered with timber like that!"

They climbed down the rude ladder, slipped their packs over their
shoulders, and set off down the mountainside at a fast pace. And they
could go fast in such timber. No underbrush tripped them or caught in
their sacks. No low limbs impeded their progress. Indeed there was hardly
a limb nearer the ground than fifty feet. Their only care was for the
rocks and the roughness underfoot. From time to time they paused as they
came to some mammoth pine, and gazed in awed wonder at its huge bulk.

As they got down into the bottom the timber seemed to be even larger than
it was on the slope. The forest floor was soft and springy. Their feet
sank into it as into a soft, thick rug. The top of this leafy covering was
dry enough; but a few inches under the surface, the forest mold was as
moist as though a shower had just fallen. Yet there had been almost no
rain for months. Not only did the leaves hold the moisture, but the very
shade itself conserved it by preventing evaporation.

In the very centre of the valley ran a little stream. Long before they
could see it, they heard the brook talking to itself. The forest was
filled with a gentle murmur, which grew to a distinct rushing sound as
they approached the stream.

"Can't you just hear it speak?" said Lew. "What do you suppose it is
saying?"

"Those really are voices," insisted Charley.

"Now who's getting dippy?" laughed Lew. "You'll be as bad as I am if you
keep on."

"But I do hear voices," protested Charley. "I plainly heard the word
'six.' Listen. Somebody said 'eight,' just as plain as could be."

Lew looked puzzled. "Of course there might be some fishermen in here
besides ourselves," he said.

They looked carefully about them, but at first saw nothing. Then a voice
distinctly said, "Hemlock--five." There could no longer be any doubt.
Some one besides themselves was in the forest.

They made their way in the direction of the sound. Presently they saw
three men. Two of them carried calipers and walked in advance. The third
came behind and held a pencil and note-book.

"Wonder who they are and what they are doing," Charley said quietly.

"Let's watch and see."

But in a moment the approaching party caught sight of them. "Good-morning,
boys," said the man with the note-book. "Out for trout?"

"Surest thing you know," replied Lew. "But we've had hard luck. We
intended to fish in the valley back of us. It used to be a fine place for
trout. But it's been burned over and there are no trout left."

"I know," said the man. "I've seen it. Be careful with your fires, boys.
We don't want any more of this fine timber burned."

"Are you a forest-ranger, too?" asked Charley eagerly.

"No; I'm the forester. I have charge of this forest."

"Why, I thought you were at headquarters with your fire crew," cried
Charley, hardly realizing what he was saying.

The man looked at him sharply. "I ought to be and I wish I were," he said.
"I don't like this a bit. But I was ordered by the Commissioner to send in
an immediate estimate on the amount of timber in this stand. There's a
big sale on and they have to know how much there is to sell." He paused
and then added: "How in the world did you know I was supposed to be at
headquarters with the fire crew?"

"A ranger told us so. We met him over in the other valley. He said he
wished he was with you."

"Oh! That would be Morton," said the forester. "I sent him out on patrol
because we were short of fire patrols."

"Could you use me as a fire patrol?" said Charley quickly.

The forester looked at him searchingly. "Why do you want to be a fire
patrol?" he asked.

"I've got to go to work at something," said Charley, "and I'd love to help
care for the forest. You see, I'm almost through high school and I've got
to go to work and help Dad the minute I've graduated. He wants me to go
into the factory with him. I hate factories. But I love the woods. You'd
never be sorry, if you hired me, sir."

"Are you sure it isn't work rather than the factory you dislike?" demanded
the forester bluntly.

"No, no!" protested Charley. "I'd work day and night gladly if I could do
what I want to do. And there's nothing I can think of I'd rather do than
help take care of the forest."

"Very good," said the forester, "but I need patrols now, not after school
closes in June."

"Maybe I could get excused for the rest of the term," pleaded Charley.

"And throw away your chance to graduate? I don't think I want that kind
of a boy for a fire patrol," said the forester with a frown. "You might
decide to quit this job, too, about the time we stacked up against a hot
fire."

Lew spoke up. "You don't understand what Charley means, sir," he
explained. "Charley is away ahead of most of us in his school work. He's
done enough now to give him his diploma."

"Indeed!" replied the forester.

Then he turned to Charley in apology. "I beg your pardon, young man. I
misjudged you. I should like to have such an exemplary young man for a
patrol, but you are too young. We practically never employ a man not yet
of age as a fire patrol. A boy would have to have very unusual
qualifications if we did take him. I'm sorry, my lad. I believe you are a
fine boy, and I'd like to hire you. But you are too young."

Charley turned his head away to hide the tears that he could not keep back
as he saw the opportunity slipping away from him. Then he dashed his hand
across his eyes and again faced the forester.

"You do not understand who we are," he said with determination, "nor what
our qualifications are. I am accustomed to the woods, sir. I know
something of woodcraft. I have fought fire in the forest. I have spent
weeks in the mountains. And I am a wireless operator, sir. Are any of your
patrols better qualified?"

The forester looked at him with renewed interest. "As a patrol," he
remarked, "you would have to deal with grown men. You would find yourself
in many situations that you could not handle. Grown men do not like to
take orders from boys."

"I have handled men, sir; that is, I have helped to handle them. I helped
to capture the German dynamiters at Elk City, sir, when the Camp Brady
Wireless Patrol saved that place from destruction."

"Are you a member of that organization?" asked the forester with
increasing interest. "I remember reading about that."

"We both are," said Charley. "And I could help you so much with my
wireless, sir. Your ranger told us this morning that if he found a fire he
couldn't handle, he would have to go clear out to the highway before he
could summon help. With the wireless, help could be summoned almost
instantly."

The forester smiled indulgently. "It sounds good," he commented. "But you
forget that we have no wireless and that none of us knows anything about
radio-telegraphy. No; I am afraid I can't use you, though I'd like to. If
you still want a job when you are of age, come to me. I can use you as a
patrol and I might even have a place for you as a ranger. We have mighty
few rangers as well educated and equipped as you will be. Or you might
even decide to go to Mont Alto and take a degree in forestry and become a
forester like myself. I would like to see you in the service, but I can't
take you in now. I must get on with my work and hurry back to my office.
Good-bye and good luck to you. And don't forget about your fires."

Turning to the elder of his two companions, he said, "All right, Finnegan.
Go ahead."

The man stepped to the nearest tree, slipped his calipers on it
breast-high, then glanced aloft. "White pine, forty-three, five," he
called.

The forester put down the figures in his cruising book.

"Hemlock, twenty-eight, four," called the other man.

The men were experienced timber cruisers. They were measuring the amount
of wood in the forest. The first man meant that the white pine tree he was
measuring was forty-three inches in diameter breast-high and would make
five standard logs, each sixteen feet long. The second scaler had measured
a hemlock twenty-eight inches in diameter and long enough for four logs.
They were measuring the timber on a few acres, so as to form an estimate
of the amount for sale.

The work interested Lew greatly, but Charley had no heart for anything. He
had fought hard and apparently his last chance had slipped away from him.

He was very quiet as they made their way through the valley. Even the run
in the bottom failed to stir him, though he loved the little mountain
streams passionately. Yet he did notice that here, beneath the lofty
pines, where the forest mold lay deep and spongy, the brook flowed
strongly. It sang as it rushed along between its rugged banks. But there
was no music in its song for Charley. So alluring was the stream that Lew
wanted to fish, but Charley had no heart even to try for a trout; though
it was practically a certainty that there were trout aplenty to be had.
Time heals all wounds. It would heal Charley's: but not enough time had
yet elapsed for the healing process to begin. At present he could think of
nothing but his dismal prospects.

So they went on through the bottom and slowly ascended the opposite
mountain. As they had suspected might be the case, it was impossible to
distinguish the landmarks they had chosen. The innumerable great trunks of
the pines cut off their vision as effectually as a high board fence could
have done. But the slope of the land told them which way to go, and the
freedom from underbrush made it possible for them to travel in a
comparatively straight line. So they reached the crest of the mountain,
after a stiff climb, not far from the spot which they had selected.

The summit was sparsely timbered and they had no difficulty either in
finding their landmarks or in mapping out their way down the farther slope
and across the valley to the gap beyond. This second valley was also well
timbered. In the middle of this second valley another fine brook flowed.
And here they rested and had a bite to eat, with a cold drink from the
stream. Then they filled the canteen again and pressed on. The afternoon
was well advanced before they had climbed through the pass and reached the
valley that was to be their home for the next few days.

Like the valley in which they had met the forester, this bottom contained
some wonderful pines, though it was really a mixed stand of timber with
hardwoods beneath and the pine tops rising high above them. There were
countless numbers of these mammoth pines that towered a hundred to a
hundred and twenty-five feet in air. The hardwoods, though shut out from
some of the light, were also wonderful for size and vigor. It was a
splendid example of a "two-storied-forest." The resulting shade was so
dense that it was like twilight at the ground level. And the stream that
went rushing among the trees was a joy to behold. Deep, dark, crystal
clear, and almost as cold as ice, it was an ideal haunt for trout.

By the time they reached it, Charley had recovered his spirits. "Oh boy!"
he cried, when they reached the margin of the run. "Look at this brook."
As he stopped and dipped his hand in the water, he added, "It's cold
enough to freeze a fellow. Thank goodness, there isn't any underbrush
here. We won't have to wade. I'll wager this place is full of fish."

Hardly had he spoken before a great trout darted across the stream,
almost at their feet. Charley extended his rod over the water and waved it
vigorously a few times. Instantly trout darted out from a dozen different
points.

"Gee whiz!" shouted Charley. "Did you see 'em, Lew? I can hardly wait to
get a line in."

"We've got to get our camp made before we do any fishing," replied Lew.
"Let's hustle up and find a good camp site."

They walked rapidly up the valley, keeping a few yards back from the brook
so as not to alarm the trout.

"I don't know how our wireless will work among all these trees," said Lew.
"If we could find an open spot I'm sure it would be better."

Presently they came to exactly the sort of place they desired. At some
time, evidently within a few months, for no brush had as yet sprung up, a
hurricane had swept through the forest: and where it had passed lay a
windrow of trees as flat as a swath of grain after the scythe has gone
through it. The windrow was several rods in width, and not a tree remained
standing within that space. The fallen trees were piled upon one another
in confused masses.

For a time the boys gazed at the scene with awe. "That opening will make a
fine place to hang our aerial if we can get the wires up," said Lew. "I
believe that we have enough wire to hang 'em up pretty high and still have
a long lead-in wire. If there is, then we can camp back here under the
trees close to the run. We have no tent and the dense tops will protect
us from dew. It'll be much warmer back among the trees, too."

Speedily they found a place that suited them. They put their packs on the
ground and got out their wireless instruments. Then they made some rude
spreaders from branches that Lew cut in the windrow. When the aerial was
ready to hang up, Charley took a length of wire and made his way across
the windrow and up a slender tree that stood on the farther edge of the
opening. He fastened one end of the wire to the spreader and the other end
he attached to the tree. Lew was duplicating his movements on the other
side of the opening. In no time the aerial was swinging above the windrow,
and the lead-in wire had been brought back through the trees to the camp
site. Here the instruments were connected and the wire coupled to them.
The dry cells were next wired and the outfit was then ready. Lew sat down
beside the spark-gap and pressed the key. Bright flashes leaped from point
to point. He adjusted the gap, so as to get the best spark, then laid the
pack bags over the instruments.

"We missed out on listening to Roy this time," he said, "but I'll bet we
can raise the rest of the bunch. She works fine. We've got a dandy spark."

"Good!" cried Charley. "It won't be long before it is dark. It's already
twilight under these trees. Now for the trout."




Chapter VI

Trout Fishing in the Wilderness



"Shall we go up-stream or down?" asked Lew, as he jointed his little rod
and fastened a hook to his line.

"Let's go down. We can't fish very long, and we know there is no brush
along the stream below us. We can try it up-stream to-morrow."

"To-morrow we'll fish on opposite sides of the run," said Lew as they
buckled on their bait boxes and started. "I don't see any way to cross now
and there's no time to hunt for a way."

"It's full of 'em. I'll bet on that," smiled Charley. "We'll catch a mess
in no time. Here goes with a worm."

He threaded one on his hook, crouched down, and cautiously drew near the
bank. A dexterous flick of his rod landed the worm fairly in the middle of
the run. Hardly had it hit the water before something grabbed it, and
Charley drew forth a flopping fish. But it proved to be only a fingerling.
In disgust Charley wet his hand and carefully unhooked the little fish.

"Shows they're here, anyway," he said, as he tossed the little trout back
into the stream.

But if they were there, they were strangely shy in making their presence
known. Rod after rod the hoys advanced, careful not to show themselves,
making their casts with greatest caution, and keeping as quiet as
possible. But no fish so much as smelled their bait. Again and again they
let their hooks float down into promising pools, but never a strike
resulted.

They took the worms from their hooks and tried flies. But though their
gaudy lures landed lightly on the water and danced in the rapids like real
insects struggling for their lives, never a fish rose to grasp one.

"They won't touch worms and they don't want flies. I wonder what they do
like," grumbled Lew in disgust. "I wish we had some grasshoppers or
crickets. Bet we'd get 'em then."

They continued their efforts until it was almost dark. "We'll have to be
getting back to camp," said Charley. "We can't see much longer. We don't
want to be caught here in the dark. The flash-light is back at camp."

"Here's a fat grub," said Lew, picking up a whiteworm out of a rotting
log. "I'm going to make one more try. Maybe they want grubs."

He slipped the worm on his hook and flicked it toward the brook. A second
after it struck the water there was a splash, and Lew's reel sang shrilly.

"Oh boy!" cried Lew, as he struck up his rod smartly. "I've got him."

He had. The fish leaped clear of the water, but failed to loosen the
line. Then it darted away like a shot, the line cutting through the water
with a sharp, swishing sound.

"Hold him," called Charley. "He's heading for that snag."

Lew put his thumb on the line and raised the tip of his rod higher. Under
the tension the supple steel bent almost double. The fish stopped his
rush, turned, and darted down-stream before Lew could reel in a foot of
line.

Charley forgot all about his own fishing in his desire to help land the
trout. "Don't let him get under that rock," he warned, coming close to the
brook. "He'll cut the line."

Lew increased the tension on the line and the fish stopped short of the
rock. For an instant the trout sulked and Lew reeled in rapidly.

"Guess I got him," he cried triumphantly, as the fish was drawn near to
the bank. But as he bent to grasp his prize there was a tremendous splash.
The trout leaped high out of water, then darted off again like a flash.
Lew had to give him line or lose him.

"He's a whopper, Charley," he cried. "Gee! I hope I don't lose him!"

"Here's a shallow place," cried Charley. "Work him into it and we can grab
him."

Lew maneuvered the trout toward the shoal. Again and again the fish broke
for the deeper water and Lew had to give him line. But each time he
stopped the rush and patiently worked the fish back toward the shoal. At
last the trout was fairly on the edge of it. Lew began to pull steadily on
his line and slid the tired fish into shallow water. It flopped helplessly
on the stones. Lew drew it to the bank and thrust a finger into its gills.
In another second the fish was dangling in air.

"Great Cćsar!" cried Charley excitedly. "Ain't he a beaut! He's the
biggest trout I ever saw."

"He's the biggest one I ever caught," answered Lew. "He'll make a meal
himself."

"He'll have to," returned Charley. "We can't fish another minute. It's
almost dark now."

Lew slipped his finger down the throat of the gasping fish, and bent the
creature's head sharply back. The trout hung limp in his hand. Then the
two fishermen made their way through the dusky forest to their camp, where
Charley lighted a fire.

"I'll just see what this fellow has been eating," said Lew. "Maybe we can
find out what sort of bait to use." He opened his knife and slit the
fish's belly. "Crabs!" he cried, as his knife blade turned up the remains
of a crayfish. "Now we know what they want."

Soon Charley had a good bed of coals. Lew, meantime, cleaned the fish.
Quickly it was cooked and eaten and the dishes washed. By this time it was
altogether dark.

"Now we'll get some crabs for to-morrow," said Lew.

"Wonder how we can catch them?" queried Charley.

"What we need is a little dip-net. With that and the flash-light we could
get a peck of them. These little streams are full of them."

"Let's try scooping them with a coffee-pot. The lid comes off. If we are
careful, I believe it will answer."

They took the lid off of the pot, and stepping to the brook turned the
beam from their flash-light on the bottom of the run. The scene was
fascinating. Feeling secure in the darkness, the living creatures in the
brook had ventured abroad freely. Where the bright light of the sun would
have disclosed only stones and sand, the little beam from the search-light
revealed a myriad of moving shapes. Little minnows moved about in schools.
Salamanders, large and small, crawled about among the rocks. Occasional
trout were visible, lurking in the deeper holes, lying as motionless as
sticks, or moving their tails slowly. Eels lay on the sandy spots. And
lying still or crawling slowly among the stones were many crayfish. The
water seemed to be filled with living objects.

"Gee whiz!" whispered Charley. "It's like going to an aquarium and looking
at the fish in glass cages. I never dreamed a brook could be so
interesting."

With the utmost caution they moved along the bank of the run, looking for
crayfish of suitable size. Whenever they found one, Charley focused the
flash-light on it, moving the beam so as to dazzle the creature and keep
the space behind it in darkness. And Lew would slip the coffee-pot into
the water and move it cautiously up to the crayfish, ready for a final,
quick scoop. Sometimes he was successful and sometimes the intended victim
escaped. Always the click of the metal pot against the stony bottom sent
the little creatures in the water scurrying for cover. A second after Lew
tried for the crayfish not a living thing was visible. So it was necessary
to move on along the stream. From spot to spot the two boys proceeded, now
getting a good bait, now missing one, but ever keenly enjoying the
wonderful glimpses of the life in the brook. So they continued until they
had a goodly number of crayfish.

"I believe that's enough," said Lew. "Let's get back to camp. The fellows
will be at their instruments at nine, ready to talk to us." He glanced at
his watch. "I had no idea," he cried, "that it was so late. It's almost
nine now. We'll have to hurry."

So fascinating had been the glimpses of life in the brook that time had
sped much faster than either boy realized.

They hurried back to their camp. They had taken the precaution to sling
their grub high above ground on a piece of wire, but apparently nothing
had tried to molest anything. Lew rekindled the fire in the little stone
fireplace they had built and Charley uncovered the wireless instruments
and sat down on one pack bag. The other he flung to Lew. Then he slipped
the receivers on his head, threw over his switch, and sent the bright
sparks flashing between the points of his spark-gap.

"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," he rapped out. (Camp Brady Wireless Club, Charley
Russell calling.)

Then he sat in silence, waiting for an answer. It came promptly.

"CBC--CBC--CBC--I--I--I--GA." (Charley Russell--We're here. Go ahead.)

"Got 'em," he cried. He answered and got a reply. "They want to know why
we didn't call up last night," Charley said to Lew.

The fire in the little fireplace burned clear and bright, making a circle
of light in the dark forest. Lew sat near the fire, cross-legged on his
pack bag, thrusting an occasional stick into the flames. Charley sat by
his instrument. Rapidly he pressed the key, and the sparks flew between
the points of his gap like tiny flashes of horizontal lightning.

"Hello! Is that you, Willie?" rapped out Charley.

"Sure," came the answer. "But we're all here. Why didn't you call up last
night?"

"Couldn't," answered Charley. "Didn't reach Old Ironsides camp site until
long after dark. Forest fires have burned up all the timber there. Spring
dried up, too. Had terrible time. Awful thirsty and no water to drink. Too
tired to put up aerial."

"Where are you now?"

"In the third valley east of Old Ironsides. Never been so far in the
mountains before. Grand stand of timber here. Great trout stream. Full of
big ones. Won't touch worms or flies. Just been catching crabs to try
to-morrow."

"Get any yet?"

"One big one."

"Have any adventures?"

"Not unless you call our experience in the burned timber an adventure.
Toughest thing I've stacked up against in a long time. Timber burned for
miles. No fish. Raccoons catching 'em out of the little pools. Had to come
here to get any. What are you doing?"

"Everybody hard at work. I got a new job yesterday helping a fellow make a
wireless outfit."

"Where?"

"Right here. We're making it in my shop."

"Will you be there to-morrow?"

"Sure. All day."

"We'll call you."

"Good! I'll listen in every hour on the hour. Then you can get me almost
any time."

"Bully for you. We're going to fish to-morrow, but we may catch so many in
the morning that we won't want to fish after dinner. I'll let you know how
we make out. Good luck to you all. Wish you were here. We'll bring you a
nice mess of fish, anyway. Good-night."

"Good-night and good luck."

"I wish they were here," said Lew, as Charley covered the instruments to
protect them from dampness, and moved over near his chum. "It doesn't seem
right to be in the forest without the whole crowd. This makes me think of
our camp in the forest near the Elk City reservoir, when we were hot on
the trail of the dynamiters. I'd hate to camp out at this time of year
without any fire."

"Well, let's turn in. We want to get up early to-morrow and try those
crabs. I'll bet we get a bunch of trout."

"Bet we do, too," replied Charley.

Little did he dream that on the morrow he would be engaged in matters far
more serious than catching trout.




Chapter VII

The Forest Afire



The earliest rays of light had hardly penetrated beneath the giant pines
the next morning before the two boys were astir. Their breakfast was
quickly cooked and eaten. Then they buckled on their bait boxes, now
bulging with worms and crayfish. They carried as well their books of
flies. And Charley slipped the little axe into his belt, to have something
to chop with in case they wanted to hunt for whiteworms.

"Let's go back where we caught that big fellow last night," said Lew.
"There may be some more like him in those deep pools."

"All right. Come on."

With nothing but their little rods to carry, they made fast time through
the forest, and had already reached the pool in which the big trout was
taken, before the first ray of sunlight came flashing among the tree
trunks.

"We're going to have a fine day," said Charley. "It's my turn to catch a
fish. Here goes for a try."

He baited his hook with a crayfish, and cautiously made his way toward the
brink of the brook. Half-way he paused and straightened up, sniffing the
air. Then he turned and looked at Lew.

"Smell anything?" he asked.

Lew had also detected a taint in the fresh morning air. "Smells like
smoke," he said. "Probably some fisherman cooking his breakfast."

Charley turned toward the brook again, then once more faced his companion.

"People don't cook with leaves," he said soberly. "That isn't wood smoke,
that's burning leaves."

For a moment the two boys looked at each other in silence.

"You don't suppose----" began Lew, but Charley cut him short.

"Let's make sure. Which way is that smoke coming from?" He stepped to the
brook and dipped a finger in the cold water. Then he held his hand aloft.

"There's so little wind stirring I can't tell which way it's blowing," he
said. "One side of my finger feels as cold as the other."

Again he tried it. There was just a suggestion of an air current. "Seems
to be blowing straight up the valley," he said.

"I'll try a match," said Lew. He took his waterproof match box from his
pocket and drew forth a match, which he lighted on his heel. "You're
right," he said. "The flame blows up-stream a little. What shall we do?"

"It doesn't seem possible that the woods can be afire," answered Charley.
"But let's make sure. If the forest is afire and we can put it out, it
would be a crime if we don't. The memory of it would haunt me the rest of
my life."

"All right. We'll go down-stream. If there is a fire, we'll do our best to
put it out. If there isn't any fire, there's no harm done. We can probably
find as many fish down-stream as there are here. We'll save time if we
unjoint our rods."

Quickly the lines were reeled up and the rods packed in their cloth cases.
Then, with nothing to hamper them, the two boys hurried down the valley.

Gradually the odor of burning leaves grew stronger. A very little breeze
arose, blowing straight in their faces. It was heavy with the smell of
fire. Ahead of them the forest began to look gray and misty, as though a
heavy night fog still covered the earth. But both boys knew that the gray
blanket was no night mist. It was smoke. They quickened their pace. The
smoke cloud grew denser. Then a dull, reddish glow appeared. There could
no longer be any doubt. The forest was afire.

"Come on," cried Charley. "We've got to grab it quick."

As they started to run, Lew protested: "Not too fast. We'll tire ourselves
out before we get there. We may have a long fight before we put the fire
out."

The smoke now rolled past them in dense clouds. The red glow grew
brighter. In a few moments they reached the fire itself. It was in an
opening where the timber had been cut and little but brush remained. It
was a ground fire that crept slowly along among the leaves. Yet it had
already spread until it seemed to stretch across half the valley.

"If we can only put it out before the wind comes up," said Charley, "we
can save the forest."

He looked about for a low tree, discovered a thick, young pine, rapidly
chopped off some bushy branches, and again sheathed his axe. Each boy
seized a branch.

"Our rods--what shall we do with them?" asked Lew.

"Throw 'em in the run. Fire can't hurt 'em there and we can get 'em at any
time."

Lew rushed over to the brook and put the rods in the water. He set a flat
stone on them to keep the current from moving them. Then he dipped his
pine bough in the brook and began to beat out the flames, working straight
out from the bank. Charley joined him. Rapidly they rained blows upon the
fire. Rod after rod they advanced. The heat from even so small a fire was
great. The smoke was blinding and stifling. Heat and smoke and their own
exertions tired them rapidly.

"We've got to take it easier," said Lew, after a little, "or we'll be all
in before we get the fire half out."

Of necessity they slackened their efforts. As they wore out their weapons,
they cut new ones. Every little while they rested. They were tiring fast.
At the same tune, the wind was beginning to freshen. Here in the open
there was nothing to break its force. The flames leaped higher under its
breath and began to run over the ground instead of crawling. The fire
itself created a draft. The greater the draft, the hotter the flame
became, and the hotter the fire grew, the stronger blew the draft.

"We're never going to do it," panted Charley, after a while. "The wind is
blowing harder all the time. We must call help."

He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes of seven!" he ejaculated. "How far
do you think we are from camp?"

"Two miles, anyway," answered Lew.

"If I can make it by seven, I may be able to get Willie. He said he would
listen in every hour."

"Hurry," said Lew sharply. "I'll keep at work here."

"If it gets too hot for you," said Charley, "go right back to the brook,
and come up along it to camp. That's the way I'm going back, and I'll
return that way after I get Willie. Good-bye."

He started off at a fast pace. But his exertions and the heat and smoke
had so weakened him that he quickly saw he could not maintain such a gait.
He dropped to a steady jog. Even that taxed his strength. But he gritted
his teeth and clenched his hands and kept on.

The forest was now full of smoke. The dense cloud completely hid the sun.
Among the great pines it was almost like twilight. Charley pushed on as
fast as his weary legs could carry him. More than once he tripped and
fell. He could no longer see distinctly. Fatigue and the smoke in his eyes
blurred his vision. He was scratched and torn and his hands were a mass of
little burns. Charley scarcely noticed them. His mind was wholly intent on
getting help and saving the forest. Nothing else mattered. So he staggered
on through the dusky woods. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had
passed. He felt sure he had been running an hour and that his watch had
stopped. He held it to his ear. The steady ticking somewhat reassured him.
After what seemed like another long interval he ventured to look at it
again. Five minutes more had elapsed. Five minutes remained before Willie
would be at his post waiting for a possible message. Charley crowded on
all the speed that was left in him. But his feet seemed to be made of
lead. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. His lungs seemed nigh
to bursting.

"Five minutes more," he kept muttering to himself. "Only five minutes
more. I've got to make it. Only five minutes more."

Suddenly he came to their camp. In his weariness he had not recognized any
landmarks. He could hardly believe it was their camp. But there were the
grub bag hanging on a wire, the dishes piled by the fire, and the wireless
instruments protected by the pack bags.

"Thank God for the wireless!" gasped Charley, as he threw himself on the
ground beside his key. He tried to flash a call, but his hand trembled so
he could not form the letters correctly. He dropped flat on his back to
rest for a moment, glancing at his watch as he lay there. It lacked one
minute of seven.

For sixty seconds Charley lay prostrate, looking at the second-hand on his
watch as it went round. Then he sat up. The minute's rest had steadied him
wonderfully. He moved his switch, pressed his finger on the key, and sent
the bright sparks flashing between his gap points.

"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," he called, then paused to listen.

There was no response. An anxious look crept into his eyes.
"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," again he called.

No answering signal sounded in his ear. His face went white.
"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," he rapped out anxiously. And without listening
for a reply, he repeated the message frantically half a dozen times. Then
a buzzing sounded in his ears. A look of relief came on his face. He
sighed. Willie was acknowledging his call signal.

"Good-morning," continued Willie. "Caught any trout yet?"

"The forest is afire!" flashed back Charley. "Get the district forester on
the telephone instantly. His headquarters are at Oakdale. Tell him the
fire is in the third valley east of Old Ironsides; that the message is
from the two boys he met yesterday; that we are trying to hold it. Ask
what we shall do. I'll wait for his answer."

For what seemed an endless period of time, Charley waited. Seconds were
like minutes. Minutes dragged like quarter hours. It seemed as though
Willie would never answer. There was nothing for Charley to do but sit and
wait. In his impatience he could hardly keep still. He could not take his
mind from the fire. He could think of nothing but that roaring line of
flame consuming the floor of the forest and destroying the young growths.
Would Willie never get the forester? Must the entire woods burn before the
forester knew of the fire? In his excitement Charley clasped and unclasped
his hands and nervously swayed back and forth as he sat on the ground.

Suddenly he sat up as steady as a stone image. The wireless was beginning
to speak.

"Forester on wire now," came the message from Willie. "Wants know exactly
where fire is."

"A little south of east of where he met us, in the third valley beyond
Ironsides," flashed back Charley.

"How big is the fire?" came a second question, after a brief interval.

"Don't know. Too big for us. Lew still fighting it. I'm going back. What
shall we do?"

Again there was a pause. Then Willie answered: "Forester says find header
and back-fire. Try to hold it till fire crew arrives."

"Will do our best. Listen in often. May need call you. Good-bye."

Charley threw over his switch, covered the instruments with the pack bags,
and was off down the valley. He felt much refreshed by his rest. At a
steady jog he made his way along the brook.

Now he found it difficult to breathe. Smoke was rolling through the forest
in billows. Close by he heard the cries of terror-stricken animals. He
came to the edge of the burned space beside the brook, where they had
beaten out the flames. Here there was practically no smoke. He turned away
from the run and followed the black edge of the burned area. He knew this
would bring him to Lew, and he wanted to make sure that they had
extinguished every spark in the distance they had covered. Only at one
point did he find fire smouldering. He beat out the sparks and went on. He
could see almost nothing. The smoke grew thicker and thicker. Through it
he began to distinguish the red glare of the flames. Ever louder sounded
the crackle of fire. From a low, humming sound it grew, as he drew near,
into a subdued roar. Then all other sounds were lost in the greater tumult
of the forest fire.

Now he came close to the flames. The heat was terrific. The smoke choked
him. He could hardly breathe. The roar of the fire was terrifying.
Hitherto he had felt no fear. Now a feeling of alarm suddenly seized him.
What if Lew had been overcome by smoke and burned in his absence? The
possibility had never occurred to him before.

"Lew! Lew!" he shouted at the top of his voice, and started along the line
of the fire. There was no reply. At least Charley heard none.

"Lew! Lew!" he cried. "Where are you?"

But no voice answered through the smoke.

"If he's down, I'll find him or die trying," muttered Charley to himself.

His face was grim and set as he started along the line of the fire again,
paying no heed to the flames but looking only for his chum. Every few
yards he stopped and shouted. But no answer ever reached him.

On he went, rod after rod, keeping as near the flames as he dared. He saw
nothing of his friend. He came to a point where a tongue of fire had run
far in advance of the remainder of the blaze. It seemed to be traveling
twice as fast as the rest of the flames.

"The header!" he cried to himself. "Here's where we ought to be at work.
But I must find Lew first. He certainly never got beyond this header."

Charley stopped and called. Again and again he shouted. There was no
response.

"Maybe he went back to look for me and I passed him in the smoke," thought
Charley. "I'll go back to the brook."

He turned to retrace his steps. Something suddenly flashed into flame
close beside him. It caught Charley's attention. He saw it was a pine
bough. Then he noticed that it had been freshly cut.

"It's Lew's brush," cried Charley. "He must have been here."

He sank on his knees close to the blazing bough, and heedless of smoke and
flame began to examine the ground carefully. He ran his fingers lightly
over the leaves, feeling for footprints. At first he found nothing. Then
he discovered the impression of a heel. He could not be certain which way
the footprint pointed.

With the heel mark as a centre, he began to feel about in a circle two or
three feet wide. He judged that would be the length of his chum's stride.
Twice he felt around the circle before he found a second footprint. It was
in the direction of the brook. He moved forward and searched where he
thought the third step should have fallen. Here he distinctly saw the mark
of a foot. When he rose to his feet his coat sleeve was beginning to smoke
and his face was blistered.

"Lew's gone back to the brook," he muttered. "I must have passed him in
the smoke. He's probably looking for me."

But he still felt vaguely uneasy and fearful. He walked rapidly toward the
brook. The trail he was following became distinct. The leaves had been
kicked up here and there by Lew as he walked. The track grew plainer and
plainer. It became more like a plow furrow. At first Charley did not
grasp the meaning of the shambling trail. Then it came to him.

"He's dragging his feet," he muttered. "He must be all in. Maybe he's
down."

Charley took a quick look at the flames. They had crept frightfully close
to the trail in the leaves. Then he sprang forward at top speed. His face
was white.

"I've got to reach him before the fire gets him," he sobbed.

He kept peering through the smoke. "There's another header shooting out
toward that log," he said, "but I won't leave the trail. I might miss
Lew."

The trail led straight toward the log. Charley increased his speed. As he
neared the log he gave a cry of terror and bounded forward like a shot.
What Charley had mistaken for a tree trunk was his chum's prostrate form.
The flames had almost reached it.

With his brush Charley fell on the fire savagely and beat it out for the
space of a rod or two on either side of Lew's body. Then he rushed back to
his chum and knelt beside him. Lew was unconscious but breathing
regularly. His nose was half buried in leaves and moss. That fact had
probably saved his life, for it had given him pure air to breathe.

Charley drew Lew over his shoulder until he had him doubled up like a
jack-knife, and could therefore carry him easily. Then, at a steady pace,
he set out for the brook. Soon he passed the end of the line of fire. In
a few minutes more he reached the stream.

He laid his chum close beside the run, felt his pulse and listened to his
breathing. Lew's heart was beating regularly and he was breathing easily.

Charley sighed with relief. "He's all right," he muttered.

Then he filled his hat with water and sprinkled some on Lew's face. Lew's
eyelids flickered. Then his eyes opened.

"Where am I, Charley?" he asked. "What are you doing?"

For a moment he lay still. Then suddenly he sat bolt upright.

"I know now," he said. "The forest is on fire. I was fighting it and you
went to call help. Did you get Willie? And how did you find me? I guess I
got too much smoke. I started for the brook. That's all I can remember.
I'm all right now. We're going back."

He got to his feet, but at first had to be supported. Charley made him lie
down again. In a few minutes his strength seemed to return to him. He got
up.

"I'm all right now, Charley," he insisted. "I mightn't be awake yet if you
hadn't thrown that water on my face. Thanks, old man."

Charley did not tell Lew how near to death he had been. Instead, he said,
"Are you sure you're strong enough to tackle that fire again?"

"Sure as shooting," nodded Lew.

"Then come on. The fire has an awful start on us. The forester wants us to
try to hold the header by back-firing."

As they started toward the blaze Lew said, "We'll have to work some
distance in advance of it. If only we had rakes we might conquer it even
yet."

They made their way to a point well in front of the header. Then they cut
sticks and made little bundles of them to use like rakes.

"I'll clear away the leaves and you start the fire," directed Charley.

He began raking away the leaves, clearing a sort of path about two feet
wide straight across the line of the advancing header. Lew lighted the
leaves on the side of the cleared space toward the header, following close
upon Charley's heels. From time to time he ran back along the cleared
space to make sure the flames had not jumped across it. Wherever they had,
he beat them out with his brush. On the other side of the cleared space
the flames slowly worked their way toward the onrushing header, widening
with every minute the barren area where the flames could find no fuel to
feed upon.

Rod after rod Charley cleared a narrow lane and Lew kept close behind him
with his torch. With amazing rapidity they extended their line.

"If only we had the Wireless Patrol here," panted Lew, "we'd lick this old
fire to a frazzle."

On and on they went. To save their strength they exchanged tasks at
intervals. Every few minutes they faced about and ran back over their line
to make sure no flames had crossed the cleared space. The air was dense
with smoke, but the heat from their back-fire was trifling in comparison
with that of the main conflagration. The stand of timber grew thicker,
breaking the force of the breeze more and more. Their back-fire ate its
way into the wind much faster, and the real fire came on slower. It seemed
to be getting farther and farther away.

"We've passed the header," cried Charley exultantly. "We ought to be able
to hold the main fire."

They rested a moment, then went at their task with renewed hope and vigor.
Rod after rod they cleared a path and fired the leaves on the windward
side of this lane. Finally their line grew so long that they could no
longer guard it properly.

"If only we had half a dozen boys to patrol the line," sighed Lew. "I'm
afraid the flames will jump across somewhere. Then all we have done will
be in vain."

"We'll make a trip over the whole line," declared Charley, "and be sure
it's safe. Then we'll stop back-firing and beat out the flames again. It's
the only sure way I can think of."

He drew his axe and cut fresh boughs. Then they went back along their
line. In one place flames had already leaped across, but they fell on them
vigorously with their bushes and soon put them out. They patrolled the
line until they felt sure it was safe.

"If we can put out the flames between our back-fire and the brook," said
Lew, "it will make our job a great deal easier. We've already put out part
of them."

They began to work their way back to the brook, following the line of
flame and beating out the fire foot by foot as they advanced. There were
many things in their favor. The dense stand of trees at this point not
only checked the wind and made the fire less fierce, but the absence of
underbrush also helped to check it. There was little for it to feed upon
but leaves. So the two boys could work close to it and beat it out with
ease, though the smoke was stifling. Only lads of great determination and
courage would have stuck to the task.

With frequent pauses, necessary for rest, they went on, foot by foot, yard
after yard, rod upon rod. "We're going to make it," cried Lew presently.
"It's only a little distance to the end of the flames."

They increased their efforts. Quickly they reached the end of the line of
fire. Beyond that the woods had been saved by their first efforts.

"Now we'll go back over the line," said Charley, "and make sure the fire
doesn't start up anywhere."

"I'm dying of thirst," said Lew. "Let's get a drink first. We are not far
from the brook."

They hurried to the run and threw themselves flat on the bank, drinking
copious draughts of the cool and refreshing water.

"I wonder what time it is," said Charley, as they got to their feet again.
"It seems to me that we've been fighting fire for hours." He looked at his
watch. "We have," he cried. "It's after eleven o'clock. The fire crew has
been on the way four hours. They'll follow their fire trails and get here
in a fraction of the time it took us to come in. They certainly ought to
be here soon. If we can hold the fire for a little bit longer the forest
will be safe."

"Come on," called Lew. "We've got to do it."

Again they went along the line of their back-fire. For rod after rod the
fire was conquered. In other places it still burned; but the back-fire had
now eaten its way so far to windward of the cleared space that there was
no longer any danger of the flames leaping past the barrier. So they
covered the entire length of their line and found it safe.

When they reached the main fire again they began to beat it out with
branches. Rod after rod they continued to work their way. But at best
their progress was painfully slow.

"Lew," said Charley of a sudden, "while we are beating out these flames
here, there may be another header in front of us traveling like a
racehorse. I'm going to run ahead and see. You stay here. Call every
little bit and I'll answer. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He made his way along the line of the fire. Here in the thick timber it
still burned slowly and feebly. He could trace the line of fire far ahead,
and it seemed to have advanced with remarkable evenness. Nowhere could be
seen a header of flame jutting out far in advance of the main line.

"If the wind doesn't rise," he muttered to himself, "we're going to make
it."

He went on, trying to locate the other end of the fire. Behind him he
heard Lew halloing. Before he could turn to answer, an echo came back from
the mountain in front of him.

"If only that were a real voice," muttered Charley to himself.

Then he stood stock-still. Shout after shout came ringing in his ears. "It
<i>is</i> a real voice," he cried. "The fire crew is coming."

A moment later a dozen forms became visible in the smoke. They were
running along the edge of the fire, evidently trying to determine where to
begin their attack on it. At their head was the forester. He came directly
toward Charley, but gave no sign of recognition. Nor, could Charley have
seen himself, would he have wondered at it. With his face blackened by
smoke and caked with blood from innumerable little cuts and scratches, his
hands grimy and almost raw, and his clothes torn in a hundred places,
Charley could hardly have been recognized by his own mother.

"How far across the valley does this fire extend?" asked the forester.

"You are almost at the end of it, sir," replied Charley.

"It's making a tremendous smoke for such a little blaze, then," said the
forester.

He turned to his men. "Get right at it and beat it out," he ordered. "This
is all there is to it."

Again he faced Charley. "Are you sure?" he demanded. "When we came over
the pass it looked as though the entire bottom was afire."

"It was," said Charley. "That is, everything this side of the run was
afire. We have got it all out but this."

"Have you seen anything of two boys with a wireless outfit? They notified
me of this fire."

"Why, I am one of them, sir. It was I who asked you yesterday for a job as
fire patrol."

The forester looked at him narrowly for several seconds. "See here," he
said severely. "Did you boys set this forest