The Young Wireless Operator-As a Fire Patrol Part 7

"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 pa.s.sionately. 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 spa.r.s.ely 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 pa.s.s 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 fis.h.i.+ng," 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.p.a.ce. The fallen trees were piled upon one another in confused ma.s.ses.

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 Fis.h.i.+ng 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.