Pluck on the Long Trail Part 17

"No," I said. "Let's strike across," and I explained.

"But the man. Wait a minute. Maybe he doesn't know," said Scout Van Sant; and away he raced, down and back for the dug-out.

We followed, for of course we wouldn't let him go alone. As we ran we all shouted, and at the dug-out we shouted, looking; but all that we saw was the beaver man far off across the creek, riding through the timber.

He did not glance back; he kept on, riding slowly, headed for the fire.

That seemed bad. He was so angry that perhaps his judgment wasn't working right, and he didn't pay much attention to the smell of smoke.

So all we could do was to race up the ridge again, get the packs, and plunge down over for sanctuary.

The wind was blowing toward the fire, as if sucked in. But I knew that this would not hold the fire, because there would be another breeze, low, carrying it along. With a big fire there always is a wind, sucked in from all sides, as the hot air rises.

Those Red Fox Scouts hiked well, loaded with their packs. I set the pace, in a bee-line for the willows and aspens, and I was traveling light, but they hung close behind. The alt.i.tude made them puff; they fairly wheezed as we zigzagged down, among the trees; but we must get out of this brush into the open.

"Will we make it?" puffed Ward.

"Sure," I said. But I was mighty anxious. It seemed to me that the distance lengthened and lengthened and that I could feel the air getting warm in puffs. This was imagination.

"Look!" cried Van Sant. "What's that?" He stopped and panted and pointed.

"Bunch of deer!" cried Ward.

It was. Not a bunch, exactly, but two does and three fawns, scampering through the timber below, fleeing from the fire. They were bounding over brush and over logs, their tails lifted showing the white--and next they were out of sight in a hollow. They made a pretty sight, but--

"Frightened by the fire, aren't they?" asked Scout Van Sant, quietly, as we jogged on.

"Yes," I had to say.

This looked serious. The fire might not be coming, and again it might.

Animals are wise.

The smoke certainly was worse. The air certainly was warmer. The breeze was changing, or else we were down into another breeze. Next I saw a black, s.h.a.ggy creature lumbering past, before, and I pointed without stopping. They nodded.

"Bear?" panted Ward.

I nodded. The bear was getting out of the way, too.

"Will we make it?" again asked Ward.

"Sure," I answered. We _had_ to.

On we plowed. We were almost at the bottom of the slope and we ought to be reaching those willows and aspens. The brush was not so bad, now; but the brush does not figure much in a forest fire when the flames leap from tree-top to tree-top and make a crown fire. That is the worst of all. This was hot enough to be a crown fire, if a breeze helped it.

We saw lots of animals--rabbits and squirrels and porcupines and more deer, and the birds were calling and fluttering. The smoke rasped our throats; the air was thick with it and with the smell of burning pine.

And how we sweat.

Then, hurrah! We were into the aspens. I tell you, their white trunks and their green leaves looked good to me; but ahead of us was that other slope to climb, before we were into the bareness.

"Shall we go on?" asked Scout Van Sant.

He coughed; we all coughed, as we wheezed. That had been a hard hike.

The air was hot, we could _feel_ the fire as the wind came in strong puffs; everywhere animals were running and flying, and the aspens were full of wild things, panicky. We had to decide quickly, for the fire was much closer.

"Are you good for another pull?" I asked.

They grinned, out of streaming faces and white lips.

"We'll make it if you can."

But I didn't believe that we could. Up I went into an aspen, to reconnoiter.

"Be looking for wetness, or willows," I called down. They dropped their packs and scurried.

CHAPTER XII

FOILING THE FIRE

I don't know what a record I made in climbing that tree--an aspen's bark is slick--but in a jiffy I was at the top and could peer out. (Note 47.) All the sky was smoke, veiling the upper end of the valley and of the ridge. The ridge must be afire; the fire was spreading along our side; and if we tried for the opposite slope and the bare spot we might be caught halfway! Something whisked through the trees under me. It was a coyote. And as I slid down like lightning, thinking hard as to what we must do and do at once, I heard a calling and Van Sant and Ward came rus.h.i.+ng back.

"We've found a place!" they cried huskily. "A boggy place, with willows.

Let's get in it."

We grabbed the packs. I carried one, at last. Scout Ward led straight for the place. Willows began to appear, cl.u.s.tering thick. That was a good sign. The ground grew wet and soft, and slushed about our feet. I tell you, it felt fine!

"Will it do?" gasped Scout Ward, back.

"Great!" I said.

"It's occupied, but I guess we can squeeze in," added Van Sant.

And sure enough. Animals had got here first; all kinds--coyotes, rabbits, squirrels, skunks, porcupines, a big gray wolf, and a brown bear, and one or two things whose names I didn't know. But we didn't care. We forced right in, to the very middle; nothing paid much attention to us, except to step aside and give us room. Of course the coyotes snarled and so did the wolf; but the bear simply lay panting, he was so fat. And we lay panting, too.

We weren't any too soon. The air was gusty hot and gusty coolish, and the smoke came driving down. We dug holes, so that the water would collect, and so that we could dash it over each other if necessary. I could reach with my hand and pet a rabbit, but I didn't. Nothing bothered anything else. Even the coyotes and the wolf let the rabbits alone. This was a sanctuary. There was a tremendous cras.h.i.+ng, and a big doe elk bolted into the midst of us. She was thin and quivery, and her tongue was hanging out and her eyes staring. But she didn't stay; with another great bound she was off, outrunning the fire. She probably knew where she was going.

We others lay around, flat, waiting.

"Wish we were on her back," gasped Van Sant.

"We're all right," I said.

"Think so?"

"Sure," I answered.

They were game, those Red Fox Scouts. They never whimpered. We had done the best we could, and after you've done the best you can there is nothing left except to take what comes. And take it without kicking. As for me, I was full of thought. I never had been in a forest fire, before, but it seemed to me our chances were good. Only, I wondered about General Ashley and Fitzpatrick, in the hands of that careless gang; and about Major Henry and Jed Smith and Kit Carson, and about the beaver man with the wounded leg. He'd have the hardest time of all.