Chapter 6

They were all afoot now descending swiftly, and the horses ramped down the trail with expectant haste, so that in less than an hour from timber-line they were back into the sunshine of the lower valley, and at three o'clock or thereabouts they came out upon the bank of an exquisite lake, and with a cheery shout McFarlane called out: "Here we are, out of the wilderness!" Then to Wayland: "Well, boy, how did you stand it?"

"Just middling," replied Wayland, reticent from weariness and with joy of their camping-place. The lake, dark as topaz and smooth as steel, lay in a frame of golden willows--as a jewel is filigreed with gold--and above it the cliffs rose three thousand feet in sheer majesty, their upper slopes glowing with autumnal grasses. A swift stream roared down a low ledge and fell into the pond near their feet. Grassy, pine-shadowed knolls afforded pasture for the horses, and two giant firs, at the edge of a little glade, made a natural shelter for their tent.

With businesslike certitude Berrie unsaddled her horse, turned him loose, and lent a skilful hand at removing the panniers from the pack-animals, while Wayland, willing but a little uncertain, stood awkwardly about. Under her instruction he collected dead branches of a standing fir, and from these and a few cones kindled a blaze, while the Supervisor hobbled the horses and set the tent.

"If the work of a forester were all like this it wouldn't be so bad," he remarked, wanly. "I think I know several fellows who would be glad to do it without a cent of pay."

"Wait till you get to heaving a pick," she retorted, "or scaling lumber in a rain, or building a corduroy bridge."

"I don't want to think of anything so dreadful. I want to enjoy this moment. I never was hungrier or happier in my life."

"Do ye good," interjected McFarlane, who had paused to straighten up the coffee-pot. "Most people don't know what hunger means. There's nothing finer in the world than good old-fashioned hunger, provided you've got something to throw into yourself when you come into camp. This is a great place for fish. I think I'll see if I can't jerk a few out."

"Better wait till night," said his daughter. "Mr. Norcross is starving, and so am I. Plain bacon will do me."

The coffee came to a boil, the skillet gave off a wondrous savor, and when the corn and beans began to sizzle, the trailers sat down to their feast in hearty content, with one of the panniers for a table, and the fir-tree for roof. "This is one of the most perfectly appointed dining-rooms in the world," exclaimed the alien.

The girl met his look with a tender smile. "I'm glad you like it, for perhaps we'll stay a week."

"It looks stormy," the Supervisor announced, after a glance at the crests. "I'd like to see a soaking rain--it would end all our worry about fires. The country's very dry on this side the range, and your duty for the present will be to help Tony patrol."

While he talked on, telling the youth how to beat out a small blaze and how to head off a large one, Wayland listened, but heard his instructions only as he sensed the brook, as an accompaniment to Berea's voice, for as she busied herself clearing away the dishes and putting the camp to rights, she sang.

"You're to have the tent," said her father, "and we two huskies will sleep under the shade of this big fir. If you're ever caught out," he remarked to Wayland, "hunt for one of these balsam firs; there's always a dry spot under them. See here!" And he showed him the sheltered circle beneath the tree. "You can always get twigs for kindling from their inner branches," he added, "or you can hew into one of these dead trees and get some pitchy splinters. There's material for everything you want if you know where to find it. Shelter, food, fire are all here for us as they were for the Indians. A ranger who needs a roof all the time is not worth his bacon."

So, one by one, the principles of camping were taught by the kindly old rancher; but the hints which the girl gave were quite as valuable, for Wayland was eager to show her that he could be, and intended to be, a forester of the first class or perish in the attempt.

McFarlane went farther and talked freely of the forest and what it meant to the government. "We're all green at the work," he said, "and we old chaps are only holding the fort against the thieves till you youngsters learn how to make the best use of the domain."

"I can see that it takes more than technical training to enable a man to be Supervisor of a forest," conceded Wayland.

McFarlane was pleased with this remark. "That's true, too. It's a big responsibility. When I first came on, it was mainly patrolling; but now, with a half dozen sawmills, and these 'June Eleventh Homesteads,' and the new ways of marking timber, and the grazing and free-use permits, the office work has doubled. And this is only the beginning. Wait till Colorado has two millions of people, and all these lower valleys are clamoring for water. Then you'll see a new party spring up--right here in our state."

Berrie was glowing with happiness. "Let's stay here till the end of the week," she suggested. "I've always wanted to camp on this lake, and now I'm here I want time to enjoy it."

"We'll stay a day or two," said her father; "but I must get over to that ditch survey which is being made at the head of Poplar, and then Moore is coming over to look at some timber on Porcupine."

The young people cut willow rods and went angling at the outlet of the lake with prodigious success. The water rippled with trout, and in half an hour they had all they could use for supper and breakfast, and, behold, even as they were returning with their spoil they met a covey of grouse strolling leisurely down to the lake's edge. "Isn't it a wonderful place!" exclaimed the happy girl. "I wish we could stay a month."

"It's like being on the Swiss Family Robinson's Island. I never was more content," he said, fervently. "I wouldn't mind staying here all winter."

"I would!" she laughed. "The snow falls four feet deep up here. It's likely there's snow on the divide this minute, and camping in the snow isn't so funny. Some people got snowed in over at Deep Lake last year and nearly all their horses starved before they could get them out. This is a fierce old place in winter-time."

"I can't imagine it," he said, indicating the glowing amphitheater which inclosed the lake. "See how warmly the sun falls into that high basin! It's all as beautiful as the Tyrol."

The air at the moment was golden October, and the dark clouds which lay to the east seemed the wings of a departing rather than an approaching storm; and even as they looked, a rainbow sprang into being, arching the lake as if in assurance of peace and plenty, and the young people, as they turned to face it, stood so close together that each felt the glow of the other's shoulder. The beauty of the scene seemed to bring them together in body as in spirit, and they fell silent.

McFarlane seemed quite unconscious of any necromancy at work upon his daughter. He smoked his pipe, made notes in his field-book, directing an occasional remark toward his apprentice, enjoying in his tranquil, middle-age way the beauty and serenity of the hour.

"This is the kind of thing that makes up for a hard day's ride," he said, jocosely.

As the sunset came on, the young people again loitered down to the water's edge, and there, seated side by side, on a rocky knoll, watched the phantom gold lift from the willows and climb slowly to the cliffs above, while the water deepened in shadow, and busy muskrats marked its glossy surface with long silvery lines. Mischievous camp-birds peered at the couple from the branches of the pines uttering satirical comment, while squirrels, frankly insolent, dropped cones upon their heads and barked in saucy glee.

Wayland forgot all the outside world, forgot that he was studying to be a forest ranger, and was alive only to the fact that in this most bewitching place, in this most entrancing hour, he had the companionship of a girl whose eyes sought his with every new phase of the silent and wonderful scene which shifted swiftly before their eyes like a noiseless yet prodigious drama. The blood in his thin body warmed. He forgot his fatigue, his weakness. He was the poet and the forest lover, and this the heart of the range.

Lightly the golden glory rose till only the highest peaks retained its flame; then it leapt to the clouds behind the peaks, and gorgeously lit their somber sulphurous masses. The edges of the pool grew black as night; the voice of the stream grew stern; and a cold wind began to fall from the heights, sliding like an invisible but palpable icy cataract.

At last the girl rose. "It is getting dark. I must go back and get supper."

"We don't need any supper," he protested.

"Father does, and you'll be hungry before morning," she retorted, with sure knowledge of men.

He turned from the scene reluctantly; but once at the camp-fire cheerfully gave his best efforts to the work in hand, seconding Berrie's skill as best he could.

The trout, deliciously crisp, and some potatoes and batter-cakes made a meal that tempted even his faint appetite, and when the dishes were washed and the towels hung out to dry, deep night possessed even the high summit of stately Ptarmigan.

McFarlane then said: "I'll just take a little turn to see that the horses are all right, and then I think we'd better close in for the night."

When they were alone in the light of the fire, Wayland turned to Berrie: "I'm glad you're here. It must be awesome to camp alone in a wilderness; and yet, I suppose, I must learn to do it."

"Yes, the ranger often has to camp alone, ride alone, and work alone for weeks at a time," she assured him. "A good trailer don't mind a night trip any more than he does a day trip, or if he does he never admits it. Rain, snow, darkness, is all the same to him. Most of the boys are fifteen to forty miles from the post-office."

He smiled ruefully. "I begin to have new doubts about this ranger business. It's a little more vigorous than I thought it was. Suppose a fellow breaks a leg on one of those high trails?"

"He mustn't!" she hastened to say. "He can't afford really to take reckless chances; but then father won't expect as much of you as he does of the old-stagers. You'll have plenty of time to get used to it."

"I may be like the old man's cow and the green shavings, just as I'm getting used to it I'll die."

She didn't laugh at this. "You mustn't be rash; don't jump into any hard jobs for the present; let the other fellow do it."

"But that's not very manly. If I go into the work I ought to be able to take my share of any task that turns up."

"You'd better go slow," she argued. "Wait till you get hardened to it. You need something over your shoulders now," she added; and rose and laid a blanket over him. "You're tired; you'll take a chill if you're not careful."

"You're very considerate," he said, looking up at her gratefully. "But it makes me feel like a child to think I need such care. If honestly trying, if going up against these hills and winds with Spartan courage will do me good, I'm for it. I'm resolved to show to you and your good father that I can learn to ride and pack and cut trail, and do all the rest of it--there's some honor in qualifying as a forester, and I'm going to do it."

"Of course there isn't much in it for you. The pay, even of a full ranger, isn't much, after you count out his outlay for horses and saddles and their feed, and his own feed. It don't leave so very much of his ninety dollars a month."

"I'm not thinking of that," he retorted. "If you had once seen a doctor shake his head over you, as I have, you'd think just being here in this glorious spot, as I am to-night, would be compensation enough. It's a joy to be in the world, and a delight to have you for my teacher."

She was silent under the pleasure of his praise, and he went on: "I _know_ I'm better, and, I'm perfectly certain I can regain my strength. The very odor of these pines and the power of these winds will bring it back to me. See me now, and think how I looked when I came here six weeks ago."

She looked at him with fond agreement. "You _are_ better. When I saw you first I surely thought you were--"

"I know what you thought--and forget it, _please_! Think of me as one who has touched mother earth again and is on the way to being made a giant. You can't imagine how marvelous, how life-giving all this is to me. It is poetry, it is prophecy, it is fulfilment. I am fully alive again."

McFarlane, upon his return, gave some advice relating to the care of horses. "All this stock which is accustomed to a barn or a pasture will quit you," he warned. "Watch your broncos. Put them on the outward side of your camp when you bed down, and pitch your tent near the trail, then you will hear the brutes if they start back. Some men tie their stock all up; but I usually picket my saddle-horse and hobble the rest."

It was a delightful hour for schooling, and Wayland would have been content to sit there till morning listening; but the air bit, and at last the Supervisor asked: "Have you made your bed? If you have, turn in. I shall get you out early to-morrow." As he saw the bed, he added: "I see you've laid out a bed of boughs. That shows how Eastern you are. We don't do that out here. It's too cold in this climate, and it's too much work. You want to hug the ground--if it's dry."

The weary youth went to his couch with a sense of timorous elation, for he had never before slept beneath the open sky. Over him the giant fir--tall as a steeple--dropped protecting shadow, and looking up he could see the firelight flickering on the wide-spread branches. His bed seemed to promise all the dreams and restful drowse which the books on outdoor life had described, and close by in her tiny little canvas house he could hear the girl in low-voiced conversation with her sire. All conditions seemed right for slumber, and yet slumber refused to come!

After the Supervisor had rolled himself in the blanket, long after all sounds had ceased in the tent, there still remained for the youth a score of manifold excitations to wakefulness. Down on the lake the muskrats and beavers were at their work. Nocturnal birds uttered uncanny, disturbing cries. Some animal with stealthy crackling tread was ranging the hillside, and the roar of the little fall, so far from lulling him to sleep--as he had imagined it would--stimulated his imagination till he could discern in it the beat of scurrying wings and the patter of pernicious padded feet. "If I am appalled by the wilderness now, what would it seem to me were I alone!" he whispered.

Then, too, his bed of boughs discovered unforeseen humps and knobs, and by the time he had adjusted himself to their discomfort, it became evident that his blankets were both too thin and too short. And the gelid air sweeping down from the high places submerged him as if with a flood of icy water. In vain he turned and twisted within his robes. No sooner were his shoulders covered and comfortable than his hip-bones began to ache. Later on the blood of his feet congealed, and in the effort to wrap them more closely, he uncovered his neck and shoulders. The frost became a wolf, the night an oppressor. "I must have a different outfit," he decided. And then thinking that this was but early autumn, he added: "What will it be a month later?" He began to doubt his ability to measure up to the heroic standard of a forest patrol.

The firelight flickered low, and a prowling animal daringly sniffed about the camp, pawing at the castaway fragments of the evening meal. The youth was rigid with fear. "Is it a bear? Shall I call the Supervisor?" he asked himself.

He felt sadly unprotected, and wished McFarlane nearer at hand. "It may be a lion, but probably it is only a coyote, or a porcupine," he concluded, and lay still for what seemed like hours waiting for the beast to gorge himself and go away.

He longed for morning with intense desire, and watched an amazingly luminous star which hung above the eastern cliff, hoping to see it pale and die in dawn light, but it did not; and the wind bit even sharper. His legs ached almost to the cramping-point, and his hip-bones protruded like knots on a log. "I didn't know I had door-knobs on my hips," he remarked, with painful humor, and, looking down at his feet, he saw that a thick rime was gathering on his blanket. "This sleeping out at night isn't what the books crack it up to be," he groaned again, drawing his feet up to the middle of his bed to warm them. "Shall I resign to-morrow? No, I'll stay with it; but I'll have more clothing. I'll have blankets six inches thick. Heaps of blankets--the fleecy kind--I'll have an air-mattress." His mind luxuriated in these details till he fell into an uneasy drowse.

VI

STORM-BOUND

Wayland was awakened by the mellow voice of his chief calling: "_All out! All out! Daylight down the creek!_" Breathing a prayer of thankfulness, the boy sat up and looked about him. "The long night is over at last, and I am alive!" he said, and congratulated himself.

He drew on his shoes and, stiff and shivering, stood about in helpless misery, while McFarlane kicked the scattered, charred logs together, and fanned the embers into a blaze with his hat. It was heartening to see the flames leap up, flinging wide their gorgeous banners of heat and light, and in their glow the tenderfoot ranger rapidly recovered his courage, though his teeth still chattered and the forest was dark.

"How did you sleep?" asked the Supervisor.

"First rate--at least during the latter part of the night," Wayland briskly lied.

"That's good. I was afraid that Adirondack bed of yours might let the white wolf in."

"My blankets did seem a trifle thin," confessed Norcross.

"It don't pay to sleep cold," the Supervisor went on. "A man wants to wake up refreshed, not tired out with fighting the night wind and frost. I always carry a good bed."

It was instructive to see how quietly and methodically the old mountaineer went about his task of getting the breakfast. First he cut and laid a couple of eight-inch logs on either side of the fire, so that the wind drew through them properly, then placing his dutch-oven cover on the fire, he laid the bottom part where the flames touched it. Next he filled his coffee-pot with water, and set it on the coals. From his pannier he took his dishes and the flour and salt and pepper, arranging them all within reach, and at last laid some slices of bacon in the skillet.

At this stage of the work a smothered cry, half yawn, half complaint, came from the tent. "Oh, hum! Is it morning?" inquired Berrie.

"Morning!" replied her father. "It's going toward noon. You get up or you'll have no breakfast."

Thereupon Wayland called: "Can I get you anything, Miss Berrie? Would you like some warm water?"

"What for?" interposed McFarlane, before the girl could reply.

"To bathe in," replied the youth.

"To bathe in! If a daughter of mine should ask for warm water to wash with I'd throw her in the creek."

Berrie chuckled. "Sometimes I think daddy has no feeling for me. I reckon he thinks I'm a boy."

"Hot water is debilitating, and very bad for the complexion," retorted her father. "Ice-cold water is what you need. And if you don't get out o' there in five minutes I'll dowse you with a dipperful."

This reminded Wayland that he had not yet made his own toilet, and, seizing soap, towel, and brushes, he hurried away down to the beach where he came face to face with the dawn. The splendor of it smote him full in the eyes. From the waveless surface of the water a spectral mist was rising, a light veil, through which the stupendous cliffs loomed three thousand feet in height, darkly shadowed, dim and far. The willows along the western marge burned as if dipped in liquid gold, and on the lofty crags the sun's coming created keen-edged shadows, violet as ink. Truly this forestry business was not so bad after all. It had its compensations.

Back at the camp-fire he found Berrie at work, glowing, vigorous, laughing. Her comradeship with her father was very charming, and at the moment she was rallying him on his method of bread-mixing. "You should rub the lard into the flour," she said. "Don't be afraid to get your hands into it--after they are clean. You can't mix bread with a spoon."

"Sis, I made camp bread for twenty years afore you were born."

"It's a wonder you lived to tell of it," she retorted, and took the pan away from him. "That's another thing _you_ must learn," she said to Wayland. "You must know how to make bread. You can't expect to find bake-shops or ranchers along the way."

In the heat of the fire, in the charm of the girl's presence, the young man forgot the discomforts of the night, and as they sat at breakfast, and the sun rising over the high summits flooded them with warmth and good cheer, and the frost melted like magic from the tent, the experience had all the satisfying elements of a picnic. It seemed that nothing remained to do; but McFarlane said: "Well, now, you youngsters wash up and pack whilst I reconnoiter the stock." And with his saddle and bridle on his shoulder he went away down the trail.

Under Berrie's direction Wayland worked busily putting the camp equipment in proper parcels, taking no special thought of time till the tent was down and folded, the panniers filled and closed, and the fire carefully covered. Then the girl said: "I hope the horses haven't been stampeded. There are bears in this valley, and horses are afraid of bears. Father ought to have been back before this. I hope they haven't quit us."

"Shall I go and see?"

"No, he'll bring 'em--if they're in the land of the living. He picketed his saddle-horse, so he's not afoot. Nobody can teach him anything about trailing horses, and, besides, you might get lost. You'd better keep close to camp."

Thereupon Wayland put aside all responsibility. "Let's see if we can catch some more fish," he urged.

To this she agreed, and together they went again to the outlet of the lake--where the trout could be seen darting to and fro on the clear, dark flood--and there cast their flies till they had secured ten good-sized fish.

"We'll stop now," declared the girl. "I don't believe in being wasteful."

Once more at the camp they prepared the fish for the pan. The sun suddenly burned hot and the lake was still as brass, but great, splendid, leisurely, gleaming clouds were sailing in from the west, all centering about Chief Audobon, and the experienced girl looked often at the sky. "I don't like the feel of the air. See that gray cloud spreading out over the summits of the range, that means something more than a shower. I do hope daddy will overtake the horses before they cross the divide. It's going to pour up there."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing. We'll stay right here and get dinner for him. He'll be hungry when he gets back."

As they were unpacking the panniers and getting out the dishes, thunder broke from the high crags above the lake, and the girl called out:

"Quick! It's going to rain! We must reset the tent and get things under cover."