Part 4

The rank-and-file of the American Forest Service are the patrolmen or rangers. Over them are supervisors, one of whom may have charge of a group of national forests, and may be obliged to travel several thousand miles a year in order to perform his duties. In Washington is the chief forester, who is at the head of the service, and has under him a staff of assistants, inspectors, and clerks. But the men who do the hard work, endure the privations, and brave the dangers are the forest rangers and supervisors, who spend their lives in looking after the domains to which they are assigned. There are far more perils to be encountered in the wilderness than the town-dweller might think. The wild animals that roam here and there form but a slight danger compared with the terrible weather to which the guardians of the woodlands are sometimes exposed. While in many regions the summers are so warm that the heat is almost unbearable, in the higher lands, such as the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, winter may last for four or five months, with the temperature so far below freezing-point that a man must be muffled in furs up to the eyes in order to keep himself alive. Storms sometimes prevail for days at a time, covering the ground with great snow-drifts higher than one's head, and frequently almost burying the little huts or cabins in which the foresters live when they are not doing patrol duty. It is the loneliness of the life, however, which forms its worst feature. For months the forester may not see the face of a white man, or even an Indian--going day by day amid the trees, fording streams, climbing mountain sides, with never a person to speak to. This is why several rangers have at different times become insane and have been found aimlessly wandering about, while others have suffered death from starvation while mentally unbalanced. Remembering that a man may be sole guardian of a tract of land as large as an entire English county, it is not to be wondered at that occasionally the sense of their loneliness should overpower them.

It takes a good type of man to make a successful forester--he is obliged to undertake so many different tasks and perform them all well. His daily round does not mean merely going from this place to that in his territory, looking out for fires and for unauthorized persons who may come into the woods to cut down the valuable timber. True, forest fires are perhaps the ranger's greatest anxiety, but he must also keep a keen watch for what are called in the West "squatters"--families who steal into the parts controlled by the Government and try to make homes in open spots without permission. They cut down valuable trees for fuel, occupy ground to which they have no right, and frequently seriously injure the forest growth before they are discovered. In a region covering two hundred thousand acres squatters may live for months, or perhaps even a year, before being discovered by the forester and driven out. And this eviction work is very dangerous, for the squatter may be armed, and if he thinks he will not be detected he does not hesitate to shoot down the guardian in fighting for the place he calls his home. More than one murder of this kind has been committed since the United States began taking charge of the great forests ten years ago.

The forester must also supervise any lumbering operations which are permitted by the Government in the region under his care. Someone may get authority from the Forest Service to cut certain trees and make them into lumber, and the ranger in that district must look to it that they do not cut more than they should, that they do not damage other trees--especially young ones--and that they do not set fire to the woodlands during their operations. He measures the timber they cut, and makes a report to his supervisor of what they do from month to month. If the Government allows stock-raisers to turn cattle and sheep into one of the woodland parks, the forester must watch the animals and prevent them feeding at places where they would do damage. He also oversees the stock-men and herders--and here again is liable to be injured, if not killed, since some of these ranchmen of the Far West belong to a desperate class, and are usually well armed and only too ready to use their weapons.

The ranger is not only a policeman, but is frequently called upon to act as judge when a dispute arises on his territory between rival settlers. Sometimes he is obliged to arrest trespassers and other wrongdoers, and take them perhaps fifty miles through the wilderness before he can place them in the hands of the nearest magistrate. This is one of the most dangerous features of his work, for many of the people who go into the wild forest districts are desperadoes, who set little value upon human life. Therefore, the ranger must be strong and courageous, able to endure the hardships of an outdoor life, and to "keep his end up" in a fight. For this reason the foresters are picked men; but hard as is their life, the Government have no difficulty in securing recruits who measure up to the necessary standard.

Once a year men who wish to enter the Forest Service are given a chance to show their qualifications. Examinations are held at different places in the West, conducted by a forest supervisor or inspector. One was held recently in Colorado which I will describe. Most of the candidates who "sat" for it were cowboys and ranchmen. The first day of the examination was given up to "school-house work," and it is likely that this unaccustomed ordeal of figures and composition caused more grey hairs to sprout on the heads of the candidates than anything suggested by the forestry expert in the succeeding two days. Finally, when the examiner, with a sly smile, informed the assembled men that they might as well put away their pens, the clerical test being over, there was a general chorus of "Bully!" and one cowboy, with a blot of ink on his nose and a look of despair in his eyes, rose on his high-legged boots and fervently exclaimed, "Thank Heaven!"

The second day the applicants brought out their saddle-horses, and at an early hour started on the trail. The forestry expert led the way, riding with an ease that challenged the admiration of all the cow hands. After proceeding five or six miles into the mountains, the candidates were given axes and told to show their skill in cutting and "scaling" (measuring) timber. Some of the cowboys, who had had little experience with the axe beyond cutting wood for a round-up camp-fire, had rather ludicrous experiences, but two forest guards, who were skilled in such work, made the chips fly in a manner that excited universal admiration.

After the candidates had been examined as to their fitness with the axe they were given work in following obscure or "blind" trails and reading signs. Here nearly all proved expert, for the man who rides the range for any length of time soon acquires the ability to read the wilderness signs like a book. A long, hard journey across the mountains, testing the men in rough-riding, ended the day's work.

On the third day the field tests were continued. A brisk ride was made to a water-course, where camp was pitched and notes made of the manner in which each man proceeded to make fires and prepare a temporary resting place. In order to test the accuracy of the men in judging distances, the forestry expert rode over a huge triangle, and then required the men to pace it in Indian file. The candidates were next told to reduce their estimates to feet, and finally the examiner went over the course with a surveyor's tape and compared the result with the estimates. This is an important part of the forester's work, as a ranger is often required to estimate distances with no other facilities than his eye or the length of his stride.

One of the most interesting tests was that of packing. A pack-horse was brought out in front of the building and each candidate in turn was told to show what he could do in the way of putting a load on the animal's back. They put on the blanket and the little pack-saddle, and then stowed away the bags of feed, the tarpaulin covering, the shovel and axe, and tied the whole load with the well-known "diamond hitch," which can be loosened with a single pull at the rope. It never slips, and when it is correctly "thrown" on a well-packed animal the load cannot be "bucked off."

Each man had a different style of packing, but all were good in their way, and all threw the diamond hitch with a celerity that spoke well for their experience. Each pack was critically inspected by the expert while in process of construction and after it had been completely tied. Then the pack-animal was stripped again and another would-be forester took up the work. After the packing, which consumed the greater part of the day, some compass-work was done, to show the familiarity of the candidates with this valuable instrument. Then, to test the ability of the men in the saddle, each candidate was sent a few hundred rods down the trail and told to come in at a gentle lope. This trial, the cowboys admitted, was one of the hardest of the examinations, because they are accustomed to riding very rapidly when not going at a dead walk. Several of the men were unhorsed by the unusual gait and were disqualified as a result, but most of the candidates passed the examination and were given their uniform and other equipment.

The outfit of the American forest-ranger is unique. He is usually provided with a rifle and revolver, but in addition to this has a kit of fire-fighting tools, as well as other implements. Entering one of the little cabins which form the homes of the rangers you will see coils of rope hanging from the walls, and axes and shovels piled in the corners. An army cot, or perhaps a framework of boughs, forms the bed, two or three logs the chairs, and the food is usually cooked in the big mud-plastered fireplace which occupies one end of the cabin. A single room is generally enough for all purposes, unless the ranger is married, when the Government may provide him a larger house with two or three apartments. He clears a little patch of land around his dwelling, where he can raise a few vegetables, and is allowed to kill game and catch fish if there are streams near him. In this way he adds to the stock of rations furnished by the Government.

The ranger must always be on the lookout for fires, especially in summer, when, in many portions of America, the temperature becomes so hot that even rivers are dried up, leaves drop from the trees, and the underbrush of the woodlands is like a vast tinder-heap, ready to burst into flame at the contact of a single spark.

At such times the greatest care must be taken about kindling fires near the woods, for if one spreads over a considerable area of ground, the intense heat creates a wind which grows stronger and stronger until it becomes a veritable hurricane, driving the fire before it and burning scores of miles of forest before it is extinguished. The havoc wrought by the fires was one of the chief reasons for the organization of the Forest Service. One of the worst of these conflagrations is well remembered in the States, although it occurred in what is known as Miramichi Valley, in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. It is an actual fact that for three months of summer no rain fell in this valley. Then, one afternoon in the month of October, a fire started in the Upper Miramichi--no one knows how--but it was supposed a woodsman did not take the trouble to extinguish the faggots by which he had cooked his dinner. The first man who discovered the blaze found a space about one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide in flames in the midst of a patch of bushes and young trees. He alarmed a camp of wood-choppers about two miles distant, and on returning half an hour later the party found that the fire had reached a thicket of pines, the flames running furiously along the top branches. It had spread so rapidly that a thousand men could not now have arrested its progress, and the choppers were obliged to run for their lives to escape. A small pond at the edge of the forest probably saved them, as by crossing it they reached the open country and a spot where half a mile of ploughed field kept the flames in check.

As in other forests of this kind, the ground was covered with a mixture of dead leaves and other _débris_ a foot or more in thickness. This burned like tinder, and it was discovered afterwards that in many cases roots five feet deep in the earth had been reduced to ashes by the terrific heat. When it is stated that a single tree two or three feet in thickness will burn to a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and ten thousand were on fire at the same time, a faint idea can be gained of the magnitude of the "Miramichi fire," as it is still called. Every condition favoured its spread, for in addition to the draught created by the hot air meeting the cooler atmosphere about it, a strong breeze sprang up which blew directly toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and forced the living wall of flame down the valley.

At the Miramichi River the flames nearly leapt across the narrow channel, and thousands of burning embers speedily ignited the timber on the other side. Along swept the great conflagration, turning everything in its path to ashes. Several settlements in the woods were abandoned only just in time for the inhabitants to escape, although the roar and crackle of the flames could be heard three miles distant. Animals and birds, confused and blinded by the noise, smoke, and heat, perished by thousands, though only carcasses of such beasts as deer and bears were found afterwards to show how deadly had been the fire.

The end was only reached where the forest ended at a stretch of open country skirted by a salt-marsh. Here there was absolutely nothing inflammable for the flames to feed on, and the fire burned itself out. For a month it smouldered in the burned area, occasionally starting up here and there, and then finally dying down for want of material to consume. It reached the boundary-line ten hours after being discovered, and in that time had spread over a territory eighty miles long and twenty-five miles wide, travelling at the rate of eight miles an hour.

The Hinkly fire, as it is called, was the worst in the history of America, for it actually consumed a large town in Minnesota, and nearly five hundred persons who could not escape in time met their death in the flames. A spark from a locomotive fell into a pile of dried leaves in the forest at a spot about ten miles from Hinkly. For four months not a drop of rain had fallen in this part of the State; yet when a track labourer saw the leaves on fire he passed on, thinking they would soon burn out. The fire did die down, but for two days the ashes remained smouldering. Then a little breeze sprang up and spread some of the embers, still red, to other leaves. The resulting flames shot up from the ground to the underbrush and then to the trees, and in a twinkling a forest fire had started. What wind there was blew directly towards Hinkly, and in that direction the fire travelled, widening as it went and gradually forming an inverted semicircle, with the village opposite the centre, so that the ends of the circle were a mile beyond the town before the fire in the centre had reached it. Three miles away the people heard the roar of the flames as they shot a hundred feet above the tree-tops, while every moment a huge trunk, burned through, fell with a crash. The smoke came through the woods, filling the air with thick clouds. Everybody seized what valuables he could lay hands upon, and started to escape. Some, blinded by the smoke, ran directly into the burning area, and never returned. Most of the people left by the wagon-roads, only to find they were going into a furnace. More than a hundred were burned to death or suffocated while trying to get away by the roads.

As the flames reached the town, and the nearest rows of dwellings were ignited, the whistle of a locomotive was heard. Through the opening which marked the cut for the railroad track dashed a passenger train. The roofs of the cars were smoking from the heat, and every window was shut to keep the interiors from igniting. The engine-driver stood at the throttle-valve, while the fireman drenched him with pails of water from the tank in the tender. The crowds of people, running hither and thither in the streets, rushed for the train, and everyone who could get a foothold on the platforms was allowed to do so. Then the engine-driver reversed the lever and backed his train into the advancing fire. Luckily no _débris_ had fallen across the track. For six miles that gallant man drove his engine through the flames and blistering heat. Several times his clothing caught fire, but the water-bucket extinguished it. In places the flames literally swept under and up the sides of the coaches, while the metal-work on the outside of the engine was so hot that it could not be touched. At last the train reached a small clearing near a swamp, and the order was given to all to leave the cars and save themselves. Everyone left but two Chinamen, who were burned to ashes. The rails were twisted by the heat and in some places partly melted. This fire swept over an area about twenty-five miles long and ten miles wide.

Since the Forest Service was established many heroic incidents have occurred where rangers have risked their lives in preventing the spread of a conflagration, knowing that if it got beyond control it might cause untold damage. In fighting fires they use curious weapons. Water is seldom at hand, but in any case it is not of much value in stopping a forest fire, for it is useless to merely attempt to extinguish the flames; all efforts are concentrated upon preventing the fire from spreading, and so it is fought on the edge of the fire-line. The scene of a recent fire in West Kansas was near a town, and the rangers were assisted in their work by the anxious inhabitants. The fire was so close, and spread so fast, that it began burning up the dry prairie land on which the town was situated. Men, women, and all the children old enough to be of service hurried to the locality, while a dozen ploughs were loaded on wagons and hauled to a point on the prairie several miles from the line of burning vegetation. Then the ploughs were unshipped and the horses fastened to the implements, four to each. As fast as it could be driven each team dragged its plough through the ground, turning up the fresh soil and burying the dry stubble which afforded food for the flames. The furrows were dug about five feet apart, in ten parallel rows, each as long as it was calculated the fire-line would be, should it reach the spot. While the ploughmen were thus creating a sort of breastwork to resist the flames, the others were placed at intervals in front digging earth with hoes and shovels, forming piles to be used as ammunition to be thrown on the flames, or spread over the fields as a further obstacle to the advance of the conflagration. The children, supplied with branches, were stationed on the leeward side of the burning area to beat down any blaze which might spring up, thus preventing the fire-line from widening.

Although there were fully five hundred persons in this improvised fire brigade, they were unable to check the progress of the blaze until it had reached the ploughed area. The flames leaped over the first furrow, but the stubble and dried grass between it and the second one had been covered with earth, and only a part ignited. Realizing the desperate nature of the situation, the people devoted all their efforts to extinguishing the flames at this spot. As many as could procure them obtained branches and beat savagely at the blaze, while others used their hoes and shovels, some literally running into the fire in their efforts to stamp it out.

Finally the breach was closed, and, encouraged by their progress, the fighters redoubled their efforts. By midnight the long row of flames had been turned into a mass of smoking embers. But the fire, though conquered, was not wholly dead. Squads of men were left to prevent another outbreak, and the others scattered to their homes to snatch a few hours' rest until called to relieve those on watch, for prairie fires are treacherous and may smoulder for several days, only to break out with renewed energy. They must be entirely extinguished, or watched closely until they die out.

Recently another fire occurred, its history conclusively demonstrating the great value of the Forest Service. In Long Pine National Forest a sawmill has been permitted to be operated by the Government, under the control of the foresters. The supervisor of Long Pine Forest is one Charles Ballenger, who has his head-quarters at Camp Crook, South Dakota, some distance away. Camp Crook is connected with the mill town by a telephone line, and one day Ballenger received a message that a fire had started in the vicinity of the mill. He hurried to the place on horseback as soon as possible, reaching there the same day the fire started; but it spread so rapidly that a large area was ablaze by the time he got to the spot, although the mill-hands and people in the town had fought it as best they could. They began fighting the fire when it was only a spot about twenty feet square, but the earth was covered with so much dry wood and other inflammable material that the flames were carried through the forest at a great speed, driven by the high wind.

Ballenger realized that strenuous efforts must be made if the fire was to be checked, and that it would be useless to try to work against it in the direction which it was spreading. He accordingly organized the fire-fighters into squads, and directed them how to use earth and tree branches in working against the flames. Then an effort was made to change the course of the fire, all hands working along one side of the burning area. Thus its course was gradually changed towards what are called the Bad Lands, which are destitute of trees, and where the fire would not have enough material to keep it alive. This plan proved successful, although it was necessary to keep up the fight for forty-eight hours before the danger-point was passed. During this time, however, the flames had actually covered nearly ten thousand acres, eating into the forest at the rate of over two hundred acres an hour.

No one thought of changing the course of the fire until Ballenger's arrival. His skill and experience, however, showed him that it was the only method which could be taken, on account of the extent of the forest and its extreme dryness.