The Cabin In The Forest
: The Young ForesterHiram Bent packed the cub down the canyon as he would have handled a
sack of oats. When we reached the cabin he fastened a heavy dog-collar
round Cubby's neck and snapped a chain to it. Doubling the halter, he
tied one end to the chain and the other to a sturdy branch of a tree.
This done, he slipped the thongs off the bear.
"Thar! He'll let you pet him in a few days mebbe," he said.
Our cap
he free of the buckskin thongs than he leaped away, only to be pulled up
by the halter. Then he rolled over and over, clawing at the chain, and
squirming to get his head out of the collar.
"He might choke hisself," said Hiram, "but mebbe he'll ease up if we
stay away from him. Now we've got to rustle to skin them two bears."
So, after giving me a hunting-knife, and telling me to fetch my rifle,
he set off up the canyon. As I trudged along behind him I spoke of
Dick Leslie, and asked if there were not some way to get him out of the
clutches of the lumber thieves.
"I've been thinkin' about thet," replied the hunter, "an' I reckon we
can. Tomorrow we'll cross the ridge high up back of thet spring-hole
canyon, an' sneak down. 'Pears to me them fellers will be trailin' you
pretty hard, an' mebbe they'll leave only one to guard Leslie. More'n
thet, the trail up here to my shack is known, an' I'm thinkin' we'd be
smart to go off an' camp somewhere else."
"What'll I do about Cubby?" I asked, quickly.
"Cubby? Oh, thet bear cub. Wal, take him along. Youngster, you don't
want to pack thet pesky cub back to Pennsylvania?"
"Yes, I do."
"I reckon it ain't likely you can. He's pretty heavy. Weighs nearly a
hundred. An' he'd make a heap of trouble. Mebbe we'll ketch a little
cub--one you can carry in your arms."
"That'd be still better," I replied. "But if we don't, I'll try to take
him back home."
The old hunter said I made a good shot at the big bear, and that he
would give me the skin for a rug. It delighted me to think of that huge
glossy bearskin on the floor of my den. I told Hiram how the bear had
suffered, and I was glad to see that, although he was a hunter and
trapper, he disliked to catch a bear in a trap. We skinned the animal,
and cut out a quantity of meat. He told me that bear meat would make me
forget all about venison. By the time we had climbed up the other canyon
and skinned the other bear and returned to camp it was dark. As for me,
I was so tired I could hardly crawl.
In spite of my aches and pains, that was a night for me to remember.
But there was the thought of Dick Leslie. His rescue was the only thing
needed to make me happy. Dick was in my mind even when Hiram cooked a
supper that almost made me forget my manners. Certainly the broiled bear
meat made me forget venison. Then we talked before the burning logs
in the stone fire-place. Hiram sat on his home-made chair and smoked
a strong-smelling pipe while I lay on a bearskin in blissful ease.
Occasionally we heard the cub outside rattling his chain and growling.
All of the trappers and Indian fighters I had read of were different
from Hiram Bent and Jim Williams. Jim's soft drawl and kind, twinkling
eyes were not what any book-reader would expect to find in a dangerous
man. And Hiram Bent was so simple and friendly, so glad to have even a
boy to talk to, that it seemed he would never stop. If it had not been
for his striking appearance and for the strange, wild tales he told of
his lonely life, he would have reminded me of the old canal-lock tenders
at home.
Once, when he was refilling his pipe and I thought it would be a good
time to profit from his knowledge of the forests, I said to him:
"Now, Mr. Bent, let's suppose I'm the President of the United States,
and I have just appointed you to the office of Chief Forester of the
National Forests. You have full power. The object is to conserve our
national resources. What will you do?"
"Wal, Mr. President," he began, slowly and seriously, and with great
dignity, "the Government must own the forests an' deal wisely with them.
These mountain forests are great sponges to hold the water, an' we
must stop fire an' reckless cuttin'. The first thing is to overcome
the opposition of the stockmen, an' show them where the benefit will be
theirs in the long run. Next the timber must be used, but not all used
up. We'll need rangers who're used to rustlin' in the West an' know
Western ways. Cabins must be built, trails made, roads cut. We'll need
a head forester for every forest. This man must know all that's on his
preserve, an' have it mapped. He must teach his rangers what he knows
about trees. Penetier will be given over entirely to the growin' of
yellow pine. Thet thrives best, an' the parasites must go. All dead an'
old timber must be cut, an' much of thet where the trees are crowded.
The north slopes must be cut enough to let in the sun an' light. Brush,
windfalls rottin' logs must be burned. Thickets of young pine must be
thinned. Care oughten be taken not to cut on the north an' west edges of
the forests, as the old guard pines will break the wind."
"How will you treat miners and prospectors?"
"They must be as free to take up claims as if there wasn't no National
Forest."
"How about the settler, the man seeking a home out West?" I went on.
"We'll encourage him. The more men there are, the better the forester
can fight fire. But those home-seekers must want a home, an' not be
squattin' for a little, jest to sell out to lumber sharks."
"What's to become of timber and wood?"
"Wal, it's there to be used, an' must be used. We'll give it free to the
settler an' prospector. We'll sell it cheap to the lumbermen--big an'
little. We'll consider the wants of the local men first."
"Now about the range. Will you keep out the stockmen?"
"Nary. Grazin' for sheep, cattle, an' hosses will go on jest the same.
But we must look out for overgrazin'. For instance, too many cattle will
stamp down young growth, an' too many sheep leave no grazin' for other
stock. The bead forester must know his business, an' not let his range
be overstocked. The small local herders an' sheepmen must be considered
first, the big stockmen second. Both must be charged a small fee per
head for grazin'."
"How will you fight fire?"
"Wal, thet's the hard nut to crack. Fire is the forest's worst enemy.
In a dry season like this Penetier would burn like tinder blown by a
bellows. Fire would race through here faster 'n a man could run. I'll
need special fire rangers, an' all other rangers must be trained to
fight fire, an' then any men living in or near the forest will be paid
to help. The thing to do is watch for the small fires an' put them out.
Campers must be made to put out their fires before leaving camp. Brush
piles an' slashes mustn't be burned in dry or windy weather."
Just where we left off talking I could not remember, for I dropped off
to sleep. I seemed hardly to have closed my eyes when the hunter called
me in the morning. The breakfast was smoking on the red-hot coals, and
outside the cabin all was dense gray fog.
When, soon after, we started down the canyon, the fog was lifting and
the forest growing lighter. Everything was as white with frost as if it
had snowed. A thin, brittle frost crackled under our feet. When we, had
gotten below the rocky confines of the canyon we climbed the slope to
the level ridge. Here it was impossible not to believe it had snowed.
The forest was as still as night, and looked very strange with the
white aisles lined by black tree trunks and the gray fog shrouding the
tree-tops. Soon we were climbing again, and I saw that Hiram meant to
head the canyon where I had left Dick.
The fog split and blew away, and the brilliant sunlight changed the
forest. The frost began to melt, and the air was full of mist. We
climbed and climbed--out of the stately yellow-pine zone, up among the
gnarled and blasted spruces, over and around strips of weathered stone.
Once I saw a cold, white snow-peak. It was hard enough for me to carry
my rifle and keep up with the hunter without talking. Besides, Hiram had
answered me rather shortly, and I thought it best to keep silent. From
time to time he stopped to listen. Then when he turned to go down the
slope be trod carefully, and cautioned me not to loosen stones, and he
went slower and yet slower. From this I made sure we were not far from
the springhole.
"Thar's the canyon," he whispered, stopping to point below, where a
black, irregular line marked the gorge. "I haven't heerd a thing, an'
we're close. Mebbe they're asleep. Mebbe most of them are trallin' you,
an' I hope so. Now, don't you put your hand or foot on anythin' thet'll
make a noise."
Then he slipped off, and it was wonderful to see how noiselessly he
stepped, and how he moved between trees and dead branches without a
sound. I managed pretty well, yet more than once a rattling stone or a
broken branch stopped Hiram short and made him lift a warning hand.
At last we got down to the narrow bench which separated the canyon-slope
from the deep cut. It was level and roughly strewn with boulders. Here
we took to all fours and crawled. It was easy to move here without
noise, for the ground was rocky and hard, and there was no brush.
Suddenly I fairly bumped into the hunter. Looking up, I saw that he had
halted only a few feet from the edge of the gorge where I had climbed
out in my escape. He was listening. There was not a sound save the dull
roar of rushing water.
Hiram slid forward a little, and rose cautiously to look over. I did
the same. When I saw the cave and the spring-hole I felt a catch in my
throat.
But there was not a man in sight. Dick's captors had broken camp; they
were gone. The only thing left in the gorge to show they had ever been
there was a burned-out campfire.
"They're gone," I whispered.
"Wal, it 'pears so," replied Hiram. "An' it's a move I don't like.
Youngster, it's you they want. Leslie's no particular use to them.
They'll have to let him go sooner or later, if they hain't already."
"What'll we do now?"
"Make tracks. We'll cut back acrost the ridge an' git some blankets an'
grub, then light out for the other side of Penetier."
I thought the old hunter had made rapid time on our way up, but now I
saw what he really meant by "making tracks." Fortunately, after a short,
killing climb, the return was all down-hill. One stride of Hiram's
equalled two of mine, and he made his faster, so that I had to trot now
and then to catch up. Very soon I was as hot as fire, and every step was
an effort. But I kept thinking of Dick, of my mustang and outfit, and I
vowed I would stick to Hiram Bent's trail till I dropped. For the matter
of that I did drop more than once before we reached the cabin.
A short rest while Hiram was packing a few things put me right again. I
strapped my rifle over my shoulder, and then went out to untie my bear
cub. It would have cost me a great deal to leave him behind. I knew I
ought to, still I could not bring myself to it. All my life I had wanted
a bear cub. Here was one that I had helped to lasso and tie up with my
own hands. I made up my mind to hold to the cub until the last gasp.
So I walked up to Cubby with a manner more bold than sincere. He had not
eaten anything, but he had drunk the water we had left for him. To my
surprise he made no fuss when I untied the rope; on the other hand, he
seemed to look pleased, and I thought I detected a cunning gleam in his
little eyes. He paddled away down the canyon, and, as this was in the
direction we wanted to go, I gave him slack rope and followed.
"Wal, you're goin' to have a right pert time, youngster, an' don't you
forget it," said Hiram Bent.
The truth of that was very soon in evidence. Cubby would not let well
enough alone, and he would not have a slack rope. I think he wanted to
choke himself or pull my arms out. When I realized that Cubby was three
times as strong as I was I began to see that my work was cut out for
me. The more, however, that he jerked me and hauled me along, the more I
determined to hang on. I thought I had a genuine love for him up to the
time he had almost knocked my head off, but it was funny how easily
he roused my anger after that. What would have happened had he taken
a notion to go through the brush? Luckily he kept to the trail, which
certainly was rough enough. So, with watching the cub and keeping my
feet free of roots and rocks, I had no chance to look ahead. Still I had
no concern about this, for the old hunter was at my heels, and I knew he
would keep a sharp lookout.
Before I was aware of it we had gotten out of the narrow canyon into a
valley with well-timbered bottom, and open, slow rising slopes. We were
getting down into Penetier. Cubby swerved from the trail and started up
the left slope. I did not want to go, but I had to keep with him, and
that was the only way. The hunter strode behind without speaking, and so
I gathered that the direction suited him. By leaning back on the rope
I walked up the slope as easily as if it were a moving stairway. Cubby
pulled me up; I had only to move my feet. When we reached a level once
more I discovered that the cub was growing stronger and wanted to go
faster. We zigzagged across the ridge to the next canyon, which at a
glance I saw was deep and steep.
"Thet'll be some work goin' down that!" called Hiram. "Let me pack your
gun."
I would have been glad to give it to him, but how was I to manage? I
could not let go of the rope, and Hiram, laden as he was, could not
catch up with me. Then suddenly it was too late, for Cubby lunged
forward and down.
This first downward jump was not vicious--only a playful one perhaps,
by way of initiating me; but it upset me, and I was dragged in the
pine-needles. I did not leap to my feet; I was jerked up. Then began a
wild chase down that steep, bushy slope. Cubby got going, and I could no
more have checked him than I could a steam-engine. Very soon I saw that
not only was the bear cub running away, but he was running away with me.
I slid down yellow places where the earth was exposed, I tore through
thickets, I dodged a thousand trees. In some grassy descents it was as
if I had seven-league boots. I must have broken all records for jumps.
All at once I stumbled just as Cubby made a spurt and flew forward,
alighting face downward. I dug up the pine--needles with my outstretched
hands, I scraped with my face and ploughed with my nose, I ate the dust;
and when I brought up with a jolt against a log a more furious boy than
Ken Ward it would be bard to imagine. Leaping up, I strove with
every ounce of might to hold in the bear. But though fury lent me new
strength, he kept the advantage.
Presently I saw the bottom of the canyon, an open glade, and an old
log-cabin. I looked back to see if the hunter was coming. He was not in
sight, but I fancied I heard him. Then Cubby, putting on extra steam,
took the remaining rods of the slope in another spurt. I had to race,
then fly, and at last lost my footing and plunged down into a thicket.
There farther progress stopped for both of us. Cubby had gone down on
one side of a sapling and I on the other, with the result that we were
brought up short. I crashed through some low bushes and bumped squarely
into the cub. Whether it was his frantic effort to escape, or just
excitement, or deliberate intention to beat me into a jelly I had no
means to tell. The fact was he began to dig at me and paw me and maul
me. Never had I been so angry. I began to fight back, to punch and kick
him.
Suddenly, with a crashing in the bushes, the cub was hauled away from
me, and then I saw Hiram at the rope.
"Wal, wal!" he ejaculated, "your own mother wouldn't own you now!" Then
he laughed heartily and chuckled to himself, and gave the cub a couple
of jerks that took the mischief out of him. I dragged myself after Hiram
into the glade. The cabin was large and very old, and part of the roof
was sunken in.
"We'll hang up here an' camp," said Hiram. "This is an old hunters'
cabin, an' kinder out of the way. We'll hitch this little fighter
inside, where mebbe he won't be so noisy."
The hunter hauled the cub up short, and half pulled, half lifted him
into the door. I took off my rifle, emptied my pockets of brush and beat
out the dust, and combed the pine-needles from my hair. My hands were
puffed and red, and smarted severely. And altogether I was in no amiable
frame of mind as regarded my captive bear cub.
When I stepped inside the cabin it was dark, and coming from the bright
light I could not for a moment see what the interior looked like.
Presently I made out one large room with no opening except the door.
There was a tumble-down stone fireplace at one end, and at the other a
rude ladder led up to a loft. Hiram had thrown his pack aside, and had
tied Cubby to a peg in the log wall.
"Wal, I'll fetch in some fresh venison," said the hunter. "You rest
awhile, an' then gather some wood an' make a fire."
The rest I certainly needed, for I was so tired I could scarcely
untie the pack to get out the blankets. The bear cub showed signs or
weariness, which pleased me. It was not long after Hiram's departure
that I sank into a doze.
When my eyes opened I knew I had been awakened by something, but I could
not tell what. I listened. Cubby was as quiet as a mouse, and his very
quiet and the alert way he held his ears gave me a vague alarm. He had
heard something. I thought of the old hunter's return, yet this did not
reassure me.
All at once the voices of men made me sit up with a violent start. Who
could they be? Had Hiram met a ranger? I began to shake a little, and
was about to creep to the door when I heard the clink of stirrups and
soft thud of hoofs. Then followed more voices, and last a loud volley of
curses.
"Herky-Jerky!" I gasped, and looked about wildly.
I had no time to dash out of the door. I was caught in a trap, and I
felt cold and sick. Suddenly I caught sight of the ladder leading to
the loft. Like a monkey I ran up, and crawled as noiselessly as possible
upon the rickety flooring of dry pine branches. Then I lay there
quivering.
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Inside the cabin a man was baking biscuits and singing joyously, "It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary." Outside, another whistled softly to himself while he arranged his fishing tackle. From his book he had selected three flies and was attaching th... The Captain Follows His Ship
When Padre Esteban had finished reading the document he laid it down and fixed his eyes on the young man. Hurlstone met his look with a glance of impatient disdain. "What have you to say to this?" asked the ecclesiastic, a little impressed by h... The Captain's Defiance
Within ten minutes of Todd's arrival at the spot the soft sands of the mesa were tramped into bewildering confusion by dozens of trooper boots. The muffled sound of excited voices, so soon after the startling affair of the earlier evening, and hur... The Capture
Although he had left the room so suddenly, Senor Johnson did not at once open the gate of the adobe wall. His demeanour was gay, for he was a Westerner, but his heart was black. Hardly did he see beyond the convexity of his eyeballs. The pony, ... The Catrock Gang
A woman with a checkered apron and a motherly look came to let her chickens out and milk the cow, and woke Bud so that she could tell him she believed he had been on a "toot", or he never would have taken such a liberty with her corral. Bud agreed t... The Cattle Rustlers
Dawn broke, so we descended through wet grasses to the canon. There, after some difficulty, we managed to start a fire, and so ate breakfast, the rain still pouring down on us. About nine o'clock, with miraculous suddenness, the torrent stopped. ... The Cattle Rustlers
Buck Johnson was American born, but with a black beard and a dignity of manner that had earned him the title of Senor. He had drifted into southeastern Arizona in the days of Cochise and Victorio and Geronimo. He had persisted, and so in time had c... The Challenge
Lidgerwood was unpleasantly surprised to find that the president's daughter knew the man whom her father had tersely characterized as "a born gentleman and a born buccaneer," but the fact remained. When he came with Flemister into the circle of li... The Chaos Of Creation
The West saw many "boom" towns. They followed in the wake of "gold strikes;" they grew, mushroom-like, overnight--garish husks of squalor, palpitating, hardy, a-tingle with extravagant hopes. A few, it is true, lived to become substantial cities b... The Chewed Sugar Cane
"I'd like to have trailed you fellows," sighed a voice from the corner. "Would you!" said Colorado Rogers grimly. It was five days to the next water. But they were worse than the eight days before. We were lucky, however, for at the spring w... The Christmas Angel
Phoebe watched the two unhappily, sighed when they disappeared around the corner of the house, and set her bowl of butter upon the broad, flat rock which just missed being overflowed with water, and sighed again. "I'm afraid it isn't going to work... The Christmas Angel Plays Ghost
At midnight, the Peaceful Hart ranch lay broodily quiet under its rock-rimmed bluff. Down in the stable the saddle-horses were but formless blots upon the rumpled bedding in their stalls--except Huckleberry, the friendly little pinto with the white ... The Claim-jumpers
"Guess that bobcat was after my ducks again, last night," commented Phoebe Hart, when she handed Baumberger his cup of coffee. "The way the dogs barked all night--didn't they keep you awake?" "Never slept better in my life," drawled Baumberger, hi... The Clean Wild Thing
"The Reverend Francis Holliwell." Morena turned the card over and over in his hand. "Holliwell. Holliwell. Frank Holliwell." Yes. One of the fellows that had dropped out. Big, athletic youngster; left college in his junior year and studied for the... The Clean-up
Toy's disappearance was mysterious and complete. There was not a single clue to show which way he had gone, or how, or why. Only one thing seemed certain and that was that his departure was unpremeditated. His potatoes were in a bucket of water, p... The Coming Of A Native Son
The Happy Family, waiting for the Sunday supper call, were grouped around the open door of the bunk-house, gossiping idly of things purely local, when the Old Man returned from the Stock Association at Helena; beside him on the buggy seat sat a stra... The Coming Of The Colony
If you would see northern Montana at its most beautiful best, you should see it in mid-May when the ground-swallows are nesting and the meadow larks are puffing their throats and singing of their sweet ecstasy with life; when curlews go sailing low ... The Coming Of The Sheep
From his seat on the top of a high ridge, Gordon Wade looked into the bowl-shaped valley beneath him, with an expression of amazement on his sun-burned face. Pouring through a narrow opening in the environing hills, and immediately spreading fan-l... The Corral Branding
All that night we slept like sticks of wood. No dreams visited us, but in accordance with the immemorial habit of those who live out--whether in the woods, on the plains, among the mountains, or at sea--once during the night each of us rose on his ... The Cottonwoods
I do not know how long I stayed there alone. It was the Virginian who came back, and as he stood at the foot of my blankets his eye, after meeting mine full for a moment, turned aside. I had never seen him look as he did now, not even in Pitchston... The Crags
Glad indeed was Madeline to be lifted off her horse beside a roaring fire--to see steaming pots upon red-hot coals. Except about her shoulders, which had been protected by the slicker, she was wringing wet. The Mexican women came quickly to help her... The Crash
The several days following Dave's unexpected call at Las Palmas Alaire spent in a delightful reverie. She had so often wrestled with the question of divorce that she had begun to weary of it; and now, when she tried to summon energy to consider it... The Creamery Man
"Along these woods in storm and sun the busy people go." THE tin-peddler has gone out of the West. Amiable gossip and sharp trader that he was, his visits once brought a sharp business grapple to the farmer's wife and daughters, after which, as th... The Crisis
Those mountains above the Barry cabin were, as he told Vic Gregg, inaccessible to men on horseback except by one path, yet there was a single class of travelers who roamed at will through far more difficult ground than this. Speaking in general, whe... The Crisis
The first days of that week were days of strife. Murdie Cameron and Bob Fraser and the other big boys succeeded in keeping in line with the master's rules and regulations. They were careful never to be late, and so saved themselves the degradation... The Crucible
Only Miss Brewster herself could have answered the question of her whereabouts at the exact moment of Van Lew's asking. She was left behind, standing aghast in the midst of tumults, on the platform of the Crow's Nest. Terrified, like the others, a... The Cub Engineer
"Humans constantly shift sand and rock from place to place. They call this work. I have seen time return their every work to the form in which it was created." MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. ... The Cub Reporter
Why he chose Buffalo Paul Anderson never knew, unless perhaps it had more newspapers than Bay City, Michigan, and because his ticket expired in the vicinity of Buffalo. For that matter, why he should have given up an easy job as the mate of a tugb...