Pluck on the Long Trail

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"They're the two Elk Scouts who were captured," I said, to the Red Fox
Scouts; and I waved and grinned, and they waved back, and we all
exchanged the Scout sign.

But that gorge lay between, and the water made such a noise that we
couldn't exchange a word.

"Can they read Army and Navy wigwags?" asked Scout Ward.

"Sure," I said. "Can you?"

"Pretty good," he answered. "Shall I make a talk, or will you?"

But I wasn't very well practiced in wigwags, yet; I was only a
Second-class Scout.

"You," I said. "Do you want a flag?"

But he said he'd use his hat. (Note 48.)

He made the "attention" signal; and Fitzpatrick answered. Then he went
ahead, while Scout Van Sant spelled it out for me:

"R--e--d F--o--x."

And Fitz answered, like lightning:

"E--l--k."

"What shall I say?" asked Scout Ward of me, over his shoulder.

"Say we're all right, and ask them how they are."

He did. Scout Van Sant spelled the answer:

"O. K. B--u--t c--a--n--t c--r--o--s--s. C--a--m--p t--i--l--l
m--o--r--n--i--n--g. A--s--h h--u--r--t."

When we learned that General Ashley was hurt, and knew that he and
Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand were going to camp on the other side for the
night, the two Red Fox Scouts, packs and all, and I got through that
gulch somehow and up and out, where they were. It would have been a
shame to let a one-armed boy tend to the camp and to a wounded
companion, and do everything, if we could possibly help. Of course, Fitz
would have managed. He was that kind. He didn't ask for help.

They were waiting; Fitz had unpacked the burro and was making camp.
General Ashley was sitting with his back against a rock. He looked pale
and worn. He had sprained his ankle, back there when we had all tried to
escape, yesterday, and it was swollen horribly because he had had to
step on it some and hadn't been able to give it the proper treatment.
(Note 49.) Fitz looked worn, too, and of course we three others
(especially I) showed travel, ourselves.

After I had introduced the Red Fox Scouts to him and Fitz, then before
anything else was told I must report. So I did. But I hated to say it. I
saluted, and blurted it out:

"I followed the beaver man and sighted him, sir, but he got away again,
with the message."

The general did not frown, or show that he was disappointed or vexed. He
tried to smile, and he said: "Did he? That surely was hard luck then,
Jim. Where did he go?"

"We were with Bridger, and it seems to us that he did the best he could.
The fire interrupted," put in Red Fox Scout Van Sant, hesitatingly.

He spoke as if he knew that he had not been asked for an opinion, but as
a friend and as a First-class Scout he felt as though he ought to say
something.

"The best is all that any Scout can do," agreed the general. "Go ahead,
Jim, and tell what happened."

So I did. The general nodded. I hadn't made any excuses; I tried to tell
just the plain facts, and ended with our escape in the willows, from
that fire.

"The report is approved," he said. "We'll get that beaver man yet. We
must have that message. Now Fitz can tell what happened to us. But we'd
better be sending up smoke signals to call in the other squad, in case
they're where they can see. Make the council signal, Bridger."

Fitz had a fire almost ready; the Red Fox Scouts helped me, and gathered
smudge stuff while I proceeded to send up the council signal in the Elks
code. Fitz talked while he worked. The general looked on and winced as
his ankle throbbed. But he was busy, too, fighting pain.

Fitz told what had happened to them, after I had escaped. He and the
general had been taken back by the gang, and tied again, and camp was
broken in a hurry because the gang feared that now I would lead a
rescue. They were mean enough to make the general limp along, without
bandaging his foot, until he was so lame that he must be put on a horse.
The camp-fire was left burning and the bacon was forgotten. They climbed
a plateau and dropped into a flat, and following up very fast had curved
into the timber to cross another ridge into Lost Park and on for the
Divide by way of Glacier Lake. That is what the general and Fitz
guessed. That night they all camped on the other side of the timber
ridge, at the edge of Lost Park. They were in a hurry, still, and they
made their fire in the midst of trees where they had no business to make
it. They slept late, as they always did, and not having policed the camp
or put out their fire, scarcely had they plunged into Lost Park, the
next morning, when one of them looking back saw the trees afire where
they had been.

Lost Park is a mean place; the brush makes a regular jungle of it, and
fire would go through it as through a hayfield. That fact and their
guilty conscience made them panicky. It's a pretty serious thing, to
start a forest fire. So they didn't know what to do; some wanted to go
one way, and some another; the fire grew bigger and bigger, and the
cattle and game trails wound and twisted and divided so that the gang
were separated, in the brush, and it was every man for himself. The
general was riding Mike Delavan's horse, and Mike ordered him down and
climbed on himself and made off; and the first thing the general and
Fitz knew they were abandoned. That is what they would have maneuvered
for, from the beginning, and it would have been easy, as Scouts, to work
it, among those blind trails, but the general couldn't walk. Perhaps it
was by a mistake that they were abandoned; everybody may have thought
that somebody else was tending to them, and Mike didn't know what he was
doing, he was so excited. But there they were.

The general tried to hobble, and Fitz was bound that he would carry
him--good old Fitz, with the one arm! The bushes were high, the smoke
where the fire was mounted more and more and spread as if the park was
doomed, and the crashing and shouting and swearing of the gang faded and
died away in the distance. Then the general and Fitz heard something
coming, and down the trail they were on trotted Apache the burro! He
must have turned back or have entered by a cross trail. Whew, but they
were glad to see Apache! Fitz grabbed him by the neck rope. He had a
flat pack tied on with our rope, did Apache, and Fitz hoisted the
general aboard, and away they hiked, with the general hanging on and his
foot dangling.

Now that they could travel and head as they pleased, they worked right
back, out of the park, and by a big circuit so as not to run into the
gang they circled the fire and tried to strike the back trail somewhere
so as to meet Major Henry and Carson and Smith, who might be on it. But
they came out upon this plateau, and sighted us, and then we all met at
the edge of the gulch.

That was the report of Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand. He and the general
certainly had been through a great deal.

During the story the Red Fox Scouts and I had been making the smoke
signal over and over again. "Come to council," I sent up, while they
helped to keep the smudge thick. "Come to council," "Come to council,"
for Major Henry and Kit and Jed, wherever they might be. But we were so
interested in Fitz's story, how he and the general got away from the
gang and from the fire, that sometimes we omitted to scan the horizon.
The general didn't, though. He is a fine Scout.

"There's the answer!" he said suddenly. "They've seen! The fire didn't
get them. Hurrah!"

And "Hurrah!" we cheered.

CHAPTER XIII

ORDERS FROM THE PRESIDENT

(THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAJOR HENRY PARTY)

I am Tom Scott, or Major Andrew Henry, second in command of the Elk
Patrol Scouts which set out to take that message over the range. So now
I will make a report upon what happened to our detail after General
Ashley and Fitzpatrick and Bridger left, upon the trail of the two boys
who had stolen our flags and burros.

We waited as directed all day and all night, and as they did not come
back or make any signal, in the morning we prepared to follow them.
First we sent up another smoke for half an hour, and watched for an
answer; but nothing happened. Then we cached the camp stuff by rolling
in the bedding, with the tarpaulins on the outside, what we couldn't
carry, and stowing it under a red spruce. The branches came down clear
to the ground, in a circle around, and when we had crawled in and had
covered the bundle with other boughs and needles, it couldn't be seen
unless you looked mighty close.

We erased our tracks to the tree, and made two blazes, on other trees,
so that our cache was in the middle of a line from blaze to blaze. Then
we took sights, and wrote them down on paper, so that none of us would
forget how to find the place. (Note 50.)

We each had a blanket, rolled and slung in army style, with a string run
through and tied at the ends. I carried the twenty-two rifle, and we
stuffed away in our clothes what rations we could. In my blanket I
carried the other of our lariat ropes. We might need it.

So the time was about ten o'clock before we started. The trail was more
than twenty-four hours old, but our Scouts had made it plain on purpose,
and we followed right along. Of course, I am sixteen and Kit Carson is
thirteen and little Jed Smith is only twelve, so I set my pace to
theirs. A blanket roll weighs heavy after you have carried it a few
miles.

But we stopped only twice before we reached a sign marked in the ground:
"Look out!" The trail faltered, and an arrow showed which way to go, and
we came to the spot where the Scouts had peeped over into the draw and
had seen the enemy. Here another arrow pointed back, and we understood
exactly what had happened.

We took the new direction. The three Scouts had left as plain a trail as
they could by breaking branches and disturbing pebbles, and treading in
single file. Jed Smith was awful tired, by this time, for the sun was
hot and we hadn't halted to eat. But picking the trail we made the
circuit around the upper end of the draw and climbed the opposite ridge.
The trail was harder to read, here, among the grass and rocks.

By the sun it was the middle of the afternoon, now, and we must have
been on the trail five hours. We waited, and listened, and looked and
smelled, feeling for danger. We must not run into any ambuscade. A
little gulch, with timber, lay just ahead, and a haze of smoke floated
over it.

This spelled danger. It was not Scouts' smoke, because Scouts would not
be having a fire, at this time of day, smoking so as to betray their
position. When we made a smoke, we made it for a purpose. The place must
be reconnoitered.

We spread. I took the right, Kit Carson the left, and Jed Smith was put
in the middle because he was the littlest. It would have been good if we
could have left our blanket rolls, but we did not dare to. Of course, if
we were chased, we might have to drop them and let them be captured.

We crossed a cow-path, leading into the gulch. It held burro tracks,
pointing down; and it seemed to me that if there was any ambuscade down
there it would be along this trail. Naturally, the enemy would expect us
to follow the trail. Maybe the other Scouts had followed it and had
been surrounded. So we crossed the trail, and I signed to Carson and to
Smith to move out across the gulch and around by the other side.

We did. Cedars and spruces were scattered about, and gooseberry bushes
and other brush were screen enough; we swung down along the opposite
side, and the smoke grew stronger. But still we could not hear a sound.
We closed in, peering and listening--and then suddenly I wasn't afraid,
or at least, I didn't care. Through the stems of the trees was an open
park, at the foot of the gulch, and if there was a camp nobody was at
home, for the park was afire!

"Come on!" I shouted. "Fire!" and down I rushed. So did Carson and Jed
Smith.

We were just in time. The flames had spread from an old camp-fire and
had eaten along across the grass and pine needles and were among the
brush, getting a good start. Already a dry stump was blazing; and in
fifteen minutes more a tree somewhere would have caught. And then--whew!

But we sailed into it, stamping and kicking and driving it back from the
brush.

"Wet your blanket, Jed," I ordered, "while we fight."

A creek was near, luckily; Jed wet his blanket, and we each in turn wet
our blankets; and swiping with the rolls we smashed the line of fire
right and left, and had it out in just a few minutes.

Now a big blackened space was left, like a blot; and the burning and our
trampling about had destroyed most of the sign. But we must learn what
had happened. We got busy again.

We picked up the cow-path, back in the gulch, and found that the burros
had followed it this far. We found where the burros had been grazing and
standing, in the brush, near the burned area, and we found where horses
had been standing, too! We found fish-bones, and coffee-grounds dumped
from the little bag they had been boiled in, and a path had been worn to
the creek. We found in the timber and brush near by other sign, but we
missed the second warning sign. However, where the fire had not reached,
on the edge of the park, we found several pieces of rope, cut, lying
together, and in a soft spot of the turf here we found the hob-nail
prints of the Elk Patrol! By ashes we found where the main camp-fire had
been, and we found where a second smaller camp-fire had been, at the
edge of the park, and prints of shoes worn through in the left sole--the
shoes of the beaver man! We found a tin plate and fork, by the big
camp-fire, and wrapped in a piece of canvas in a spruce was a hunk of
bacon. By circling we found an out-going trail of horses and burros. We
found the out-going trail of the beaver man--or of a single horse,
anyway, but no shoe prints with it. But looking hard we found Scout
sole prints in the horse and burro trail.

By this time it was growing dusk, and Jed Smith was sick because he had
drunk too much water out of the creek, when he was tired and hot and
hungry. So we decided to stay here for the night. From the signs we
figured out what might have happened:

According to the tracks, the burro thieves had joined with this camp.
Our fellows had sighted the burro thieves, back where the "Look out"
sign had been made, and had circuited the draw so as to keep out of
sight themselves, and had taken the trail again on the ridge. They had
followed along that cow-path, and had been ambushed. The cut ropes
showed that they had been tied. This camp had been here for two or three
days, because of the path worn to the creek and because of the coffee
grounds and the fish bones and the other sign. It was a dirty camp, too,
and with its unsanitary arrangements and cigarette butts and tobacco
juice was such a camp as would be made by that town gang. The sign of
the cut ropes looked like the town gang, too. The camp must have broken
up in a hurry, and moved out quick, by the things that were forgotten.
Campers don't forget bacon, very often. The cut ropes would show haste,
and we might have thought that the Scout prisoners had escaped, if we
hadn't found their sole prints with the out-going trail. These prints
had been stepped on by burros, showing that the burros followed behind.
What the beaver man was doing here we could not tell.

So we guessed pretty near, I think.

Little Jed Smith had a splitting headache, from heat and work and
water-drinking. His tongue looked all right, so I decided it was just
tiredness and stomach. One of the blankets was dry; we wrapped him up
and let him lie quiet, with a wet handkerchief on his eyes, and I gave
him a dose of aconite, for fever. (Note 51.)

At this time, we know now, General Ashley and Thomas Fitzpatrick were
being hustled along one trail, captives to the gang; the beaver man was
on a second trail, with our message; and Jim Bridger was on his lone
scout in another direction, and just about to make a camp-fire with his
hob-nails and a flint.

The dusk was deepening, and Kit Carson and I went ahead settling camp
for the night. We built a fire, and spread the blankets, and were making
tea in a tin can when we heard hoof thuds on the cow-path. A man rode in
on us. He was a young man, with a short red mustache and a peaked hat,
and a greenish-shade Norfolk jacket with a badge on the left breast. A
Forest Ranger! Under his leg was a rifle in scabbard.

"Howdy?" he said, stopping and eying us.

Kit Carson and I saluted him, military way, because he represented the
Government, and answered: "Howdy, sir?"

He was cross, as he gazed about.

"What are you lads trying to do? Set the timber afire?" he scolded. He
saw the burned place, you know.

"We didn't do that," I answered. "It was afire when we came in and we
put it out."

He grunted.

"How did it start?"

"A camp-fire, we think."

He fairly snorted. He was pretty well disgusted and angered, we could
see.

"Of course. There are more blamed fools and down-right criminals loose
in these hills this summer than ever before. I've done nothing except
chase fires for a month, now. Who are you fellows?"

"We're a detail of the Elk Patrol, 14th Colorado Troop, Boy Scouts of
America."

"Well, I suppose you've been taught about the danger from camp-fires,
then?"

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"Bueno," he grunted. "Wish there were plenty more like you. Every person
who leaves a live camp-fire behind him, anywhere, ought to be made to
stay in a city all the rest of his life." (Note 52.)

He straightened in his saddle and lifted the lines to ride on. But his
horse looked mighty tired and so did he; and as a Scout it was up to me
to say: "Stop off and have supper. We're traveling light, but we can set
out bread and tea."

"Sure," added Kit Carson and Jed Smith.

"No, thanks," he replied. "I've got a few miles yet to ride, before I
quit. And to-morrow's Sunday, when I don't ride much if I can help it.
So long."

"So long," we called; and he passed on at a trot.

We had supper of bread and bacon and tea. The bread sopped in bacon
grease was fine. Jed felt better and drank some tea, himself, and ate a
little. It was partly a hunger headache. We pulled dead grass and cut
off spruce and pine tips, and spread a blanket on it all. The two other
blankets we used for covering. Our coats rolled up were pillows. We
didn't undress, except to take off our shoes. Then stretched out
together, on the one-blanket bed and under the two blankets, we slept
first-rate. Jed had the warm middle place, because he was the littlest.

As I was commander of the detail I woke up first in the morning, and
turned out. After a rub-off at the creek I took the twenty-two and went
hunting for breakfast. I saw a rabbit; but just as I drew a bead on him
I suddenly remembered that this was _Sunday morning_--and I quit.
Sunday ought to be different from other days. So I left him hopping and
happy, and I went back to camp. Jed and Kit had the fire going and the
water boiling; and we breakfasted on tea and bread and bacon.

Then we policed the camp, put out the fire, every spark, and took the
burro and horse trail, to the rescue again. We must pretend that this
was only a little Sunday walk, for exercise.

After a while the trail crossed the creek at a shallow place, and by a
cow-path climbed the side of a hill. Before exposing ourselves on top of
the hill we crawled and stuck just our heads up, Indian scouts fashion,
to reconnoiter. The top was clear of enemy. Sitting a minute, to look,
we could see old Pilot Peak and the snowy range where we Scouts ought to
be crossing, bearing the message. We believed that now the gang with
prisoners were traveling to cross the range, too. They had the message,
of course, and that was bad, unless we could head them off. So we sort
of hitched our belts another notch and traveled as fast as we could.

The hill we were on spread into a plateau of low cedars and scrubby
pines; the snowy range, with Pilot Peak sticking up, was before. After
we had been hiking for two or three hours, off diagonally to the left we
saw a forest fire. This was thick timber country, and the fire made a
tremendous smoke. It was likely to be a big fire, and we wondered if the
ranger was fighting it. As for us, we were on the trail and must hurry.

We watched the fire, but we were not afraid of it, yet. The plateau was
too bare for it, if it came our way. The smoke grew worse--a black,
rolling smoke; and we could almost see the great sheets of flame
leaping. We were glad we weren't in it, and that we didn't know of
anybody else who was in it. But whoever had set it had done a dreadful
thing.

The trail of the burros and of the horses, mixed, continued on, and left
the plateau and dipped down into a wide flat, getting nearer to the
timber on the slope opposite. Then out from our left, or on the fire
side, a man came riding hard. He shouted and waved at us, so we stopped.

He was the Ranger. I tell you, but he looked tired and angry. His eyes
were red-rimmed and his face was streaked with sweat and dirt, and holes
were burned in his clothes and his horse's hide.

"I want you boys," he panted, as soon as he drew up. "We've got to stop
that fire. See it?"

Of course we'd seen it. But--it wasn't any of our business, was it?

"I want you to hurry over there to a fire line and keep the fire from
crossing. Quick! Savvy?"

"I don't believe we can, sir," I said. "We're on the trail."

"What difference does that make?"

"We're after a gang who have three of our men and we want to stop them
before they cross the range."

"You follow me."

"I'm sorry," I said; "but we're trailing. We're obeying orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Our Patrol leader's."

"Who's he?"

"General Ashley--I mean, Roger Franklin. He's another boy. But he's been
captured and two of our partners. We're to follow and rescue them. We've
got to go."

"No, you haven't," answered the Ranger. "Not until after this fire is
under control. You'll be paid for your time."

"We don't care anything about the pay," said Kit Carson. "We've got to
go on."

"Well, I'm giving you higher orders from a higher officer, then,"
retorted the Ranger. "I'm giving you orders from the President of the
United States. This is Government work, and I'm representing the
Government. I reckon you Boy Scouts want to support the Government,
don't you?"

Sure we did.

"If that fire goes it will burn millions of dollars' worth of timber,
and may destroy ranches and people, too. It's your duty now to help the
Government and to put it out. Your duty to Uncle Sam is bigger than any
duty to private Scouts' affairs. And it is the law that anybody seeing a
forest fire near him shall report it or aid in extinguishing it. Now,
are you coming, or will you sneak off with an excuse?"

"Why--coming!" we all cried at once. We hated to leave the trail--to
leave the general and Fitz and Jim Bridger and the message to their
fate; but the Government was calling, here, and the first duty of good
Scouts is to be good citizens.

"Pass up your blanket rolls," ordered the Ranger. "You smallest kid
climb behind me. Each of you two others catch hold of a stirrup. Then we
can make time across."

In a second away we all went at a trot, heading for the timber and the
fire.

"I rode right through that fire to get you," said the Ranger. "I saw
you. I've got two or three guards working up over the ridge. Your job is
to watch a fire line that runs along this side of the base of that point
yonder. One end of the fire line is a boggy place with willows and
aspens; and if we can keep the fire from jumping those willows and
starting across, down the valley, and those fellows on the other side of
the ridge can head it off, in their direction, then we'll stop it by
back-firing at the edge of Brazito canyon."

He talked as rapidly as we moved--and that was good fast Scouts' trot,
for us. The hold on the stirrups and latigos helped a lot. It lifted us
over the ground. We all crossed the flat diagonally and struck into a
draw or valley full of timber and with a creek in it, at right angles to
the flat. Up this we scooted, hard as we could pelt.

"Tired? Want to rest a second?" he asked.

We grunted "No," for we had our second wind and little Jed Smith was
hanging on tight, behind the saddle. Besides, the fire was right ahead,
toward the left, belching up its great rolls of black-and-white smoke.
And at the same time (although we didn't know it) the gang who had
started it were fleeing in one direction, from it, and the general and
Fitzpatrick were loose and fleeing in another direction, and Jim Bridger
was smelling it and with the Red Fox Patrol was drawing near to it and
not knowing, and the beaver man was tying up his leg and about to run
right into it.

But we were to help stop it.

"Here!" spoke the Ranger. "Here's the fire line, this cleared space like
a trail. It runs to those willows a quarter of a mile below. When the
fire comes along this ridge you watch this line and beat out and stamp
out every flame. See? You can do it. It won't travel fast, down-hill;
but if ever it crosses the line and reaches the bottom of the valley
where the brush is thick, there's no knowing where it will stop. It will
burn willows and everything else. One of you drop off here; I'll take
the others further. Then I must make tracks for the front."

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