Chapter II

The Mountain Cave

WAS I frightened at what I had glimpsed? I was so badly scared that the beating of my heart seemed to be up in my throat and choking me! The shadowy thing I had seen was a man! And no friend, else he would not have been sneaking away from my approach. And swiftly though he had gone, I had not heard the slightest sound of his footsteps. He must, then be an apache, I thought. One of those renegades who, despite the vigilance of the soldiers, now and then somehow get possession of a gun and cartridges and sneak off upon a war trail of their own.

I did not know what to do. But after standing for a long time listening and staring about in the deepening night, I at last made a run for the cabin, got safely inside, and slammed shut the door and barred it. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that I must not light the lamp. I could curtain the windows with dishcloths, but there were all those yawning spaces between the logs that I could not cover, through which an enemy could see me and shoot me the instant that I struck a light. I sat upon the bunk and took off my shoes, and then, rifle in hand, stole from wall to wall of the cabin and started out through the unchinked spaces; and for all the good that did, might as well have struck my head into a sack. The night was intensely dark; I could not even see the pile of split white-spruce stovewood less than ten feet from the south wall!

But, presently, I heard something; like the cautious steps of some one to the east of the cabin. Just such sounds as I imagined moccasined feet would make upon the stony ground. They had been faint as first; they became fainter and soon ceased. I stood against the wall a long time. My legs began to tremble. I felt my way back to the bunk and sat upon it, again listening, openmouthed, for those shuffling, soft, padding steps. I must have sat there for hours. I was hungry, but did not dare risk the noise I should make in opening the iron food chest for a handful of crackers and some cheese. And how I wished that I was down home, safe in my bed! This was my first night away from my people; and here I was, eleven miles from them, and in danger. How sorry I was for myself! Several times I went sound asleep sitting straight up upon the bunk, and awoke with a start, and scolded myself, and said that I just would keep awake! Then the next I knew dawn had come, and I was lying flat upon my back, my rifle tightly gripped with both hands. I sprang up and looked out of the windows, and through the wall spaces, and saw nothing to alarm me. The daylight itself was heartening. I slowly unbarred the door and stepped out upon the little porch. About twenty feet away a porcupine was descending a small spruce that he had partly denuded of its bark. When he left the trunk and waddled off down the slope, he made just the shuffling noise that I had heard in the night: “You are the Apache that was prowling around here, you scalper of trees!” I yelled to him, and the sound of my voice was good in my ears. And seizing a stick I took after him and knocked him in the head. All Forest Service men are required to kill porcupines, for in the course of a year they do a great deal of damage to the forest.

I went back to the cabin, built a fire in the little stove, and washed face and hands. Then, as I sliced some bacon, opened a can of corn, and made some biscuits, it suddenly came to me that, though the porcupine had probably made the noise I had heard in the night, he certainly was not the shadowy figure I had seen skurrying into the shelter of the spruces! All my fears of the night were back in me with a rush. The temptation to seize my rifle and strike out on the run down the mountain for home was almost irresistible. Then I said to myself: “I’ve just got to stay here! I’ve got to stick to this job no matter what happens to me! My Uncle Cleve is n’t running from those terrible Huns in France, and I shall not run from a sneaking Apache!”

I rushed my cooking and bolted my breakfast, for I had until nine o’clock to report from the lookout, up on top, and I was going to make those cabin walls proof against the eyes of any prowlers of the night. I collected a number of lengths of small, dead spruces, quartered them, and drove them into the wall spaces from inside. But fast though I worked, at eight-thirty I had chinked but three of the walls. I dropped the axe, seized my rifle, locked the cabin door, and hurried up the trail to the summit.

As soon as I arrived at the lookout I swept the whole forest as far as I could see with the field-glasses that had been furnished me, and at nine o’clock reported in that no fire was to be seen from Mount Thomas. Then, for a time, I listened to other lookouts making similar reports, some of them away down in the Blue Range, at the south end of the forest. Happening, then, to look into the canyon of Black River, a half-mile or more almost straight down from me, I thought that I saw a faint haze of smoke. But even with the glasses I could not be sure that my eyes had not deceived me. The sun had not yet reached that part of the canyon and it was in deep shadow, made all the darker by the heavy growth of spruce that shrouded its steep sides and bottom. I marked the particular spot in it, where I thought I had seen the smoke, by a narrow strip of grassland that bordered the stream. Again and again in the course of the morning I looked down at the place, failed to see the least sign of smoke, and almost convinced myself that I had been mistaken in the first instance. I had heard our mountain men say that this canyon of Black River was the worst one in the whole range; that in their roundups it was the one place they passed, for it was so rough that neither cattle nor horses could ascend it. Since it was so inaccessible, and as there had been no electric storm to start a fire in it, I argued that if I had seen anything, it had been mist rising from the stream in the cool of the morning.

In my haste to leave the cabin, I had neglected to bring a lunch. And now, when noon came, I was very hungry. By the rules of the Service, I was privileged to take an hour off-from twelve until one-for lunch. But hungry though I was, I just would not go back to the cabin until I had to. That flitting figure I had glimpsed in the dusk haunted me. Up here on top I was perfectly safe: no one could come anywhere near my lookout station if I was minded to forbid his advance.

I concluded to use my noon hour in exploring the whole length of the summit of my mountain, and set off along its crest, from which I could see well down both slopes. The one on the west side is bare for a long way down, but on the east side a few scattering groups of stunted spruces stand within a hundred yards of the top. Not a treelet of them has a limb nor even the stub of a limb upon the west side of its trunk, proving how fierce and constant are the west winds except in the three months of summer.

All the way form the rough rock uplift at the southeast end of the mountain, and well beyond its saddle, the footing is of coarsely decomposed rock; then, for the last several hundred yards to the northwest end of the summit, the formation is of slabs of rock of varying size. I was passing over the first of these when I noticed, some fifty yards down to the west, a pile of the slabs in the shape of a half-circle-bowing from me-and several feet in height. I knew at once that man, not an earthquake, had made that pile, and hurried down to it. I nearly fell into a deep, narrow rift in the rock, from around which the slabs forming the half circle had been heaved, and by Indians, in the long ago, as was proved by quantities of broken, brightly painted pottery scattered all around the place. The length of the fault in the rock, about six feet, is with that of the mountain, northwest and southeast, and about four feet wide down from about ten feet to a projection from the west side. From it the fault, too narrow to admit the body of a man, goes on down into intense blackness.

I was sure excited over my find. “My own fine! My own cave hole!” I said, over and over, for I well knew all the men who had been fireguards upon the mountain, and though all had told of finding beads and broken pottery around the lookout, not one of them had even mentioned this place. I knelt at the edge of the northwest side of the hole and looked down into it, and saw that at ten feet down there was a black hole in the wall opposite me, apparently large enough to admit the body of a man. It might be, I thought, the passage way into a large cave in the mountain, in which had lived the people whose broken pottery was scattered all around me. And if that were so, what might I not find in the cave! Beautiful pottery; weapons; clothing, of course. Perhaps gold and silver, too! How I wished that I had a rope and a light of some kind. I could then explore that passageway.

My hour was about up, but I got upon my knees, a few feet down the slope from the hole and soon found eleven beads in the crevices of the rock, one of them a turquoise bead almost a quarter of an inch in diameter. I hurried back to the lookout and calling Springerville, reported that I could not see a fire anywhere in the forest.

I went outside and began to look for more beads, and in the very first little crevice that I scratched out, found seven. From the next crevice, no more that a foot long and a couple of inches wide, I got nine beads and a white flint arrow-point. At that rate I estimated that there must be thousands and thousands of beads and many arrow-points in the crevices of the little rock butte, at its base no more than a hundred feet in diameter. And why were they there, and around my cave hole, in such profusion, and apparently nowhere else upon the mountain, I wondered. Had there been a great battle between different tribes - the victors scattering to the winds the belongings of those they killed? No, that was not reasonable. The victors would have gone off with every necklace and every arrow-point of those they killed. The mystery of it was more than I could solve. I said to myself that I would cease puzzling about it, but I could not get it out of my mind. And the hole off there in the mountain - I just had to go into it! If I could only call my people on the telephone and ask that Uncle John bring me a rope. But there was little chance of my calling them; the Forest Service was so short of men that this summer there was no ranger at Riverside Station, a half-mile north of my home. I might ring Riverside for days and get no answer, unless one of the fire patrols happened in there.

In the middle of the afternoon, while I was still scratching out beads-by that time I had more than a hundred-the telephone rang for me and I hurried inside and took down the receiver: “Hello!” I said.

“Hello! Is that you, George? Are you all right up there?” came my sister Hannah’s voice, and, oh, how glad I was to hear it.

“All right,” I answered. “But how did you get to the telephone? Is there a new ranger at Riverside?”

“No. I climbed in through the window. Mother and I were worrying about you; we just had to know how you are getting on, all alone up there. Tell us all about it!”

I considered a moment before replying. Should I tell them about the sneaking figure I had seen near the cabin? No. I would keep my troubles to myself. I answered that I was more than all right, and sure excited over some finds I had made. And went on to tell about the beads I had found, the cave hole I had discovered, and how much I wanted a rope and candles, so that I could go into it. And at that Hannah became excited, and asked a lot of questions about the cave, just where it was located, and its appearance. And at last she said that I should have the things I wanted; she would bring them up and help me explore the place. I could look for her at noon the next day. And when she said that, I knew that I would have the rope and candles. Hannah is a girl that always does as she promises. Although two years younger than I, she can ride at well at the best of us, and of “sand” she has aplenty.

I was happy enough the rest if the afternoon, thinking of what I might find in the cave, and at six o’clock I rang in, reported no fires, and started for the cabin. As I neared it all my uneasiness came back to me. I left the trail and sneaked on down through the spruces and around to the north side of the little clearing and looked out. A moose bird was hopping about before the cabin porch and a chipmunk was sitting upon the peak of the roof, eating something that it held in its little paws. They gave me the feeling that all was well there. I crossed the clearing, unlocked the door, and went in, and looked around. Everything was apparently as I had left it. I took my bucket and went down to the spring for water, and then finished chinking the cabin walls. There were still places-where the chinking did not fit well against the logs-that were open, but when I daubed the outside of the cracks with mud, all would be tightly closed. I dug a hole in the ground filled it with earth that I found near the spring, poured in some water and worked it to a sticky mass, and slammed handful after handful of it into the spaces in the south wall, and completely finished that side, and still had time to cook my supper before nightfall. I did not intend to use a light in the cabin until its walls were proof against the eyes of any prowlers of the night.

I washed, and built a fire in the stove, considering what I should have for supper. A slice of ham, boiled potatoes, bread and butter and jam, I concluded, and opened the food chest, and tossed sacks and packages about: my big, uncut ham was n’t there! Had n’t I seen it in the chest that morning-or anyhow the evening before? I was almost sure that I had seen it that morning; or when Uncle John had unloaded the grub outfit and brought it in. I believed that I has seen it in the chest some time or another, but could not be sure. All day long I had tried to convince myself that I had not seen a shadowy figure of a man sneaking away from me into the spruces. But now-The door had always been locked during my absence. I went to the front window: it was well nailed down. I ran to the other one, and raised the lower sash with ease! The ham could have been stolen from me! All of my fears of the night before came back with a rush. I did n’t take time to cook potatoes. I barred the door, hastily fried a couple of slices of bacon, and ate them with the cold biscuit that were left from my morning meal, and went to bed with my rifle beside me. I wondered if any Boy Scout in all our United States was having as fearsome and lonely a time as I, fireguarding there on Mount Thomas, eleven miles from my nearest neighbor?

“If there is such a one, he has got to show me!” I said, and for all my uneasiness, fell asleep. And with a start soon awoke, listened, heard nothing more than some mice scampering across the floor and upon the table, and slept again. At the first sign of dawn I hurried into my clothes, washed, and cooked my breakfast. I did n’t want to remain in that spruce-surrounded cabin a moment longer that I could help! I wanted to be up on top, where I could see a long way in every direction. I was n’t long in going up there, and upon the trail found cause for more uneasiness; in a place where the path was wet and muddy from melting snow above were the fresh tracks of a huge bear. Old Double Killer’s tracks, I was sure! He had doubtless finished eating his deer carcass, and was prowling about in search of more meat. I thought about old man Lilly’s trouble, over in the Blue Range, with a bear this size a few weeks back: without warning, the bear had come charging out at him from a thicket, and he had stood his ground and opened fire with his big Winchester, and with his last shot-the ver last cartridge in his weapon-the bear had fallen dead at his feet. And what a bear it was; its hide had measured eleven feet in length and eight in width!

I was sure that old Double Killer was as big as that Blue Range grizzly. With my little 30-30 rifle, it was small chance that I would have for my life if he came charging me from these spruces. I legged it up the trail as fast as I could go, never once stopping until I reached the top of the mountain. From the saddle I looked down upon a bare ridge running west from the mountain, and dividing two deep-canyoned, heavily timbered forks of White River, and there, on its crest, I saw Double Killer wandering about among the rocks.

I ran up into the lookout, took up the field-glasses, and watched him. He was turning over rocks and licking the exposed under surfaces of some of them, licking off the ants that clung to them, of course, and I thought what small business that was for him, killer of big steers with one blow of his long-clawed paws! And then I thought that the ants were probably to him what candy is to us: not real food, but – a little of it – very good eating, all the same. He was all of a half-mile from me, too far for a shot at him. In a few minutes he wandered down the ridge and entered the heavy timber, no doubt to sleep during the day.

It was so early when I arrived in the lookout that the west side of the mountains was still in deep shadow. I swept them and their valleys with my glasses and saw nowhere any signs of a fire. I then looked close down into the Black River Canyon, and, as on the previous morning, saw a smokelike haze below the little grass park bordering the stream. It was so faint, however, that I could not be sure it was smoke. I said that it could n’t be smoke: nor fog from the water: that what I saw was a patch of the bright light of the early morning, let into the dark canyon through a gap in the high ridge on the east.

I went outside, began scratching out more rock crevices, and almost at once found two arrow-points, a large one of flint and barbed, and a very small one, without barbs, of the glasslike rock, and so clear that I could see through it. Of the two, the barbed one appeared to be the most effective point, yet how much more deadly was the other; how very much farther it would penetrate flesh. I wondered if its owner had ever shot into an enemy?

At nine o’clock I went to the telephone and reported no fire anywhere in sight. And then I called Riverside Station, on the mere chance that a fire patrol might be there, and got no answer except the roar of the Supervisor’s voice, shouting: “Get off the line there, whoever you are! Don’t you know that there is no one at Riverside? You quit interrupting Service business!”

I quit! I had wanted to get word to Hannah not to come up. Since discovering the loss of my ham, I had been thinking that I ought not to let her run the risk in coming up that eleven-mile lonely trail. If there were bad men in this part of the forest, it was no place for her to be riding. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that the ham had probably been left at home, but down in my inmost mind I almost knew that I had seen it in the food chest. No doubt she was now on her way to me, and if she met with no mishap, would arrive at my cabin at about twelve o’clock. Well, I should be there at that time, and at one o’clock, if she failed to appear, fires or no fires, I should have to go down the trail to look for her. And if she did come all right at noon, I decided that , when I went off duty in the evening, I should spend the night in seeing her safely home and getting back to the cabin. I could ride back upon her horse and turn him loose and he would go straight down to our herd.

I kept on hunting for beads and arrow-points-and finding some-until my eyes began to ache, and then went into the lookout. The telephone rang one long, the call for the Supervisor’s office, and I listened in. Why not? Forest Service business was my business. I wanted to know what was going on. And now, listening, I heard William Hammond, the owner of a small sawmill located on the Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, five miles west of my home, and almost at the northern edge of the forest, telling the Supervisor that he was having serious trouble with two of his men, strangers who had a week before dropped in off the road and applied for work, and got it. They had proved to be I.W.W. agitators, and, failing to induce his regular employees to join the order, they had called for their wages, demanding three times the amount due them, and upon his refusal to pay it, had sworn that they would burn his mill and the whole Apache National Forest.

“Where are they now?” the Supervisor asked.

“They shouldered their blanket rolls and went off up the road.”

“Well, you just guard your mill, and if they show up, shoot, and shoot to kill. And I will order some of my patrols over to your place, and at the first outbreak of fire that way, they’ll be right on top of those I.W.W.’s!”

I continued listening and heard the Supervisor ordering different patrols to move to the mill, explaining why they were to go, and that they were to go well armed, and take no chances with the firebugs.

Then the Supervisor called me: “George, there are two I.W.W. firebugs threatening to burn the forest-”

“Yes, I know, I’ve been listening,” I interrupted.

“Well, I must ask you to spend more than the regular hours in your lookout until they are disposed of,” he went on. “I would like you to spend all your daylight hours there; even your noon hour; and keep your eyes on the forest all the time, and especially that part of it around the mill.”

“Yes! I’ll do so,” I answered, “but this noon I have to go down to the cabin to meet my sister, who is coming up with some things for me-” I hesitated: Should I tell him about my own troubles, my suspicion that there were bad men in my vicinity, too? No. Not at this time, I concluded.

“All right, meet your sister, and go back on top as soon as you can,” he replied and hung up.