The Young Forester

by Zane Grey

  V. THE SAWMILL

  In my surprise I almost forgot the Mexican. Then I thought that if Dickwere there the Mexican would be likely to have troubles of his own. Iremembered Dick's reputation as a fighter. But suppose I did not findDick at the sawmill? This part of the forest was probably owned byprivate individuals, for I couldn't imagine Government timber beingcut in this fashion. So I tied Hal and the pony amidst a thick clump ofyoung pines, and, leaving all my outfit except my revolver, I struck outacross the slash.

  No second glance was needed to tell that the lumbering here was carelessand without thought for the future. It had been a clean cut, and whatsmall saplings had escaped the saw had been crushed by the dropping andhauling of the large pines. The stumps were all about three feet high,and that meant the waste of many thousands of feet of good lumber. Onlythe straight, unbranched trunks had been used. The tops of the pines hadnot been lopped, and lay where they had fallen. It was a wilderness ofyellow brush, a dry jungle. The smell of pine was so powerful that Icould hardly breathe. Fire must inevitably complete this work of ruin;already I was forester enough to see that.

  Presently the trail crossed a railroad track which appeared to have beenhastily constructed. Swinging along at a rapid step on the ties I soonreached the outskirts of the huge stacks of lumber; I must have walkedhalf a mile between two yellow walls. Then I entered the lumber camp.

  It was even worse-looking than the slash. Rows of dirty tents, linesof squatty log-cabins, and many flat-board houses clustered around animmense sawmill. Evidently I had arrived at the noon hour, for the millwas not running, and many rough men were lounging about smoking pipes.At the door of the first shack stood a fat, round-faced Negro wearing along, dirty apron.

  "Is Dick Leslie here?" I asked.

  "I dunno if Dick's come in yet, but I 'specks him," he replied. "Be youthe young gent Dick's lookin' fer from down East?"

  "Yes."

  "Come right in, sonny, come right in an' eat. Dick allus eats with me,an' he has spoke often 'bout you." He led me in, and seated me at abench where several men were eating. They were brawny fellows, cladin overalls and undershirts, and one, who spoke pleasantly to me, hadsawdust on his bare arms and even in his hair. The cook set before mea bowl of soup, a plate of beans, potroast, and coffee, all of which Iattacked with a good appetite. Presently the men finished their meat andwent outside, leaving me alone with the cook.

  "Many men on this job?" I asked.

  "More'n a thousand. Buell's runnin' two shifts, day an' night."

  "Buell? Does he own this land?"

  "No. He's only the agent of a 'Frisco lumber company, an' the landbelongs to the Government. Buell's sure slashin' the lumber off, though.Two freight-trains of lumber out every day."

  "Is this Penetier Forest?" I queried, carelessly, but I had begun tothink hard.

  "Sure."

  I wanted to ask questions, but thought it wiser to wait. I knew enoughalready to make out that I had come upon the scene of a gigantic lumbersteal. Buell's strange manner on the train, at the station, and hiseagerness to hurry me out of Holston now needed no more explanation. Ibegan to think the worst of him.

  "Did you see a Mexican come into camp?" I inquired of the Negro.

  "Sure. Greaser got here this mornin'."

  "He tried to rob me in Holston."

  "'Tain't nothin' new fer Greaser. He's a thief, but I never heerd of himholdin' anybody up. No nerve 'cept to knife a feller in the back."

  "What'll I do if I meet him here?"

  "Slam him one! You're a strappin' big lad. Slam him one, an' flash yourgun on him. Greaser's a coward. I seen a young feller he'd cheated makehim crawl. Anyway, it'll be all day with him when Dick finds out hetried to rob you. An' say, stranger, if a feller stays sober, thiscamp's safe enough in daytime, but at night, drunk or sober, it's atough place."

  Before I had finished eating a shrill whistle from the sawmill calledthe hands to work; soon it was followed by the rumble of machinery andthe sharp singing of a saw.

  I set out to see the lumber-camp, and although I stepped forth boldly,the truth was that with all my love for the Wild West I would have likedto be at home. But here I was, and I determined not to show the whitefeather.

  I passed a row of cook-shacks like the one I had been in, and severalstores and saloons. The lumber-camp was a little town. A rambling logcabin attracted me by reason of the shaggy mustangs standing before itand the sounds of mirth within. A peep showed me a room with a long bar,where men and boys were drinking. I heard the rattle of dice and theclink of silver. Seeing the place was crowded, I thought I might findDick there, so I stepped inside. My entrance was unnoticed, so far as Icould tell; in fact, there seemed no reason why it should be otherwise,for, being roughly dressed, I did not look very different from the manyyoung fellows there. I scanned all the faces, but did not see Dick's,nor, for that matter, the Mexican's. Both disappointed and relieved, Iturned away, for the picture of low dissipation was not attractive.

  The hum of the great sawmill drew me like a magnet. I went out to thelumber-yard at the back of the mill, where a trestle slanted down toa pond full of logs. A train loaded with pines had just pulled in,and dozens of men were rolling logs off the flat-cars into a canal. Atstations along the canal stood others pike-poling the logs toward thetrestle, where an endless chain caught them with sharp claws and hauledthem up. Half-way from, the ground they were washed clean by a circle ofwater-spouts.

  I walked up the trestle and into the mill. The noise almost deafened me.High above all other sounds rose the piercing song of the saw, and theshort intervals when it was not cutting were filled with a thunderouscrash that jarred the whole building. After a few confused glances I gotthe working order into my head, and found myself in the most interestingplace I had ever seen.

  As the stream of logs came up into the mill the first log was shuntedoff the chain upon a carriage. Two men operated this carriage by levers,one to take the log up to the saw, and the other to run it back foranother cut. The run back was very swift. Then a huge black iron headbutted up from below and turned the log over as easily as if it had beena straw. This was what made the jar and crash. On the first cut the longstrip of bark went to the left and up against five little circular saws.Then the five pieces slipped out of sight down chutes. When the log wastrimmed a man stationed near the huge band-saw made signs to those onthe carriage, and I saw that they got from him directions whether tocut the log into timbers, planks, or boards. The heavy timbers, afterleaving the saw, went straight down the middle of the mill, the plankswent to the right, the boards in another direction. Men and boys wereeverywhere, each with a lever in hand. There was not the slightestcessation of the work. And a log forty feet long and six feet thick,which had taken hundreds of years to grow, was cut up in just fourminutes.

  The place fascinated me. I had not dreamed that a sawmill could bebrought to such a pitch of mechanical perfection, and I wondered howlong the timber would last at that rate of cutting. The movement and dintired me, and I went outside upon a long platform. Here workmen caughtthe planks and boards as they came out, and loaded them upon truckswhich were wheeled away. This platform was a world in itself. It sentarms everywhere among the piles of lumber, and once or twice I was asmuch lost as I had been up in the forest.

  While turning into one of these byways I came suddenly upon Buell andanother man. They were standing near a little house of weather-strips,evidently an office, and were in their shirt-sleeves. They had not seenor heard me. I dodged behind a pile of planks, intending to slip backthe way I had come. Before I could move Buell's voice rooted me to thespot.

  "His name's Ward. Tall, well-set lad. I put Greaser after him the othernight, hopin' to scare him back East. But nix!"

  "Well, he's here now--to study forestry! Ha! ha!" said the other.

  "You're sure the boy you mean is the one I mean?"

  "Greaser told me so. And this boy is Leslie's friend."

  "That's the worst of it," replied
Buell, impatiently. "I've got Lesliefixed as far as this lumber deal is concerned, but he won't stand forany more. He was harder to fix than the other rangers, an' I'm afraid ofhim." he's grouchy now.

  "You shouldn't have let the boy get here."

  "Stockton, I tried to prevent it. I put Greaser with Bud an' Bill on histrail. They didn't find him, an' now here he turns up."

  "Maybe he can be fixed."

  "Not if I know my business, he can't; take that from me. This kid isstraight. He'll queer my deal in a minute if he gets wise. Mind you, I'mgettin' leary of Washington. We've seen about the last of these lumberdeals. If I can pull this one off I'll quit; all I want is a little moretime. Then I'll fire the slash, an' that'll cover tracks."

  "Buell, I wouldn't want to be near Penetier when you light that fire.This forest will burn like tinder."

  "It's a whole lot I care then. Let her burn. Let the Government put outthe fire. Now, what's to be done about this boy?"

  "I think I'd try to feel him out. Maybe he can be fixed. Boys who wantto be foresters can't be rich. Failing that--you say he's a kid whowants to hunt and shoot--get some one to take him up on the mountain."

  "See here, Stockton. This young Ward will see the timber is bein' cutclean. If it was only a little patch I wouldn't mind. But this slash an'this mill! He'll know. More'n that, he'll tell Leslie about the Mexican.Dick's no fool. We're up against it."

  "It's risky, Buell. You remember the ranger up in Oregon."

  "Then we are to fall down on this deal all because of a fresh tenderfootkid?" demanded Buell.

  "Not so loud.... We'll not fall down. But caution--use caution. You madea mistake in trusting so much to the Greaser."

  "I know, an' I'm afraid of Leslie. An' that other fire-ranger, JimWilliams, he's a Texan, an' a bad man. The two of them could about trimup this camp. They'll both fight for the boy; take that from me."

  "We are sure up against it. Think now, and think quick."

  "First, I'll try to fix the boy. If that won't work... we'll kidnap him.Then we'll take no chances with Leslie. There's a cool two hundred an'fifty thousand in this deal for us, an' we're goin' to get it."

  With that Buell went into his office and closed the door; the other man,Stockton, walked briskly down the platform. I could not resist peepingfrom my hiding-place as he passed. He was tall and had a red beard,which would enable me to recognize him if we met.

  I waited there for some little time. Then I saw that by squeezingbetween two plies of lumber could reach the other side of the platform.When I reached the railing I climbed over, and, with the help of bracesand posts, soon got to where I could drop down. Once on the ground I ranalong under the platform until I saw a lane that led to the street. Myone thought was to reach the cabin where the Negro cook stayed andask him if Dick Leslie had come to camp. If he had not arrived, then Iintended to make a bee-line for my mustang.