by Zane Grey
XIII. THE CABIN IN THE FOREST
Hiram Bent packed the cub down the canyon as he would have handled asack of oats. When we reached the cabin he fastened a heavy dog-collarround Cubby's neck and snapped a chain to it. Doubling the halter, hetied 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 captive did not yet show any signs of becoming tame. No sooner washe free of the buckskin thongs than he leaped away, only to be pulled upby the halter. Then he rolled over and over, clawing at the chain, andsquirming to get his head out of the collar.
"He might choke hisself," said Hiram, "but mebbe he'll ease up if westay 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 ofDick Leslie, and asked if there were not some way to get him out of theclutches of the lumber thieves.
"I've been thinkin' about thet," replied the hunter, "an' I reckon wecan. Tomorrow we'll cross the ridge high up back of thet spring-holecanyon, an' sneak down. 'Pears to me them fellers will be trailin' youpretty hard, an' mebbe they'll leave only one to guard Leslie. More'nthet, the trail up here to my shack is known, an' I'm thinkin' we'd besmart 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'twant 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 ahundred. An' he'd make a heap of trouble. Mebbe we'll ketch a littlecub--one you can carry in your arms."
"That'd be still better," I replied. "But if we don't, I'll try to takehim back home."
The old hunter said I made a good shot at the big bear, and that hewould give me the skin for a rug. It delighted me to think of that hugeglossy bearskin on the floor of my den. I told Hiram how the bear hadsuffered, and I was glad to see that, although he was a hunter andtrapper, 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 meforget all about venison. By the time we had climbed up the other canyonand 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 thingneeded to make me happy. Dick was in my mind even when Hiram cooked asupper that almost made me forget my manners. Certainly the broiled bearmeat made me forget venison. Then we talked before the burning logsin the stone fire-place. Hiram sat on his home-made chair and smokeda 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 differentfrom Hiram Bent and Jim Williams. Jim's soft drawl and kind, twinklingeyes were not what any book-reader would expect to find in a dangerousman. And Hiram Bent was so simple and friendly, so glad to have even aboy to talk to, that it seemed he would never stop. If it had not beenfor his striking appearance and for the strange, wild tales he told ofhis lonely life, he would have reminded me of the old canal-lock tendersat home.
Once, when he was refilling his pipe and I thought it would be a goodtime 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 theNational Forests. You have full power. The object is to conserve ournational resources. What will you do?"
"Wal, Mr. President," he began, slowly and seriously, and with greatdignity, "the Government must own the forests an' deal wisely with them.These mountain forests are great sponges to hold the water, an' wemust stop fire an' reckless cuttin'. The first thing is to overcomethe opposition of the stockmen, an' show them where the benefit will betheirs in the long run. Next the timber must be used, but not all usedup. We'll need rangers who're used to rustlin' in the West an' knowWestern ways. Cabins must be built, trails made, roads cut. We'll needa head forester for every forest. This man must know all that's on hispreserve, an' have it mapped. He must teach his rangers what he knowsabout trees. Penetier will be given over entirely to the growin' ofyellow 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 bethinned. Care oughten be taken not to cut on the north an' west edges ofthe 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 NationalForest."
"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 forestercan fight fire. But those home-seekers must want a home, an' not besquattin' 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 thesettler 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 willstamp down young growth, an' too many sheep leave no grazin' for otherstock. The bead forester must know his business, an' not let his rangebe overstocked. The small local herders an' sheepmen must be consideredfirst, the big stockmen second. Both must be charged a small fee perhead 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 abellows. Fire would race through here faster 'n a man could run. I'llneed special fire rangers, an' all other rangers must be trained tofight fire, an' then any men living in or near the forest will be paidto 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. Brushpiles an' slashes mustn't be burned in dry or windy weather."
Just where we left off talking I could not remember, for I dropped offto sleep. I seemed hardly to have closed my eyes when the hunter calledme in the morning. The breakfast was smoking on the red-hot coals, andoutside the cabin all was dense gray fog.
When, soon after, we started down the canyon, the fog was lifting andthe forest growing lighter. Everything was as white with frost as if ithad snowed. A thin, brittle frost crackled under our feet. When we, hadgotten below the rocky confines of the canyon we climbed the slope tothe level ridge. Here it was impossible not to believe it had snowed.The forest was as still as night, and looked very strange with thewhite aisles lined by black tree trunks and the gray fog shrouding thetree-tops. Soon we were climbing again, and I saw that Hiram meant tohead the canyon where I had left Dick.
The fog split and blew away, and the brilliant sunlight changed theforest. The frost began to melt, and the air was full of mist. Weclimbed and climbed--out of the stately yellow-pine zone, up among thegnarled 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 carrymy rifle and keep up with the hunter without talking. Besides, Hiram hadanswered me rather shortly, and I thought it best to keep silent. Fromtime to time he stopped to listen. Then when he turned to go down theslope be trod carefully, and cautioned me not to loosen stones, and hewent slower and yet slower. From this I made sure we were not far fromthe springhole.
"Thar's the canyon," he whispered, stopping to point below, where ablack, 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'llmake a noise."
Then he slipped off, and it was wonderful to see how noiselessly hestepped, and how he moved between trees and dead branches without asound. I managed pretty well, yet more than once a rattling stone or abroken branch stopped Hiram short and made him lift a warning hand.
At last we got down to the narrow bench which separated the canyon-slopefrom the deep cut. It was level and roughly strewn with boulders. Herewe took to all fours and crawled. It was easy to move here withoutnoise, 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 hadhalted only a few feet from the edge of the gorge where I had climbedout in my escape. He was listening. There was not a sound save the dullroar of rushing water.
Hiram slid forward a little, and rose cautiously to look over. I didthe same. When I saw the cave and the spring-hole I felt a catch in mythroat.
But there was not a man in sight. Dick's captors had broken camp; theywere gone. The only thing left in the gorge to show they had ever beenthere 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 Isaw what he really meant by "making tracks." Fortunately, after a short,killing climb, the return was all down-hill. One stride of Hiram'sequalled two of mine, and he made his faster, so that I had to trot nowand then to catch up. Very soon I was as hot as fire, and every step wasan effort. But I kept thinking of Dick, of my mustang and outfit, and Ivowed I would stick to Hiram Bent's trail till I dropped. For the matterof 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. Istrapped my rifle over my shoulder, and then went out to untie my bearcub. It would have cost me a great deal to leave him behind. I knew Iought to, still I could not bring myself to it. All my life I had wanteda bear cub. Here was one that I had helped to lasso and tie up with myown 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 noteaten anything, but he had drunk the water we had left for him. To mysurprise he made no fuss when I untied the rope; on the other hand, heseemed to look pleased, and I thought I detected a cunning gleam in hislittle eyes. He paddled away down the canyon, and, as this was in thedirection 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 youforget it," said Hiram Bent.
The truth of that was very soon in evidence. Cubby would not let wellenough alone, and he would not have a slack rope. I think he wanted tochoke himself or pull my arms out. When I realized that Cubby was threetimes as strong as I was I began to see that my work was cut out forme. The more, however, that he jerked me and hauled me along, the more Idetermined to hang on. I thought I had a genuine love for him up to thetime he had almost knocked my head off, but it was funny how easilyhe roused my anger after that. What would have happened had he takena notion to go through the brush? Luckily he kept to the trail, whichcertainly was rough enough. So, with watching the cub and keeping myfeet free of roots and rocks, I had no chance to look ahead. Still I hadno concern about this, for the old hunter was at my heels, and I knew hewould keep a sharp lookout.
Before I was aware of it we had gotten out of the narrow canyon into avalley with well-timbered bottom, and open, slow rising slopes. We weregetting down into Penetier. Cubby swerved from the trail and started upthe left slope. I did not want to go, but I had to keep with him, andthat was the only way. The hunter strode behind without speaking, and soI gathered that the direction suited him. By leaning back on the ropeI walked up the slope as easily as if it were a moving stairway. Cubbypulled me up; I had only to move my feet. When we reached a level oncemore I discovered that the cub was growing stronger and wanted to gofaster. We zigzagged across the ridge to the next canyon, which at aglance I saw was deep and steep.
"Thet'll be some work goin' down that!" called Hiram. "Let me pack yourgun."
I would have been glad to give it to him, but how was I to manage? Icould not let go of the rope, and Hiram, laden as he was, could notcatch up with me. Then suddenly it was too late, for Cubby lungedforward 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 thepine-needles. I did not leap to my feet; I was jerked up. Then began awild chase down that steep, bushy slope. Cubby got going, and I could nomore have checked him than I could a steam-engine. Very soon I saw thatnot 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 throughthickets, I dodged a thousand trees. In some grassy descents it was asif 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 outstretchedhands, 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 thanKen Ward it would be bard to imagine. Leaping up, I strove withevery ounce of might to hold in the bear. But though fury lent me newstrength, he kept the advantage.
Presently I saw the bottom of the canyon, an open glade, and an oldlog-cabin. I looked back to see if the hunter was coming. He was not insight, 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 onone side of a sapling and I on the other, with the result that we werebrought up short. I crashed through some low bushes and bumped squarelyinto the cub. Whether it was his frantic effort to escape, or justexcitement, or deliberate intention to beat me into a jelly I had nomeans to tell. The fact was he began to dig at me and paw me and maulme. Never had I been so angry. I began to fight back, to punch and kickhim.
Suddenly, with a crashing in the bushes, the cub was hauled away fromme, and then I saw Hiram at the rope.
"Wal, wal!" he ejaculated, "your own mother wouldn't own you now!" Thenhe laughed heartily and chuckled to himself, and gave the cub a coupleof jerks that took the mischief out of him. I dragged myself after Hiraminto the glade. The cabin was large and very old, and part of the roofwas 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 fighterinside, where mebbe he won't be so noisy."
The hunter hauled the cub up short, and half pulled, half lifted himinto the door. I took off my rifle, emptied my pockets of brush and beatout the dust, and combed the pine-needles from my hair. My hands werepuffed and red, and smarted severely. And altogether I was in no amiableframe of mind as regarded my captive bear cub.
When I stepped inside the cabin it was dark, and coming from the brightlight 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 arude ladder led up to a loft. Hiram had thrown his pack aside, and hadtied Cubby to a peg in the log wall.
"Wal, I'll fetch in some fresh venison," said the hunter. "You restawhile, an' then gather some wood an' make a fire."
The rest I certainly needed, for I was so tired I could scarcelyuntie the pack to get out the blankets. The bear c
ub showed signs orweariness, which pleased me. It was not long after Hiram's departurethat I sank into a doze.
When my eyes opened I knew I had been awakened by something, but I couldnot tell what. I listened. Cubby was as quiet as a mouse, and his veryquiet and the alert way he held his ears gave me a vague alarm. He hadheard something. I thought of the old hunter's return, yet this did notreassure me.
All at once the voices of men made me sit up with a violent start. Whocould they be? Had Hiram met a ranger? I began to shake a little, andwas about to creep to the door when I heard the clink of stirrups andsoft thud of hoofs. Then followed more voices, and last a loud volley ofcurses.
"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 Ifelt cold and sick. Suddenly I caught sight of the ladder leading tothe loft. Like a monkey I ran up, and crawled as noiselessly as possibleupon the rickety flooring of dry pine branches. Then I lay therequivering.
