The Rules of the Game

by Stewart Edward White

  IX

  Toward the end of the season they had worked well past the main ridge onwhich were situated Welton's operations and the Service Headquarters.Several deep canons and rocky peaks, by Thorne's instructions, theyskipped over as only remotely available as a timber supply. This broughtthem to the ample circle of a basin, well-timbered, wide, containing anunusual acreage of gently sloping or rolling table-land. Behind thisrose the spurs of the Range. A half-hundred streams here had theirorigin. These converged finally in the Forks, which, leaping andplunging steadily downward from a height of over six thousand feet, wastrapped and used again and again to turn the armatures of Baker'sdynamos. After serving this purpose at six power houses strung down thecontour line of its descent, the water was deflected into wide, deepditches which forked and forked again until a whole plains province wasrendered fertile and productive by irrigation.

  All this California John, who rode over to show them some corners,explained to them. They sat on the rim of the basin overlooking it as itlay below them like a green cup.

  "You can see the whole of her from here," said California John, "andthat's why we use this for fire lookout. It saves a heap of riding, forlet me tell you it's a long ways down this bluff. But you bet we keep aclose watch on this Basin. It's the most valuable, as a watershed, ofany we've got. This is about the only country we've managed to throw afire-break around yet. It took a lot of time to do it, but it's worthwhile."

  "This is where the Power Company gets its power," remarked Bob.

  "Yes," replied California John, drily. "Which same company is putting upthe fight of its life in Congress to keep from payin' anything at allfor what it gets."

  They gave themselves to the task of descending into the Basin by a steepand rough trail. At the end of an hour, their horses stepped from theside of the hill to a broad, pleasant flat on which the tall trees grewlarger than any Bob had seen on the ridge.

  "What magnificent timber!" he cried. "How does it happen this wasn'ttaken up long ago?"

  "Well," said California John, "a good share of it _is_ claimed by thePower Company; and unless you come up the way we did, you don't see it.From below, all this looks like part of the bald ridge. Even if acruiser in the old days happened to look down on this, he wouldn'trealize how good it was unless he came down to it--it's all just treesfrom above. And in those days there were lots of trees easier to comeat."

  "It's great timber!" repeated Bob. "That 'sugar's' eight feet through ifit's an inch!"

  "Nearer nine," said California John.

  "It'll be some years' work to estimate and plot all this," mused Bob."If it's so important a watershed, what do they _want_ it plotted for?They'll never want to cut it."

  "There ain't so much of it left, as you'll see when you look at yourmap. The Power Company owns most. Anyway, government cutting won't hurtthe watershed," stated California John.

  As they rode forward through the trees, a half-dozen deer jumpedstartled from a clump of low brush and sped away.

  "That's more deer than I've seen in a bunch since I left Michigan,"observed Bob.

  "Nobody ever gets into this place," explained California John. "Thereain't been a fire here in years, and we don't none of us have anyreason to ride down. She's too hard to get out of, and we can see hertoo well from the lookout. The rest of the country feels pretty much thesame way."

  "How about sheep?" inquired Elliott.

  "They got to get in over some trail, if they get in at all," CaliforniaJohn pointed out, "and we can circle the Basin."

  By now they were riding over a bed of springy pine needles through amagnificent open forest. Undergrowth absolutely lacked; even the softgreen of the bear clover was absent. The straight columns of the treesrose grandly from a swept floor. Only where tiny streams trickled andsang through rocks and shallow courses, grew ferns and the huge leavesof the saxifrage. In this temple-like austerity dwelt a silence unusualto the Sierra forests. The lack of undergrowth and younger trees implieda scarcity of insects; and this condition meant an equal scarcity ofbirds. Only the creepers and the great pileated woodpeckers seemed toinhabit these truly cloistral shades. The breeze passed through branchestoo elevated to permit its whisperings to be heard. The very sound ofthe horses' hoofs was muffled in the thick carpet of pine needles.

  California John led them sharp to the right, however, and in a fewmoments they emerged to cheerful sunlight, alders, young pines among theold, a leaping flashing stream of some size, and multitudes of birds,squirrels, insects and butterflies.

  "There's a meadow, and a good camping place just up-stream," said he."It's easy riding. You'd better spread your blankets there. Now, here'sthe corner to 34. We reestablished it four years ago, so as to have_something_ to go by in this country. You can find your way about fromthere. That bold cliff of rock you see just through the trees there youcan climb. From the top you can make out the lookout. If you're wantedat headquarters we'll hang out a signal. That will save a hard ridedown. Let's see; how long you got grub for?"

  "I guess there's enough to last us ten days or so," replied Elliott.

  "Well, if you keep down this stream until you strike a big bald sliderock, you'll run into an old trail that takes you to the Flats. It'spretty old, and it ain't blazed, but you can make it out if you'll sortof keep track of the country. It ain't been used for years."

  California John, anxious to make a start at the hard climb, now saidgood-bye and started back. Bob and Elliott, their pack horse following,rode up the flat through which ran the river. They soon found themeadow. It proved to be a beautiful spot, surrounded by cedars, warmwith the sun, bright with colour, alive with birds. A fringe of azaleas,cottonwoods and quaking asps screened it completely from all that layoutside its charmed circle. A cheerful blue sky spread its canopyoverhead. Here Bob and Elliott turned loose their horses and made theircamp. After lunch they lay on their backs and smoked. Through a notch inthe trees showed a very white mountain against a very blue sky. The sunwarmed them gratefully. Birds sang. Squirrels scampered. Their horsesstood dozing, ears and head down-drooped, eyes half-closed, one hind legtucked up.

  "Confound it!" cried Elliott suddenly, following his unspoken thought."I feel like a bad little boy stealing jam! By night I'll be scared. Ifthose woods over behind that screen aren't full of large, dignified godsthat disapprove of me being so cheerful and contented and light-mindedand frivolous, I miss my guess!"

  "Same here!" said Bob with, a short laugh. "Let's get busy."

  They started out that very afternoon from the corner California John hadshowed them. It took all that day and most of the following to defineand blaze the boundaries of the first tract they intended to estimate.In the accomplishment of this they found nothing out of the ordinary;but when they began to move forward across the forty, they were soonbrought to a halt by the unexpected.

  "Look here!" Bob shouted to his companion; "here's a brand new corneraway off the line."

  Elliott came over. Bob showed him a stake set neatly in a pile of rocks.

  "It's not a very old one, either," said Bob. "Now what do you make ofthat?"

  Elliott had been spying about him.

  "There's another just like it over on the hill," said he. "I should callit the stakes of a mining claim. There ought to be a notice somewhere."

  They looked about and soon came across the notice in question. It wasmade out in the name of a man neither Bob nor Elliott had ever heard ofbefore.

  "I suppose that's his ledge," remarked Elliott, kicking a littleoutcrop, "but it looks like mighty slim mining to me!"

  They proceeded with their estimating. In due time they came upon anothermining claim, and then a third.

  "This is getting funny!" remarked Elliott. "Looks as though somebodyexpected to make a strike for fair. More timber than mineral here, Ishould say."

  "That's it!" cried Bob, slapping his leg; "I'd just about forgotten!This must be what Baker was talking about one evening over at camp. Hehad some scheme for getting some ti
mber and water rights somewhere underthe mineral act. I didn't pay so very much attention to it at the time,and it had slipped my mind. But this must be it!"

  "Do you mean to say that any man was going to take this beautiful timberaway from us on that kind of a technicality?"

  "I believe that's just what he did."

  Two days later Elliott straightened his back after a squint through thecompass sights to exclaim:

  "I wish we had a dog!"

  "Why?" laughed Bob. "Can't you eat your share?"

  "I've a feeling that somebody's hanging around these woods; I've had itever since we got here. And just now while I was looking through thesights I thought I saw something--you know how the sights willconcentrate your gaze."

  "It's these big woods," said Bob; "I've had the same hunch before.Besides, you can easily look for tracks along your line of sights."

  They did so, but found nothing.

  "But among these rocks a man needn't leave any tracks if he didn't wantto," Elliott pointed out.

  "The bogy-man's after you," said Bob.

  Elliott laughed. Nevertheless, as the work progressed, from time to timehe would freeze to an attitude of listening.

  "It's like feeling that there's somebody else in a dark room with you,"he told Bob.

  "You'll end by giving me the willy-willies, too," complained Bob. "I'mbeginning to feel the same way. Quit it!"

  By the end of the week it became necessary to go to town after moresupplies. Bob volunteered. He saddled his riding horse and the packanimal, and set forth. Following California John's directions he tracedthe length of the river through the basin to the bald rock where the oldtrail was said to begin. Here he anticipated some difficulty in pickingup the trail, and more in following it. To his surprise he ranimmediately into a well-defined path.

  "Why, this is as plain as a strip of carpet!" muttered

  Bob to himself. "If this is his idea of a dim trail, I'd like to see agood one!"

  He had not ridden far, however, before, in crossing a tiny trickle ofwater, he could not fail to notice a clear-cut, recent hoof print. Themark was that of a barefoot horse. Bob stared at it.

  "Now if I were real _good_," he reflected, "like oldwhat-you-may-call-him--the Arabian Sherlock Holmes--I'd be able to tellwhether this horse was loose and climbing for pasture, or carrying arider, and if so, whether the rider had ever had his teeth filled.There's been a lot of travel on this trail, anyway. I wonder where itall went to?" He paused irresolutely. "It isn't more than two jumps backto the rock," he decided; "I'll just find out what direction they takeanyway."

  Accordingly he retraced his steps to the bald rock, and commenced anexamination of its circumference to determine where the trail led away.He found no such exit. Save from the direction of his own camp the waywas closed either by precipitous sides or dense brush. The conclusionwas unavoidable that those who had travelled the trail, had either endedtheir journeys at the bald rock or actually taken to the bed of theriver.

  "Well," concluded Bob, "I'm enough of a sleuth to see that that barefoothorse had a rider and wasn't just looking pasture. No animal in itssenses would hike uphill and then hike down again, or wade belly deep upa stream."

  Puzzling over this mystery, he again took his way down the trail. Hefound it easy to follow, for it had been considerably travelled. In someplaces the brush had been cut back to open easier passage. Examiningthese cuttings, Bob found their raw ends only slightly weathered. Allthis might have been done by the men who had staked the mineral claims,to be sure, but even then Bob found it difficult to reconcile all thefacts. In the first place, the trail had indubitably been much usedsince the time the claims were staked. In the second place, if theprospector had wished to conceal anything, it should have been the factof his going to the Basin at all, not his whereabouts after arrivingthere. In other words, if desiring to keep his presence secret, he wouldhave blinded the _beginning_ of the trail rather than its end.

  He kept a sharp lookout. Near the entrance to the canon he managed todiscover another clear print of the barefoot horse, but headed the otherway. Clearly the rider had returned. Bob had hunted deer enough torecognize that the track had been made within the last twenty-fourhours.

  At Sycamore Flats he was treated to further surprises. Martin, of whomhe bought his supplies, at first greeted him with customary joviality.

  "Hullo! hullo!" he cried; "quite a stranger! Out in camp, eh?"

  "Yes," said Bob, "they've got us working for a change."

  "Where you located?"

  "We're estimating timber up in the Basin," replied Bob.

  The silence that followed was so intense that Bob looked up from the baghe was tying. He met Martin's eyes fixed on him.

  "The Basin," repeated Martin slowly, at last. "Since when?"

  "About ten days."

  "We! Who's we?"

  "Elliott and I," answered Bob, surprised. "Why?"

  Martin's gaze shifted. He plainly hesitated for a next remark.

  "How'd you like it there?" he asked lamely, at length. "I thought noneof you fellows ever went there."

  "Fine timber," answered Bob, cheerfully. "We don't usually. Somebodydoes though. California John told me that trail was old and out of use;but it's been used a lot. Who gets up there?"

  "The boys drive in some cattle occasionally," replied Martin, with aneffort.

  Bob stared in surprise. He knew this was not so, and started to speak,but thought better of it. After he had left the store, he looked back.Martin was gazing after him, a frown between his brows.

  Before he left town a half-dozen of the mountain men had asked him, withan obvious attempt to make the question casual, how he liked the Basin,how long he thought his work would keep him there. Each, as he turnedaway, followed him with that long, speculative, brooding look. Always,heretofore, his relations with these mountain people had been easy,sympathetic and cordial. Now all at once, without reason, they held himat arm's length and regarded him with suspicious if not hostile eyes.

  Puzzling over this he rode back up the road past the Power House. Thenceissued Oldham to hail him. He pulled up.

  "I hear you're estimating the timber in the Basin," said the gray man,with more appearance of disturbance than Bob had ever seen him display.

  Bob acknowledged the accuracy of his statement.

  "Indeed!" said Oldham, pulling at his clipped moustache, and after alittle, "Indeed!" he repeated.

  So the news had run ahead of him. Bob began to think the news important,but for some reason at which he could not as yet guess. This convictionwas strengthened by the fact that from the two mountain cabins he passedon his way to the beginning of the trail, men lounged out to talk withhim, and in each case the question, craftily rendered casual, was put tohim as to his business in the Basin. Before one of these cabins stood asweating horse.

  "Look here," he demanded of the Carrolls, "why all this interest aboutour being in the Basin? Every man-jack asks me. What's the point?"

  Old man Carroll stroked his long beard.

  "Do they so?" he drawled comfortably. "Well, I reckon little things makenews, as they say, when you're in a wild country. They ain't been nowork done in the Basin for so long that we're all just nat'rallyinterested; that's all."

  He looked Bob tranquilly in the eye with the limpid gaze of innocencebefore which Bob's scrutiny fell abashed. For a while his suspicions ofanything unusual were almost lulled; the countryside _was_ proverbiallycurious of anything out of the course of events. Then, from a pointmidway up the steep trail, he just happened to look back, and justhappened through an extraordinary combination of openings to catch aglimpse of a rider on the trail. The man was far below. Bob watched along time, his eye fixed on another opening. Nothing appeared. Fromsomewhere in the canon a coyote shrilled. Another answered him from upthe mountain. A moment later Bob again saw the rider through the sameopening as before, but this time descending.

  "A signal!" he exclaimed, in reference to the coyote howls.


  On arriving at the bare rock, he dismounted and hastily looked it overon all sides. Near the stream it had been splashed. A tiny eddy out ofreach of the current still held mud in suspension.