The Big Burn

by Jeanette Ingold

  Jarrett gathered up canned beans, canned tomatoes, and the last of the biscuits he'd made the night before. His brother had been grateful for the biscuits, saying they went a long way to improving the taste of bear. "I can't see wasting meat when I got to kill any animal," he'd said, "but some kinds do seem to last forever."

  Outside, Jarrett helped him strap shovels, axes, and a two-person saw onto a pair of packhorses. They also loaded up newspapers, a rake, and a sack of flour to drop off at various homesteads. "Is that part of your job?" Jarrett asked.

  "No, but it eases the part that is," Samuel answered. "As far as homesteaders are concerned, I'm the law, which, alone, isn't always so welcome."

  Samuel saddled his riding horse, a large sorrel gelding named Thistle, and Jarrett rounded up a little black mare for himself. She was the last horse remaining in the corral.

  By then Boone was circling, eager to get going, and when the two brothers finally were ready, the dog led off, his head up and his nose taking in all the scents on the early morning air.

  Jarrett thought he knew just how Boone felt. He was pretty excited himself.

  ***

  They rode first to a lookout tree on a high point a couple of miles from the ranger station. It was just boards nailed to the trunk of a ponderosa pine to make a ladder. Jarrett held the animals while Samuel climbed up. "No new smokes that I can see," he called down, sounding satisfied.

  From there they put in ten miles before lunch, stopping to chop brush and roll boulders from the trail. They delivered some of the items they'd brought settlers, and at one place they stopped long enough to help a homesteading couple lift a heavy wheel onto a wagon axle.

  "That part of earning your welcome, too?" Jarrett kidded as they rode away.

  "Just turnabout," Samuel answered. "Come a fire, I'll need all the neighborhood men to help fight it."

  ***

  After lunch came more of the same, except that one of their stops was at a hard-rock mine. Samuel asked the owner how he was fixed for handling fires. "I have my men taking turns on fire watch," the owner answered, passing Jarrett and Samuel mugs of boiled coffee. "And a good thing. Just yesterday we stopped a blaze that might have turned nasty."

  "Lightning strike?" Samuel asked.

  "Picnickers on a fishing outing, if you can believe that. You ask me, Idaho ought to pass a law against fools." They all laughed, and the mine owner took the lid off a tin box. "Poundcake?"

  "Thanks," Samuel said. "My brother here's been questioning the point of my patrol work. Now he can see it's 'cause I get fed better than I eat at home. Right, Jarrett?" Then Samuel turned serious again. "You have a plan in case wildfire comes this way?"

  "Besides fighting it?"

  "If you got trapped," Samuel answered. "Not that I expect it to happen. I'm just asking, What if?"

  "I suppose the mine tunnel would give shelter," the man said, glancing toward the timbered adit where Boone had settled in a patch of damp shade. "I doubt a fire would burn so hot we couldn't survive in there."

  "Be hard to imagine one," Samuel agreed.

  ***

  As they rode away side by side, Jarrett asked his brother, "How come you wanted him to have an escape plan if you didn't think he'd need one?"

  "Because worst-case planning never hurts, and out here it just might save your life."

  "You know that from experience?" Jarrett asked. Then, looking sideways, he saw Samuel's eyes narrow as though at some painful thought, and he wished he hadn't spoken.

  "I know it from friends who never learned." Leaning forward in his saddle, Samuel turned to look at Jarrett more directly. "You promise me you'll remember that. If you ever do get in a firefight, the first thing you do is figure out how you'll get out if things go bad."

  "Sure," Jarrett answered, a little scared by the intensity in his brother's voice.

  Samuel faced ahead again. "Because folks don't, and that's when they get killed. You got to think what a fire might do. If it's likely to run up a hill or stall at a ridgeline. If it's reaching into a canyon that can turn into an inferno in minutes. And then you got to see you don't get caught."

  Jarrett absently wound the ends of his mare's reins around the saddle pommel, unwound them, and finally blurted out, "That doesn't sound very brave."

  "And that's what you're here for?" Samuel asked. "To prove how brave you are?"

  "No, I—"

  "Because anybody who works for me better understand they take care of their men first, themselves next, and the forests last. And I say that even though I love these forests better than anything in the world."

  The talk embarrassed Jarrett, both how he'd sounded shallow and how Samuel had exposed his feelings, and he was glad when they came on a downed tree big enough to demand their attention. Lying right across the trail, it was too heavy to move, so Samuel decided they'd use their two-man crosscut saw to go through it twice. "Then we can push away the middle section."

  "Why don't we ride around?" Jarrett asked, halfway into the first cut. His saw arm was tiring, and he reached down to pet Boone while he rested it. "I think we could get through."

  "Maybe," Samuel answered, "but the forest is thick enough in here that a heavily loaded pack string would have trouble. The main reason to maintain trails is so when fire breaks out, we can move men and supplies around quickly."

  They were into the second cut when Samuel suddenly asked, "So, just why did you decide to leave Avery?"

  "I messed up a job I had spotting fires for the railroad."

  "So bad they wouldn't give you another chance?"

  "Probably not, and anyway, I wouldn't have taken it. Maybe you'll laugh, but I wanted to do more to take care of the woods than just walk the train tracks and look for cigar butts. That's why I figured to take a fire-fighting job, only then I read your message and sort of detoured..." Jarrett's voice trailed off.

  "I'm not laughing," Samuel replied, "although when it comes to fighting forest fires, it's hard to beat putting out a fire before it gets a decent start"

  "So you don't think I was right to leave?" Jarrett asked, smarting at how, no matter what he said, Samuel seemed to find some way to twist it into a mistake that needed correcting. It was like talking with Pop, although at least Samuel's lessons made some sense. Jarrett pulled on his end of the saw. "Are we going to get this job done?"

  When the saw had traveled its length, Samuel drew back his end. "I imagine the railroad will survive without you," he answered. "But it does worry me you left Pop by himself."

  It was the last thing Jarrett expected to be faulted on. "Me! You're the one who left first. You left all of us."

  "Maybe I was wrong."

  Jarrett struggled to keep his voice from shaking. "That's fine for you to say, now that you've done what you wanted these last dozen years. Anyway, Pop wants to be alone. He told me not to come back."

  "He might not have meant it."

  "I tell you, he doesn't care!" Jarrett jerked his end of the saw so savagely that the blade twisted and stuck. "Right now he's probably saying good riddance to me, just like he says it about you." Jarrett looked up quickly and saw that Samuel's face had flushed scarlet. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "The way I see it," Samuel said, "I didn't walk out on an aging man who might have needed me. You did."

  Jarrett concentrated on working the saw blade free. "I doubt the day comes Pop will ever need anyone. If you don't want me here, just say so, but don't think I'll go back to Avery, because I won't."

  ***

  Samuel brought the matter up only once more, late in the afternoon during his first check of a drainage that had recently been added to the area he was supposed to look after. He said, "I've no right to tell you what to do outside your job here, if that's what it turns into. As long as you do your work right, you're welcome to stay."

  He pulled up Thistle and motioned Jarrett to halt. Boone had stopped dead center in the trail, his whole being on full alert.

 
"What is it, boy?" Samuel asked. He sniffed. "Jarrett, you smell scorching?"

  "I don't smell anything different from the smoke that's been with us all day," Jarrett answered.

  Samuel lightly tugged Thistle's reins to the right. "I think it's coming from the other side of that ridge."

  They crested a low rise and found themselves above an expanse of gravel. Below it, blackened undergrowth stretched down to a small stream. Leaving Thistle for Jarrett to hold, Samuel walked down to explore the bum, burrowing into it with his hands, smelling and frowning. "Still warm, but I didn't find hot spots," he said, coming back.

  Jarrett didn't understand why his brother seemed angry instead of relieved that the fire was out "Then what's the matter?"

  "Someone set this."

  "How can you tell?"

  "By the shape of it. By those two firebreaks somebody cut" Samuel swung into his saddle and snapped the reins. "Come on."

  Homestead off Placer Creek

  July 16, Afternoon

  Lizbeth spotted a dog and two riders approaching. The late afternoon sun glinted off a shiny badge on the larger one's shirt. "Celia," she said, "there's a ranger coming." The words were the first she'd spoken to her aunt since they'd returned to the house.

  "You must be wrong," Celia said, going to the window. "Oh, goodness. Do you think they found our burn?" She hurried out to reach the newcomers before they could get off their horses, and Lizbeth, following on her heels, heard her aunt say, "We've already been checked for this year. Another ranger came through in the spring and saw we were here doing our six months and a day."

  "And you are...?"

  Celia answered, "I am Mrs. Tom Whitcomb."

  "Then I reckon I need to see Mr. Whitcomb," the ranger said.

  "I'm a widow. If you have a question about this land, you may take it up with me."

  Why in the world, Lizbeth wondered,does Cel have to get so high-and-mighty? She's just going to make matters worse. Lizbeth moved around to where she could give her aunt a private poke in the back.

  Uninvited, the ranger got down off his horse. The person with him—a boy who looked about Lizbeth's age—dismounted also, and tied his mare and two packhorses to a corral rail. Lizbeth saw him glance swiftly about.

  "Looks like somebody's been burning brush," the ranger said. "That you folks?"

  "Only some light burning," Celia answered, making it sound like an activity everybody just naturally did.

  "Season's past for that."

  "Is it?"

  Lizbeth didn't dare look at her aunt, since she knew quite well Celia had been aware of that fact.

  "You need a permit to bum, and they're not issued for the middle of the summer."

  The ranger was sounding a lot more reasonable than his unflinching expression said he wanted to be, Lizbeth thought, and she hoped her aunt would have the sense not to argue.

  "And just who decides the permit period?" Celia demanded. "You?"

  "The Forest Service," the ranger answered. The back of his neck had turned red. "And the state."

  "And just who is that? Some bureaucrat who doesn't own a stick of timber? I suppose you don't own any either, because if you cared two figs about these woods, you'd see they need protecting!"

  Cel Lizbeth wanted to say, shut up before he slaps a fine on us or hauls us off to jail.

  She suddenly wondered if the ranger might even have the power to take away Celia's land claim, if she broke the rules. She cast about for a way to stop her aunt before Celia pushed him into a corner he'd have to fight out of.

  A little desperately, extending her hand to the ranger's companion, she said, "I'm Lizbeth, Mrs. Whitcomb's niece. We've got a fresh berry pie and coffee in the house. Would you and the ranger like some?"

  Maybe it sounded silly, given the hard words just spoken, but it was all she could think of. And it did startle the others into silence.

  "Sure, thanks," the boy finally managed, though he stared at her hand another long moment before apparently figuring out he was supposed to shake it. "Pie and coffee would be great. Great." He paused. "I'm Jarrett," he added. "Jarrett Logan. I'm Ranger Logan's brother. That's him. Ranger Logan. Samuel. My brother."

  ***

  Leading the others inside, Lizbeth tried to see the cabin through the Logan brothers' eyes. She was so used to it that most of the time she didn't notice how cramped it was. Now she wished there was more than one room, so at least the pole bed she and Celia shared would be out of sight.

  And she wished that the platform they had hanging on wires from the roof was higher up, so Ranger Logan and Jarrett wouldn't have to duck to avoid hitting their heads. And that all their food, right down to their box of tea bags, wasn't stuck away up there, calling attention to how those wires were a defense against mice and pack rats.

  Their canary, Billie, who'd been out of his cage and splashing in a small bath dish, got scared by the sight of strangers and flew up toward the rafters, scattering water and startling Ranger Logan into stepping backward without ducking. The back of his head sent the platform swinging, and Celia's box of watercolors slid off. Paint tubes rolled across the floor.

  "I'll get them," she and Ranger Logan both said.

  "Do you paint?" he asked, as Celia said, "They're just my paints."

  Lizbeth served the pie while Celia poured coffee and Ranger Logan walked around looking at the watercolor pictures pinned up wherever there was wall space. Lizbeth thought they were the prettiest, warmest things in the cabin, even if they were just copies from magazines, and for Celia's sake, she was glad he was giving them attention.

  "You painted these, Mrs. Whitcomb?" he asked. And when Celia nodded, he said, "They're very nice."

  "Thank you," Celia said, neither her stiff voice nor her straight back unbending one little bit. As soon as everyone was sitting down, she went back to the subject of brush burning. Or, rather, to the reason she wanted it done.

  "I have a hundred-sixty acres of land to protect," she said, ignoring Lizbeth's kick under the table. "Is the Forest Service going to take care of it for me?"

  "We're doing the best we can to keep the fire danger down," Ranger Logan answered.

  "But if a fire comes through, are you going to put it out for me?"

  "I can't promise that."

  "Or get the Forest Service to pay me for lost timber?"

  Lizbeth saw Jarrett start to smile as though he thought Celia might be making a joke. Lizbeth knew better, and the ranger's answering voice was unyielding. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't let you do any burning. Not now. Not until the rains come this fall."

  "And by then I won't need to!" Celia threw up her hands. "All right. I won't do any more brush burning right now. But if you think I'm going to let fire take out my timber, you've got another think coming!"

  They sounded like brave words, but Lizbeth caught the glances the ranger and his brother exchanged.Two women alone...

  "Look," Lizbeth said, "tell us what we can do. We can't lose this place."

  "There's really not much," Ranger Logan said. "Clear trees away from the house..."

  Celia interrupted him. "It's not the house I care about!"

  "Be careful of cooking fires..."

  She cut him off. "That's pap. I need real ideas. Would clearing firebreaks around our place help?"

  "A firebreak around a hundred-sixty acres?" the ranger asked incredulously. "Mrs. Whitcomb, to cut a swath even a few feet wide—do you have any idea how much work that would be?"

  "Lizbeth and I will do what we have to," Celia said, her voice snapping.

  "Well, I can guarantee you can't do that," Ranger Logan snapped back.

  Their arguing embarrassed Lizbeth, and she could see it was making the ranger's brother want to bolt. "Jarrett," she said, "would you like to see the rest of our place?"

  ***

  They returned to the corral, where Lizbeth whistled for Trenton and Philly to come and be admired. "They're sweet horses," Lizbeth said. "Though they're ge
tting older, of course. One of these days I'd like to build them a proper barn to replace that open shelter they've got."

  "Do you have neighbors to help?" Jarrett asked.

  "I can build it myself."

  "Including lifting the logs?"

  "I know how to rig a pulley."

  That made him grin. "Is there anything you and your aunt can't do?"

  "Well, we can't agree on much," Lizbeth said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she was going to say them. She'd have stopped there, if it weren't for how Jarrett was waiting, as though he was really interested in hearing whatever she might say. "I mean," she continued, "Cel and I want different things. She wants to sell the timber off this place and get out, and I want to stay."

  She turned to face him, letting her words tumble out "I can't imagine anyplace in the world would be as nice as this is right here, and I'll die if I have to leave." She stopped short, mortified she'd paraded her feelings that way.

  "I know what you mean," Jarrett said. "I wouldn't want to leave either, if this was my place."

  ***

  Later on, when Lizbeth was lying beside her aunt in the pole bed, listening to an owl and coyotes and knowing her aunt was awake, too, she said, "Cel, you could have been a little nicer. The ranger was just doing his job."

  "Which he gets paid for doing."

  "They were the first visitors we've had since that other ranger came through in the spring. I'd like to see them again."

  "They weren't visitors, Lizbeth. You were forward to invite them inside."

  "No, I was polite. Or have you forgotten what that means?"

  "Don't be fresh," Celia said.

  "You're the one that was fresh." Lizbeth turned her head away. "I bet they don't come back."

  Washington State

  July 23, Afternoon

  Seth peeled carrots while Abel poked among the slatted wooden crates lining the walls of the company cook tent. Cook himself had taken off after ordering them to prepare stew vegetables enough for fifty men. So there'd be no misunderstanding how many vegetables that was, Cook had stacked up the crates he wanted done. The two of potatoes, the one of onions. "And find the canned tomatoes, too," he'd said.