Munroe Kirk
Rick Dale, A Story of the Northwest Coast

CHAPTER XXXV
A GANG OF FRIENDLY LOGGERS

A perfect day of early September was drawing to its close, and the gang of loggers belonging to Camp No. 10 of the Northwest Lumber Company, which operated in the vast timber belt clothing the northern flanks of Mount Rainier, were about to knock off work. From earliest morning the stately forest, sweet-scented with the odors of resin, freshly cut cedar, and crushed ferns, had resounded with their shouts and laughter, the ring of their axes, the steady swish of saws, and the crash of falling trees. To one familiar only with Eastern logging, where summer is a time of idleness, and everything depends on the snows of winter, followed by the high waters of spring, the different methods of these Northwestern woodsmen would be matters of constant surprise. Their work goes on without a pause from year's end to year's end. There is no hauling on sleds, no vast accumulations of logs on the ice of rivers or lakes, no river driving, no mighty jams to be cleared at imminent risk of life and limb – nothing that is customary in the East. Even the mode of cutting down trees is different.

The choppers – or "fallers," as they are called in the Northwest – do not work, as do their brethren of Maine or Wisconsin, from the ground, wielding their axes first on one side and then on the other until the tree falls. The girth of the mighty firs and cedars of that country is so great at ordinary chopping height that two men working in that way would not bring down more than two trees in a day, instead of the ten or a dozen required of them. So, by means of what are known as "spring-boards," they gain a height of eight or ten feet, and then begin operations.

The ingenious contrivances that enable them to do this are narrow boards of tough vine maple, five or six feet long, and about one foot wide. Each is armed at its inner end with a sharp steel spur affixed to its upper side. This end being thrust into a notch opened in the tree some four feet below where the cut is to be made, the weight of a man on its outer end causes the spur to bite deep into the wood, and to hold the board firmly in place.

Having determined the direction in which the tree shall fall, and fixed their spring-boards accordingly, two "fallers" mount them, and chop out a deep under cut on the side that is to lie undermost. They work with double-bitted or two-edged axes, and can so truly guide the fall by means of the under cut that they are willing to set a stake one hundred feet away and guarantee that the descending trunk shall drive it into the ground. With the under cut chopped out to their satisfaction, they remove their spring-boards to the opposite side, and finish the task with a long, two-handled, coarse-toothed saw.

As the mighty tree yields up its life and comes to the ground with a grand, far-echoing crash, it is set upon by "buckers" (who saw its great trunk into thirty-foot lengths), barkers, rigging-slingers, hand-skidders, and teamsters, whose splendid horses, aided by tackle of iron blocks and length of wire-rope, drag it out to the "skid-road." This is a cleared and rudely graded track, set with heavy cross-ties, over which the logs may slide, and it is provided with wire cables, whose half-mile lengths are operated by stationary engines. By this means "turns" of five or six of the huge logs, chained one behind the other, are hauled down the winding skid-road through gulch and valley, to a distant railway landing. There they are loaded on a long train of heavy flat cars that departs every night for the mills on Puget Sound. Here the sawed lumber is run aboard waiting ships, and sent in them to all ports on both shores of the Pacific.

So wastefully extravagant are the lumbermen of Washington that only the finest trees are cut, and only that portion of the trunk which is free from limbs is made into logs. All the remainder, or nearly half of each tree, is left on the ground where it fell. Here it slowly decays, or, turned into tinder, catches fire from some chance spark and leaps into a sea of flame that sweeps resistlessly through the forest, destroying in one day more timber than has been cut in a year.

Thus, while thoughtless and ignorant persons declare the timber supply of the Northwest to be inexhaustible, others, who have carefully studied the subject, do not hesitate to say that within fifty years, at the present rate of reckless destruction, the magnificent forests of Washington will have disappeared forever.

Such questions were far from troubling the light-hearted gang of loggers whom we have just discovered in the act of quitting work for the day. If any one of them were to be asked how long he thought the noble forests from which he earned a livelihood would last, he would answer:

"Oh, I don't know and don't care. They will last as long as I do, and that's long enough for me."

They were laughing and joking, lighting their pipes, picking up tools, and beginning to straggle towards the road that led to camp, when suddenly big Buck Ranlet, the head "faller," who was keener of hearing than any of his mates, called out:

"Hush up, fellows, and listen! I thought I heard a yell off there in the timber."

In the silence that followed they all heard a cry, faint and distant, but so filled with distress that there was no mistaking its import.

"There's surely somebody in trouble!" cried Ranlet. "Lost like as not. Anyway, they are calling to us for help, and we can't go back on 'em. So come on, men. You teamsters stay here with your horses, and give us a yell every now and then, so we can come straight back; for even we don't want to fool round much in these woods after dark. Hello, you out there! Locate yourselves!"

"Hello! Help!" came back faintly but clearly.

"All right! We're coming! Cheer up!"

So the calling and answering was continued for nearly ten minutes, while the rescuing party, full of curiosity and good-will, plunged through the gathering gloom, over logs and rocks, through beds of tall ferns and banks of moss, in which they sank above their ankles, until they came at length to those whom they were seeking – two lads, one standing and calling to them, the other lying silent and motionless, where he had fallen in a dead faint from utter exhaustion.

"You see," explained Alaric, apologetically, half sobbing with joy at finding himself once more surrounded by friendly faces, "he has been very ill, and we've had a hard day, with nothing to eat. So he gave out. I should have too, but just then I heard the sound of chopping, and knew the light was shining, and – and – " Here the poor tired lad broke down, sobbing hysterically, and trying to laugh at the same time.

"There! there, son!" exclaimed Buck Ranlet, soothingly, but with a suspicious huskiness in his voice. "Brace up, and forget your troubles as quick as you can; for they're all over now, and you sha'n't go hungry much longer. But where did you say you came from?"

"The top of the mountain."

"Not down the north side?"

"Yes."

"Great Scott! you are the first ever did it, then. How long have you been on the way?"

"I don't know exactly, but something over a month."

"The poor chap's mind is wandering," said the big man to one of his companions; "for no one ever came down the north side alive, and no one could spend a whole month doing it, anyway. I've often heard, though, that folks went crazy when they got lost in the woods."

The men took turns, two at a time, in carrying Bonny, and Buck Ranlet himself assisted Alaric, until, guided by the shouts of the teamsters, they reached the point from which they had started.

By this time Bonny had regained consciousness, and was wondering, in a dazed fashion, what had happened. "Is it all right, Rick?" he asked, as his comrade bent anxiously over him.

"Yes, old man, it's all right; and the light I told you of is shining bright and clear at last."

"Queer, isn't it, how the poor lad's mind wanders?" remarked Ranlet to one of the men. "He thinks he sees a bright light, while I'll swear no one has so much as struck a match. We must hustle, now, and get 'em to camp. Do you think you feel strong enough to set straddle of a horse, son?" he asked of Alaric.

"Yes, indeed," answered the boy, cheerfully. "I feel strong enough for anything now."

"Good for you! That's the talk! Give us a foot and let me h'ist you up. Why, lad, you're mighty nigh barefooted! No wonder you didn't find the walking good. Here, Dick, you lead the horse, while I ride Sal-lal and carry the little chap."

Thus saying, the big man vaulted to the back of the other horse, and, reaching down, lifted Bonny up in front of him as though he had been a child.

Camp was a mile or more away, and as the brawny loggers escorted their unexpected guests to it down the winding skid-road, they eagerly discussed the strange event that had so suddenly broken the monotony of their lives, though, with a kind consideration, they refrained from asking Alaric any more questions just then.

"Hurry on, some of you fellows," shouted Ranlet, "and light up my shack, for these chaps are going to bunk in with me to-night. I claim 'em on account of being the first to hear 'em, you know. Start a fire in the square, too, so's the place will look cheerful."

No one will ever know how cheerful and home-like and altogether delightful that logging camp did look to our poor lads after their long and terrible experience of the wilderness, for they could never afterwards find words to express what they felt on coming out of the darkness into its glowing firelight and hearty welcome.

"Stand back, men, and give us a show!" shouted Ranlet, as they drew up before his own little "shack," built of split cedar boards. "This isn't any funeral; same time it ain't no circus parade, and we want to get in out of the cold."

The entire population of the camp, including the cook and his assistants, the blacksmith with his helper, and the stable-boys, as well as the logging gang, were gathered, full of curiosity to witness the strange arrival. Besides these there were Linton, the boss, with his wife, who was the only woman in that section of country. Her pity was instantly aroused for Bonny, and when he had been tenderly placed in Buck Ranlet's own bunk, she insisted on being allowed to feed and care for him. She would gladly have done the same for Alaric, but he protested that he was perfectly well able to feed himself, and was only longing for the chance.

"Of course you are, lad!" cried the big "faller," heartily, "and you sha'n't go hungry a minute longer. So just you come on with me and the rest of the gang over to Delmonico's."

The place thus designated was a low but spacious building of logs, containing the camp kitchen and mess-room. Ranlet sat at the head of the long table, built of hewn cedar slabs, and laden with smoking dishes. Alaric was given the place of honor at his right hand, and the rest of the rough, hearty crowd ranged themselves on rude benches at either side.

The plates and bowls were of tin; the knives, forks, and spoons were iron; but how luxurious it all seemed to the guest of the occasion! How wonderfully good everything tasted, and how the big man beside him heaped his plate with pork and beans, potatoes swimming in gravy, boiled cabbage, fresh bread cut in slices two inches thick, and actually butter to spread on it! After these came a huge pan of crullers and dozens of dried-apple pies.

How anxiously the men watched him eat, how often they pushed the tin can of brown sugar towards him to make sure that his bowl of milkless tea should be sufficiently sweetened, and how pleased they were when he passed his plate for a second helping of pie!

"You'll do, lad; you'll do!" shouted Buck Ranlet, delighted at this evidence that the camp cookery was appreciated. "You've been brought up right, and taught to know a good thing when you see it. I can tell by the way you eat."

After supper Alaric was conducted to a blanket-covered bench near the big fire outside, and allowed to relate the outline of his story to an audience that listened with intense interest, and then he was put to bed beside Bonny, who was already fast asleep. When Buck Ranlet picked up his guest's coat, that had fallen to the floor, and a baseball rolled from one of its pockets, the big logger exclaimed, softly:

"Bless the lad! He's a genuine out-and-out boy, after all! To think of his travelling through the mountains with no outfit but a baseball! If that isn't boy all over, then I don't know!"

CHAPTER XXXVI
IN A NORTHWEST LOGGING CAMP

The next day being Sunday, the camp lay abed so late that when Alaric awoke from his long night of dreamless sleep the sun was more than an hour high, and streaming full into the open doorway of Buck Ranlet's shack. For nearly a minute the boy lay motionless, striving to recall what had happened and where he was. Then, as it all came to him, and he realized that he had escaped from the mountain, with its terrors, its cold, and its hunger, and had reached a place of safety, good-will, and plenty, he heaved a deep sigh of content. His sigh was echoed by another close beside him, and then Bonny's voice said:

"I'm so glad you are awake, Rick, for I want you to tell me all about it. I've been trying to puzzle it out for myself, but can't be really sure whether I know anything about last night or only dreamed it all. Didn't somebody get us something to eat?"

"I should say they did!" rejoined Alaric. "And not only something to eat, but one of the finest suppers I ever sat down to. Don't you remember the baked beans, and the apple-pie, and – Oh no, I forgot; you weren't there; and, by-the-way, how do you feel this morning?"

"Fine as a fiddle," replied Bonny, briskly; "and all ready for those baked beans and pie; for somehow I don't seem to remember having anything so good as those."

"I don't believe you did," laughed Alaric, springing from the bunk as he spoke; "for I'm afraid they only gave you gruel and soup, or tea and toast."

"Then no wonder I'm hungry," said Bonny, indignantly, as he too began to dress, "and no wonder I want beans and things. But, I say, Rick, what a tough-looking specimen you are, anyway!"

"I hope I'm not so tough-looking as you," retorted the other, "for you'd scare a scarecrow."

Then the two boys scanned each other's appearance with dismay. How could they ever venture outside and among people in the tattered, soiled, and fluttering garments which were their sole possessions in the way of clothing? Even their boots had worn away, until there was little left of them but the uppers. Their hats had been lost during their flight through the forest, their hair was long and unkempt, while their coats and trousers were so rent and torn that the wonder was how they ever held together. As they realized how utterly disreputable they did look, both boys began to laugh; for they were too light-hearted that morning to remain long cast down over trifles like personal appearance. At this sound of merriment Buck Ranlet's good-humored face, covered with lather, appeared in the doorway, and at sight of the ragged lads he too joined in their laughter.

"You are tramps, that's a fact!" he cried. "Toughest kind, too; such as I'd never dared take in if I'd seen you by a good light. Never mind, though," he added, consolingly; "looks are mighty easy altered, and after breakfast we'll fix you up in such style that you won't recognize yourselves."

Bonny had baked beans and pie that morning as well as Alaric, for the fare at that logger's mess-table, bountiful as it was, never varied. After breakfast the boys found their first chance to take a good look at the camp, which consisted of nearly twenty buildings, set in the form of a square beside the skid-road, in a clearing filled with tall stumps of giant firs and mammoth cedars. The two largest buildings were the combined mess-hall and kitchen and the sleeping-quarters, containing tiers of bunks, one for each man employed. Then came the store, which held a small stock of clothing, boots, tobacco, pipes, knives, and other miscellaneous articles. Close beside it stood Mr. Linton's house, built of squared logs. In its windows both curtains and a few potted plants showed that here dwelt the only woman of the camp. The blacksmith-shop, engine-house, close beside the skid-road, and the stables beyond completed the list of the company's buildings. All the others were little single-room shacks, built in leisure moments by such of the men as preferred having something in the shape of a house to sleeping in the public dormitory.

These tiny dwellings were constructed of sweet-smelling cedar boards, split from splendid great logs, absolutely straight-grained and free from knots. Walls, roof, floor, and rude furniture were all made of the same beautiful wood. Some of the shacks had stone chimneys roughly plastered with clay, others boasted small porches, and one or two had both. Buck Ranlet's had the largest porch of any, with the added adornment of climbing vines. This porch also contained seats, and was considered very elegant; but every one knew that the head "faller" was engaged to be married to a girl "back East," and said that was the reason he had built so fine a house. Having little else to amuse them, the men who put up these shacks labored over them with as much pleasure as so many boys with their cubby-houses.

Many of the men were anxious to hear a more detailed account of our lads' recent adventures, but Buck Ranlet said:

"Call round this afternoon. We've got something else on hand just now."

When they returned to his picturesque little dwelling the big man led the way inside, closed the door, and said:

"Now, lads, sit down, and let's talk business. What do you propose to do next?"

"I don't think we know," responded Alaric.

"Do you want to go to Tacoma or Seattle?"

"I don't know why we should. We haven't any friends in either place, nor any money to live on while we look for work."

"None at all?"

"Not one cent. There's a month's wages due us from the Frenchman who hired us to go up the mountain, but I suppose he has left this part of the country long ago."

"I suppose he has; and you certainly are playing to such hard luck that I don't see as you can do any better than stay right here. If you are willing to work at whatever offers, I shouldn't wonder if the boss could find something for you to do. At any rate, he might give you a chance to earn a suit of clothes, and feed you while you were doing it."

"I think we'd be only too glad to stay here and work," replied Alaric – "wouldn't we, Bonny?"

"Yes, I think we would, only I hope we can earn some money. I've worked without wages so long now that it is growing very monotonous."

"Well, I'll tell you what," said Ranlet: "You two stay right here while I go over and see the boss."

A few minutes later the big man returned with beaming face, and announced that Mr. Linton had consented to take them both on trial, and had promised to find something for them to do in the morning. Moreover, they were to go down to the store at once, pick out the things they needed, and have them charged to their account.

All this Buck Ranlet told them; but he did not add that he had been obliged to pledge his own wages for whatever bill they should run up at the store, in case they should fail to work it out. The big-hearted "faller" was willing to do this, for he had taken a great fancy to the lads, and especially to Alaric. "That chap may be poor," he said, "and I reckon he is; but he's honest – so are they both, for that matter; and when a boy is honest, he can't help showing it in his face." These preliminaries being happily settled, he said, "Now let's get right down to business; and the first thing to be done is to let me cut your hair before you buy any hats."

The boys agreeing that this was necessary, the operation was performed with neatness and despatch; for the big "faller" was equally expert at cutting hair or trees.

Then they went to the store, where Alaric and Bonny selected complete outfits of coarse but serviceable clothing, including hats and boots, to the amount of fifteen dollars each.

"Now for a scrub," suggested Ranlet; "and I reckon I need one as much as you do." With this he led his protégés to a quiet pool in the creek just back of camp.

When at noon the boys presented themselves at the mess-room door, so magical was the transformation effected by shears, soap and water, and their new clothing, that not a man in the place recognized them, and they had to be reintroduced to the whole jovial crowd, greatly to Buck Ranlet's delight. By a very natural mistake he introduced Alaric, whom he had only heard called "Rick," as Mr. Richard Dale, and the boy did not find an opportunity for correcting the error just then.

Later in the day, however, when most of the camp population were gathered in front of Ranlet's shack listening with great interest to the lads' account of their recent experiences, one of them addressed him as "Richard," whereupon he explained that his name was not Richard, but Alaric.

"Alaric?" quoth Buck Ranlet; "that's a queer name, and one I never heard before. It's a strong-sounding name too, and one that just fits such a hearty, active young fellow as you. I should pick out an Alaric every time for the kind of a chap to come tumbling down a mountain-side where no one had ever been before. But where did your folks find the name, son?"

"I'll tell you," replied Alaric, flushing with pleasure at hearing that said of him for which he had secretly longed ever since he could remember; "but first I want to say that it was Bonny Brooks who showed me how to come down the mountain, and but for him I should certainly have perished up there in the snow."

"Hold on!" cried Bonny. "Gentlemen, I assure you that but for Rick Dale I should have had the perishing contract all in my own hands."

"I expect you are a well-mated team," laughed Ranlet, "and I am willing to admit that for whatever comes tumbling down a mountain there couldn't be a better name than Bonny Brooks. But now let's have the yarn."

So Alaric told them all he could remember of the mighty Visigoth who invaded Italy at the head of his barbarian host, became master of the world by conquering Rome when the Eternal City was at the height of its magnificence, and whose tomb was built in the bed of a river temporarily turned aside for the purpose.

The rough audience grouped about him listened to the tale of a long-ago hero with flattering interest, and when it was ended declared it to be a rattling good yarn, at the same time begging for more of the same kind. Alaric's head was crammed with such stories, for he had always delighted in them, and now he was only too glad of an opportunity to repay in some measure the kindly hospitality of the camp. So for an hour or more he related legends of Old World history, and still older mythology, all of which were as new to his hearers as though now told for the first time. Finally he paused, covered with confusion at finding Mr. and Mrs. Linton standing among his auditors, and waiting for a chance to invite him and Bonny to tea.

From that time forth Alaric's position as storyteller was established, and there was rarely an evening during his stay in the camp, where books were almost unknown, that he was not called upon to entertain an interested group gathered about its after-supper open-air fire.

Mr. Linton questioned the boys closely as to their capacity for work while they were at tea with him, and finally said: "I think I can find places for both of you, if you are willing to work for one dollar a day. You, Brooks, I shall let 'tend store and help me with my accounts until your arm gets stronger, while I think I shall place your friend in charge of one of the hump-durgins."

"What is that, sir?" asked Alaric.

"What's what?"

"A hump-durgin."

"Oh! Don't you know? Well, you'll find out to-morrow."