786 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



FIRES 



By Bristow Adams 



^r^x, 



The District Forester Speaks: 



I wish I were out with the fellows — 



Just my luck to be stuck here in town ; 

 But I've got to sit tight when I'd heap rather fight 



To help keep these brush blazes down, 

 I'm sick of this end of the business. 



The ring of the quenilous phone, — 

 The telegrams, too, of flames breaking anew 



While I have to stand it alone, 



And I'll own 



It's hell to be watching alone. 



There's Bill — he's gone out with the pack train. 



And Jim — he's to rustle the grub 

 For the men on the line, and he's doing it fine 



While I'm sitting here like a dub; • 

 The fellows are working like demons. 



They're scorched and they're blistered — no less. 

 While I stay and chafe and am damnably safe 



When I'd like to mix up in the mess; 



Well, I guess! 



That the buck-brush ablaze is a mess ! 



In a swivel chair — well, it's the limit — 



With the rest in the thick of the fight 

 With their limgs all a-choke with the dust and 

 the smoke. 



And sweat in their eyes day and night ; 

 But I've got to look out for the labor — 



This calling for troops makes me sick ; 

 There's none seems to know if the troops ought 

 to go; 



Neither begging nor blarney nor kick 



Brings 'em quick. 



So it's no use to blarney or kick. 



