IN THE HILLS OF OREGON 



727 



unlucky monster crashes down the 

 mountain side ; no blaze can be seen 

 save that of the sun which, with 

 dimmed brightness, is trying to pierce 

 the pall of cold smoke. Why is the 

 Forest Ranger so busy instructing his 

 subalterns — the foremen — to take their 

 squads to certain strategic points and 

 renew the attack on an enemy which 

 seems dead? 



Let us go with the Ranger as he 

 surveys the field, and disposes his 

 forces where they can best wage the 

 battle. A closer examination of the 

 fire-line shows that the enemy is not 

 dead but only resting and preparing to 

 take up the fight when the time is more 

 opportune for its successful forward 

 march. Observe that line of smoke near 

 the ground, creeping stealthily up the 

 hill, eating its way through decayed 

 vegetation, and occasionally sending a 

 sentinel blaze up a pitchy pine tree to 

 spy on the laborers. Let us stay and 

 watch this wary destroyer, as it gains 

 confidence from the heat of mid-day, 

 hop up into a clump of manzanita brush 

 and crackle with delight. 



Just in front of it, the hobo, pressed 

 into service, wields a mattock by the 

 side of a white-handed salesman, who 

 had come to the wilds for a fishing trip. 

 A little farther is the stalwart w^oods- 

 man, with muscles of iron, swinging 

 one end of a cross-cut saw, while at the 

 other end, the bare head of a college 

 man is in evidence. Why are these men 

 toiling so diligently to construct a 

 trench and clear out an alley in the 

 underbrush ? 



Hear that roar down the hill ! The 

 hot winds from the valley are scurry- 

 ing to the cool deep woods ; the blaze in 

 the manzanita, with a crash through 

 the greasewood, leaps to the canopy- 

 like tops of the conifers and makes for 

 the ridge in leaps and bounds. It comes 

 with a shriek and a crash. Great walls 

 of flame consume the undergrowth and 

 set fire to the dead snags and green 

 timber alike. Clouds of sparks, blown 

 from the snags by a fierce gale, soar 

 high into the air. On every hand new 

 fires are springing up. The men work 



like demons, but to no avail. With an 

 impetuous rush, the blazing whirlwind 

 crosses their trench, and they must 

 drop back. 



Do they give up the battle as lost? 

 Follow them through the night, as led 

 by the Ranger and strengthened by the 

 night crew, they encircle the fire with 

 a new trench after it has become quiet 

 in the evening. Here the enemy is 

 combatted with his own weapon, when 

 a back-fire started from the new trench 

 meets the main advance, leaving noth- 

 ing for it to burn. However, the task 

 is not yet done, the victory is not yet 

 won, for the days are hot and the air 

 full of smoke and cinders, emitted from 

 smoldering wooden smoke-stacks that 

 are w^atching for an opportunity to hurl 

 their incendiary pillagers into the vir- 

 gin timber, and start afresh the path 

 of devastation. By day and by night 

 the men, with vigilant eye, patrol the 

 firing line keeping the enemy at bay, 

 while day by day the atmosphere grows 

 more like that of the Stygian pit, so 

 that life becomes a horrible nightmare 

 of heat, smoke, burns and toil. 



But listen ! Whence comes that long, 

 low rumble? Such a rumble as is 

 heard when an enormous herd of cat- 

 tle is approaching, on the plains. Note 

 how the smoke to the southeast has 

 given way to a dark, lowering cloud. 

 At sight of this, the men drop their 

 tools and make a dash for the lower, 

 open country, hurried on by a cool, 

 damp wind which increases to hurri- 

 cane speed by the time they reach the 

 clearing. Here the scattered trees groan 

 and hiss as their umbrella tops sweep 

 toward the ground ; while from the un- 

 cut hill sides comes a tumult as of a 

 storm at sea, drowning all other sounds 

 save the crash of trees, weakened by 

 fire, dashing to the earth with a jolt. 

 The smoke is quickly pushed down- 

 stream followed by a sheet of rain 

 which sounds so cool and refreshing as 

 it falls on the shake roof of the home- 

 steader's cabin. Such a sound as brings 

 joy and sleep to the exhausted, heavy- 

 eved men! 



