IN THE HILLS OF OREGON 



By J. Albert Baker 

 Cascade National forest 



XT is a hot day in August. Come ablaze. In the foreground, the deserted 

 take a trip to our friend's home- buildings of an abandoned logging 

 stead in the hills, where the stren- camp cluster near the dense timber, in 

 uousness of city life is unknown. Is its gloom, like a brood of young chicks 

 this not a beautiful scene to be reached trying to escape the unwonted light, 

 by a few hours of travel? The horses A few more yards and we are in a 

 are weary, so let us ride slowly and logged-over area flooded with light shed 

 enjoy the pleasures of a summer even- by a huge forest fire, which is moving 

 ing in the woods. upstream. Here we see the battle- 

 At our feet, the unforked wagon ground strewn with smoldering ruins, 

 road winds its tortuous way along the as though a devastating army had de- 

 bank of a brawling mountain stream, stroyed a city by the torch. Yonder 

 The gigantic mast-like firs cast long hill topped with great hollow snags 

 shadows opposite the rays of the set- which are belching forth columns of 

 ting sun. No sound is heard save the blazing wrath, marks the advance of 

 muffled foot-falls of our slowly mov- the fire, where the battle is being waged 

 ing steeds, the rustle of a bird in the most fiercely. A huge glare lights up 

 wayside hazel, and the drowsy murmur, the heavens, disclosing immovable, dark 

 coming from the creek far below, of mountains to the right and to the left 

 the water as it slips into the deep, cool of the narrow valley, while the crash 

 pool where the Dolly Vardens love to of falling trees, and the dull thud of 

 rendezvous. The evening breeze is just their impact with the earth, recalls the 

 starting down stream bringing sweet days of the logging camp, when the 

 odors of balsam and pine to our nos- "fallers" were busy. But here is our 

 trils, so long accustomed to the city's homesteader's cabin, set in the green 

 dust. oasis of a clover field, safely escaping 

 But what is that smell which brings the ravaging flames. Here we can rest 

 memories of long past log-rolling days for the night, disturbed only by the dis- 

 on the farm? Is some one desecrating tant boom of the falling tree trunks, 

 the sabbath peace of this evening by and the glare of the receding fire, 

 burning brush? What causes such a A fevv' hours of slumber and we are 

 cloud of smoke to meet us as we aroused by the clank of shovels and 

 round this protruding hill? Surely a mattocks being thrown to the ground, 

 settler's slashing fire would not create Savory odors come up from the "lean- 

 so impenetrable a mask over these to" at the rear of the cabin. We hurry 

 sylvan beauties ! down to find a scene similar to that 

 The shadows of evening have given common in the mess hall of a military 

 way to darkness as we enter a deeply station. Around improvised long tables 

 wooded stretch of creek bottom. The men are seated, washing down hot- 

 smoke efiPectually hides all stars, in- cakes and bacon with black cofl^ee, 

 creasing the gloom until we can no while outside a cavalcade of tired, 

 longer see our horses' ears, and must grimy men just in from an all-night of 

 feel to find the saddle-horn. But see labor on the fire line, are stretching 

 that lurid patch far up the road where themselves on their tarpaulins, for rest, 

 the timber ceases! A little nearer we But where is the forest fire? Only 

 come and a whole city seems to be an occasional thud is heard as some 



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