786 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



FIRES 



By BRISTOW ADAMS 





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 querulous 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 lungs 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. 



