Imerican Agriculturist, July 19, 1924 
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Felicia, watching Jar forest fires from a lonely 
hcer, remembers how she and Tony Crandall 
!«■/ met and became friends years before, when ■ 
a boy he came to shoot the rapids of the 
\cheron, an impassible river, and discovering 
|i;n at work building a boat, Felicia trapped him 
[///, his own tackle to make him promise to 
I bandon the attempt. 
[E saw her stratagem now and lie 
shouted a threat at her, but she 
Lulled harder on the tackle and had him 
helpless. 
“Am I hurting—hurting you, Tony?” 
[he besought. 
“N o—you—you — no! Let me go! ” 
“Not till you promise never to go into 
[he run.” 
“Let me go, you little devil!" 
“Do vou promise?” 
“No.” . 
“Oh, Tony—Tony, then I'll have to 
liold vou here till vou do.” 
“Til not!” 
“You’ll have to — ” 
So for an hour, and then for another, 
|they defied each other. Many times she 
almost broke down, but she knew that she 
md to go through with it now; yet she 
thought he would faint and she would 
collapse first. Then fortune helped her. 
■She heard a party of guests from the camp 
passing on a trail above the ravine and she 
threatened to call them down to see him; 
so, furiously, he gave in. 
He left her at the door of the shed, re¬ 
fusing to let her start home with him, and 
she never spoke to him or saw him again 
[after that, for the summer was 1914. 
[Within the week, the war was on; in 
[September he was driving an ambulance 
■in France; in 1915 he was training at Pau 
[for flight; the next year he was in combat 
lover Verdun; then America came in; he 
[was with his own army. All these things 
[Felicia found out from others; in five years 
|she received no word from him. 
But now she knew he had been again at 
I home in Stamford; this morning motor- 
ears, four in number, were on Crandall’s 
Road, passed the crossroads, and were 
I making for camp. 
She could see a speck crawling up the 
I gray crack through the pine six miles 
away; a motor-car. Another followed it — 
two more — but the first was far ahead. 
They all dropped out of sight; appeared 
again with the first one leading by a 
greater gap. Tony! AVas he in that 
party and driving that first car? Once 
more, after a climb, they dropped out of 
I sight, and before them the road was lost 
from her sight all the way to the camp. 
OELICIA turned tremblingly, and 
A leveled her glass again at the smoke 
over Muleback — spreading smoke, and 
leaping upward into flame. She could see 
the red and the flash as the crown of a 
tree caught. Swiftly she sprang into the 
cabin and called headquarters. 
“Fire on Muleback — 88-36,” she desig¬ 
nated it by the forester’s numbered 
divisions. 
Julia Shirley at the forest supervisor’s 
headquarters acknowledged the call and 
repeated it formally. 
“There’s no one here to go, Felicia, ”•= 
she said. “They’re all at Kingdom; it's 
jumping over there.” 
“I just saw,” said Felicia, “some people 
going to the camp.” 
“Did you? Then I’ll call them. 
Thanks.” 
“Would you mind,” asked Felicia, 
“plugging tliis line through so I can talk 
to them and know at once if—anybody’s 
there?” And she heard on her line the 
ringing signal calling Crandall's. 
“Hello! Hello!” a man’s voice said, and 
Felicia shut her eyes and fought for calm 
breath. 
“This is Alt. Alower lookout!” she said 
tit last. “There's a fire broken out on 
Muleback— 88-36, and all our people are 
working on Kingdom. Can you go?” 
“Yes,” the voice said with queer sud¬ 
denness, and then halted. “Of course.” 
Then, “AA’ho are vou?” 
Currents 
By Edwin Balmer 
(By arrangement with William Gerard Chapman) 
“How many men can go?” asked 
Felicia. 
“Eight; I’ll take 'em. Who are you?" 
“Felicia Shelby.” 
“I thought so.” 
“You’re?” 
“Tony Crandall. Seven men with me; 
we start at once. Aluleback—88-36. 
That right?” 
“That’sright. Good-by.” 
“Good-by.” 
Felicia stepped out into the sun with 
her glass again to her eyes as she watched 
the spreading fire on Aluleback, 
He had returned to her again, and she 
had heard his voice and had spoken to 
him! It had seemed to Felicia, during 
those terrible, endless years of the war 
when he had been throughout in the thick 
of it—particularly during that frightful 
month when her New York newspaper 
(which she took because it told most 
about such men as he) reported he had 
been seriously wounded—it had seemed 
that knowledge that he was no longer to 
be in danger would be happiness com¬ 
plete. But for many months he had been 
“home”; and she, though joyous at that 
knowledge, yet was not happy. She was 
joyous, exultant, this morning, but not 
happy. 
Though she repeated to herself again 
and again just what he said to her, and 
tried to recollect exactly his tone when 
he had hailed her, still she reckoner!, 
against her exultation, the guests who 
had come in those cars. Four cars, she 
had counted; and he had said there were 
eight men. Even supposing that they had 
brought a few extra servants to reinforce 
the people always at the camp, yet many 
of that party must have been guests be¬ 
side the seven who were men. So he had 
returned. But to her? 
S HE watched the fire on Muleback, 
witnessing it spread and flare and 
spread again under its smoke until slowly 
something seemed to choke it. She could 
not see at such distance and under the 
smoke, but she knew what was happening. 
Tony and his men had cut a fire line be¬ 
fore it, back-fired and beaten it. At sun¬ 
set it was only a charred, smoldering 
patch; and over on Kingdom, though the 
fire was not yet out, still the rangers had 
stopped calling for more men, and in the 
lodgepole, too, the flames diminished. 
Yet no one came at night to relieve 
Felicia. Julia Shirley telephoned that the 
men on Kingdom who had fought the fire 
all day were still at work, or sleeping ex¬ 
hausted where they dropped; Julia was 
remaining at the switchboard at head¬ 
quarters. That morning Felicia had ex¬ 
pected, merely as a matter of course, to 
stay on duty thirty or forty hours, if 
needed; but she had not expected, then, 
to see at night the far-away glow of the 
lounging-room [windows in the camp, and 
to know the girls from the East were 
waiting there to welcome the return of 
Tony and his men from the fire on Alule¬ 
back. 
She tried not to look too many times 
toward those bright windows; night of¬ 
fered the best opportunities to those who, 
as yet undiscovered, set fire to the forest; 
every minute gained in sighting the first 
flare of a blaze meant many acres saved, 
perhaps. Felicia put on her heavy coat, 
for it was bitter on the summit of Mower, 
and paced in the starlight over the cold 
rocks. 
“When the golden sun sinks in the hills. 
And the toil of the long day is o'er — ” 
sne sang to herself while she peered about 
in the darkness. 
“Far away where the blue shadows fall,” 
sne continued the verse of the last song he 
had brought AVest and sung to her just 
before the war. It recalled memories 
almost unbearable with those lounging- 
room windows so bright; but she sang the 
verse to the end. 
“There are hands that will welcome me 
in —” 
Did she hear a sound as of some one 
climbing up from below? No, of course 
not; it was only a rock slipping as the 
night cold cracked it off; a mountain is 
always falling to pieces. 
“And a thousand things other men 
miss—!” 
S HE started—that was no echo of her 
own voice! She had not yet reached 
that line of the song; besides, a man had 
sung it. Did she imagine—Tony’s voice? 
“Hello, Felicia!” 
“Tony?” 
“AA’ho’d you suppose?” 
66 rp 1 ” 
l°ny! 
“Say, who changed this path?” 
“Tony, be careful; it turns right, not 
left, after the boulder! ' ’ 
“So I've just found out!” 
“Oh, you’re hurt!” Her momentary 
paralysis of joy was over, and she was 
rushing down to him in the dark. 
“Hurt! Think I’ve forgotten how to 
tumble ten feet?” 
His voice was fuller, more mature; a 
man’s voice, yet so surely Tony’s; he was 
bigger, firmer as she felt him with her 
hands, but he was Tony; hardly a stranger 
at all! He laughed in the same old way; 
his hands caught hers and held hard in the 
moment of meeting, just as they used 
to do. 
“Hello, Felix; you’re just the same 
size! 
“Inch and a quarter taller, Tony!” 
“All of that? Then you’re not any 
heavier.” 
“Hundred and seven now.” 
“That’s five pounds put on!” So he 
remembered her old weight five years ago! 
“I bet it's becoming. Where’s your light, 
Felix? I want to see you.” 
She did not answer that demand except 
by leading him, still clasping his hand, up 
toward the cabin. Her heart was pound¬ 
ing shamelessly with pulse so wild that 
she felt it in her palm, and lie must feel it, 
too; she could feel his. But he had the 
excuse of a mile’s climb. 
ave you e\)er fried $ 2 *44 
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To finish the question, draw through the dots from 1 on. 
“Tony, what brought you up here 
to-night?” 
“AYhy, Shirley asked for volunteers, 
Felix, and we all drew lots for it; and I got 
stuck. I tried to get out of it particularly 
hard when I heard it was you I had to 
relieve,” he taunted her, but could not 
keep it up when they stepped into the 
cabin. “AVhere’s your light?” 
She unclasped her hand to strike a 
match; her intention when she scratched 
it was to light the wick of the cabin lamp, 
but when the tiny flame was in her fingers, 
she got a glimpse of him and, forgot the 
lamp and held the flare toward him. So, 
for an instant, she saw him—saw his eyes 
intent upon her; saw his lips press tight 
before he smiled and thrust the light back 
so he could see her better. He struck the 
next match and lit the lamp. 
“Tony, why didn’t you send me word— 
one word in five years? ” she cried; and the 
next instant she could have bitten out her 
tongue for saying it. This was the one 
thing which, during those five years, she 
had determined never to say. 
“How many times did you write me, 
Felix?” he demanded quietly. 
I “Eight times.” 
“I got all but one, then.” 
“You did?” 
“And wrote you each time in reply.” 
“I never got one!” 
“Y r ou wouldn’t. They never started to 
you; they weren’t to go unless I went 
West. If I had, you’d have heard, Felix.” 
“Oh!” she gasped for breath. “I’d 
have heard what, Tony?” 
He shook his head. “AVhat’s the odds 
now? I came here, so you could go to 
sleep. You’re tired, Felix.” 
“You are, too.” She traced consciously 
the lines of soil and sweat on the cordu¬ 
roys he was wearing. “You must have 
worked awfully hard over on Aluleback to 
get that out.” 
“Some one set that fire, Felix.” 
“Y’es, people seem to be setting fires 
this year.” 
“All right; I’ll watch for ’em now. You 
go to sleep!” he commanded peremptorily 
and pointed her to bed; he picked up her 
glass and, turning his back, he went out to 
the rocks. 
I ^ELICIA blew out the light which, in¬ 
stead of disclosing him, now blinded her 
against the sight of his figure in the star¬ 
light. She lay down upon the bed and 
pulled a blanket over her, but her head 
was so propped by the pillow that she 
could watch him out of the low window. 
She had no thought whatever of sleep. 
He had come to her—her—her this night, 
leaving them all who were there beside 
those bright lights down in the valley! 
So he had written her — each time he 
received her letters; but his were to be 
sent only if he died. What did that 
mean? 
What did he mean now by coming to 
her this night? That he had forgiven her? 
She saw him move from the edge of the 
rocks nearer to the cabin and stand, list¬ 
ening; then, very softly he whispered, 
“Felix?” 
“Oh, I’m awaxe; what is it?” 
“I could have made the run!” 
“You couldn’t!” 
He turned away without further word; 
and she lay miserable, so wretched that 
whereas the moment before sleep seemed 
forever impossible, now exhaustion mer¬ 
cifully stupefied her and she slept. 
The clear, bright shafts of the easteri 
sun were above her when she awoke with • 
a start. A breeze was blowing, and there 
was a hand upon her shoulder, a familiar, 
thrilling grasp. Tony’s. How did he get 
there? Oh, yes; he was back! She re¬ 
membered. 
“Sorry, Felix!” he apologized to her, 
as she sat up. “Shirley wants me 
pronto. They’ve just lit up Puma. I’ve 
been thinking, last night standing out 
there, Felix, how to get those birds!” 
he stared vengefullv at the new flame 
(Continued on page Jo) 
