In the Great Apache Forest (Complete Edition). James Willard Schultz

wide, I got nine beads and a white flint arrow-point. At that rate I estimated that there must be thousands and thousands of beads and many arrow-points in the crevices of the little rock butte, at its base no more than a hundred feet in diameter. And why were they there, and around my cave hole, in such profusion, and apparently nowhere else upon the mountain, I wondered. Had there been a great battle between different tribes — the victors scattering to the winds the belongings of those they killed? No, that was not reasonable. The victors would have gone off with every necklace and every arrow-point of those they killed. The mystery of it was more than I could solve. I said to myself that I would cease puzzling about it, but I could not get it out of my mind. And that hole off there in the mountain — I just had to go into it! If I could only call my people on the telephone and ask that Uncle John bring me a rope. But there was little chance of my calling them; the Forest Service was so short of men that this summer there was no ranger at Riverside Station, a half-mile north of my home. I might ring Riverside for days and get no answer, unless one of the fire patrols happened in there.

      In the middle of the afternoon, while I was still scratching out beads — by that time I had more than a hundred — the telephone rang for me and I hurried inside and took down the receiver: “Hello!” I said.

      “Hello! Is that you, George? Are you all right up there?” came my sister Hannah’s voice, and, oh, how glad I was to hear it.

      “All right,” I answered. “But how did you get to the telephone? Is there a new ranger at Riverside?”

      “No. I climbed in through the window. Mother and I were worrying about you; we just had to know how you are getting on, all alone up there. Tell us all about it!”

      I considered a moment before replying. Should I tell them about the sneaking figure I had seen near the cabin? No. I would keep my troubles to myself. I answered that I was more than all right, and sure excited over some finds I had made. And went on to tell about the beads I had found, the cave hole I had discovered, and how much I wanted a rope and candles, so that I could go into it. And at that Hannah became excited, and asked a lot of questions about the cave, just where it was located, and its appearance. And at last she said that I should have the things I wanted; she would bring them up and help me explore the place. I could look for her at noon the next day. And when she said that, I knew that I would have the rope and candles. Hannah is a girl that always does as she promises. Although two years younger than I, she can ride as well as the best of us, and of “sand” she has aplenty.

      I was happy enough the rest of the afternoon, thinking of what I might find in the cave, and at six o’clock I rang in, reported no fires, and started for the cabin. As I neared it all my uneasiness came back to me. I left the trail and sneaked on down through the spruces and around to the north side of the little clearing and looked out. A moose bird was hopping about before the cabin porch and a chipmunk was sitting upon the peak of the roof, eating something that it held in its little paws. They gave me the feeling that all was well there. I crossed the clearing, unlocked the door, and went in, and looked around. Everything was apparently as I had left it. I took my bucket and went down to the spring for water, and then finished chinking the cabin walls. There were still places — where the chinking did not fit well against the logs — that were open, but when I daubed the outside of the cracks with mud, all would be tightly closed. I dug a hole in the ground, filled it with earth that I found near the spring, poured in some water and worked it to a sticky mass, and slammed handful after handful of it into the spaces in the south wall, and completely finished that side, and still had time to cook my supper before nightfall. I did not intend to use a light in the cabin until its walls were proof against the eyes of any prowlers of the night.

      I washed, and built a fire in the stove, considering what I should have for supper. A slice of ham, boiled potatoes, bread and butter and jam, I concluded, and opened the food chest, and tossed sacks and packages about: my big, uncut ham was n’t there! Had n’t I seen it in the chest that morning — or anyhow the evening before? I was almost sure that I had seen it that morning; or when Uncle John had unloaded the grub outfit and brought it in. I believed that I had seen it in the chest some time or other, but could not be sure. Maybe it had been overlooked when we were packing my outfit, at home. I just hated to think that the ham had been in the chest and had been stolen from me. All day long I had tried to convince myself that I had not seen a shadowy figure of a man sneaking away from me into the spruces. But now— The door had always been locked during my absence. I went to the front window: it was well nailed down. I ran to the other one, and raised the lower sash with ease! The ham could have been stolen from me! All of my fears of the night before came back with a rush. I did n’t take time to cook potatoes. I barred the door, hastily fried a couple of slices of bacon, and ate them with the cold biscuit that were left from my morning meal, and went to bed with my rifle beside me. I wondered if any Boy Scout in all our United States was having as fearsome and lonely a time as I, fireguarding there on Mount Thomas, eleven miles from my nearest neighbor?

      “If there is such a one, he has got to show me!” I said, and for all my uneasiness, fell asleep. And with a start soon awoke, listened, heard nothing more than some mice scampering across the floor and upon the table, and slept again. At the first sign of dawn I hurried into my clothes, washed, and cooked my breakfast. I did n’t want to remain in that spruce-surrounded cabin a moment longer than I could help! I wanted to be up on top, where I could see a long way in every direction. I was n’t long in going up there, and upon the trail found cause for more uneasiness; in a place where the path was wet and muddy from melting snow above were the fresh tracks of a huge bear. Old Double Killer’s tracks, I was sure! He had doubtless finished eating his deer carcass, and was prowling about in search of more meat. I thought about old man Lilly’s trouble, over in the Blue Range, with a bear of this size a few weeks back: without warning, the bear had come charging out at him from a thicket, and he had stood his ground and opened fire with his big Winchester, and with his last shot — the very last cartridge in his weapon — the bear had fallen dead at his feet. And what a bear it was; its hide had measured eleven feet in length and eight in width!

      I was sure that old Double Killer was as big as that Blue Range grizzly. With my little 30-30 rifle, it was small chance that I would have for my life if he came charging me from these spruces. I legged it up the trail as fast as I could go, never once stopping until I reached the top of the mountain. From the saddle I looked down upon a bare ridge running west from the mountain, and dividing two deep-canyoned, heavily timbered forks of White River, and there, on its crest, I saw Double Killer wandering about among the rocks. I ran up into the lookout, took up the field-glasses, and watched him. He was turning over rocks and licking the exposed under surfaces of some of them, licking off the ants that clung to them, of course, and I thought what small business that was for him, killer of big steers with one blow of his long-clawed paws! And then I thought that the ants were probably to him what candy is to us: not real food, but — a little of it — very good eating, all the same. He was all of a half-mile from me, too far for a shot at him. In a few minutes he wandered down the ridge and entered the heavy timber, no doubt to sleep during the day.

      It was so early when I arrived in the lookout that the west side of the mountains was still in deep shadow. I swept them and their valleys with my glasses and saw nowhere any signs of a fire. I then looked close down into the Black River Canyon, and, as on the previous morning, saw a smokelike haze below the little grass park bordering the stream. It was so faint, however, that I could not be sure it was smoke. I said that it could n’t be smoke; nor fog from the water: that what I saw was a patch of the bright light of the early morning, let into the dark canyon through a gap in the high ridge on the east.

      I went outside, began scratching out more rock crevices, and almost at once found two arrow-points, a large one of flint and barbed, and a very small one, without barbs, of the glasslike rock, and so clear that I could see through it. Of the two, the barbed one appeared to be the most effective point, yet how much more deadly was the other; how very much farther it would penetrate flesh. I wondered if its owner had ever shot it into an enemy?

      At nine o’clock I went in to the telephone and reported no fire anywhere in sight. And then I called Riverside Station, on the mere chance that a fire patrol might be there, and got no answer except the roar of the Supervisor’s voice, shouting: “Get