The Bluffton news. [volume], May 11, 1939, Image 7

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THURSDAY, MAY 11, 1939
Mountain
Man
/I HanHe* tyictia*
By
HAROLD
CHANNING
WIRE
©H.C. Wire WNU Servte*
(Conclusion)
He was half an hour in climbing
the backbone above Temple Mead
ow, but when he reached the crest,
he halted for only a moment. Far
below, the whole Sulphur Flat was
afire, though actual flames were hid
den by an intermediate canyon wall.
The sky was red for miles above
the lower part of Sulphur Creek.
Breck wheeled and crashed down,
letting his swift descent pass the
word to those below.
Animals w-ere already being sad
dled when he burst into camp. Si
erra Slim had brought up Kit, while
Cook packed a mule nearby. He
rode to join them, plunging across
the space that a few minutes earlier
had held a laughing, dancing throng.
“Fire’s in the Sulphur country,’*
he told Dad Cook. “I guess the boy
knew what he was talking about.
Nesters have lighted the whole bot
tom.”
Cook nodded, throwing his lash
rope over the mule. Breck caught it,
made the loop, and passed one end
back under the animal’s belly. A
plan had been seething in his mind
ever since he had left the ridge
suddenly now it became clear.
“Cook,” he asked, “is there any
way the Tillsons can climb out of
their hole to the north?”
“No Kern Peak blocks them.”
“That means with the fire driving
them up, they’ve got to come out
somewhere to the south and east of
Sulphur Creek?”
Cook came from his side of the
mule. “All right, son, what’s on
your mind?”
“I’ve got the Tillsons’ back door
spotted,” Breck declared. “They
can’t climb to it before daylight—
too rough—and by that time Slim
and I can be there if we go ahead.”
"Then go,” Cook ordered. “I’ll
make up a crew here and meet you
at Indian Rock. Slim knows where
that is.”
Sierra had vanished in the crowd,
leaving Kit tied to a stump. Breck
exchanged horses and was swinging
into his saddle when Senator Suth
erland rushed to him.
“Here, my boy, here,” he cried,
puffing with excitement. “A fire is
it? Great stuff! Everyone going?
Never saw a mountain blaze first
hand. You wait now till I get my
horse!” He dashed on.
“Oh, Gordon!” Again Breck
turned from mounting. Irene was
running toward him. “Gordon,
you’ll saddle for me? Is it a real
fire? I don’t know where my horse
is.”
He lowered his foot to the ground.
“You won’t need your horse. You’re
not going.”
“Absurd! Why am I not?”
Breck waved a gloved hand to
ward Temple’s cabin. “Because a
man is in there badly hurt. You
made a drunken maniac out of Till
son. Now how big are you? Some
one has got to keep him up till the
doctor gets here tomorrow. He’ll get
over the gunshot, but he’s the sort
that goes straight to the devil when
a woman takes his pride. Talk to
him, Irene, lie to him, anything to
explain yourself. For God’s sake
that’s one thing you can do!”
He swung to his saddle before she
could reply, and hoped some bit of
comprehension would move her to a
decent act. Art might be his ene
my, yet he had come to have some
thing of Louise Temple’s sympathet
ic understanding of him.
He found Sierra roping up a fresh
horse and gave his plan. The moun
taineer listened, said nothing, and
in a few minutes they rode together
out past the clearing, where in the
light of fresh logs more than twenty
men were getting tools for the fire
line. Among them Breck saw Lou
ise.
“Are you going?” he asked, halt
ing at her side.
“Why not? You’ll need all of us.”
A swift admiration filled him. He
was proud of her. Little thorough
bred! Love welled in his heart. Then
fear. But he knew she would scorn
his thought of danger. Tom Temple
hobbled over with a shovel and ax.
“Be right with you, Ranger!”
Breck saluted and loped on to
overtake'Sierra. His veins tingled.
There was something military
about this night move—like shock
troops breaking into action.
He led, knowing the route to the
spot where he had once seen Jud
and Hep vanish down Sulphur Creek.
He pushed Kit at a run. It would
be almost daylight anyway by the
time he and Slim could cover the
range from Temple’s camp to the
broken country.
They left the blazed govern-rent
trail at the spur where Breck had
come down before, climbed it, and
came at last to the brim that
dropped a thousand feet into cliffs
and falls and unmapped gorges.
Firelight flooded the lower level.
Roar of the blaze rose faintly.
Breck halted. “You see we’ve
come to sort of a blind trail, Slim. It
dips over the ridge and crosses the
head of Sulphur Canyon. That’s
where we go down. I don’t know
how far.”
Sierra kicked his foot cut of one
stirrup. “I’d say we leave the cay
uses here and walk.”
Breck agreed, pulled from the
trail and tied his horse. Then to
gether they walked on. The canyon
was not far. It plunged away steep
ly.. the stream cutting a sharp-
banked gorge through the rock.
Their path skirted the brink for two
hundred yards, then curved around
a brush clump. In another turn it
ended against a blank wall.
To the left was the mountain face
on the right a sheer drop to the
stream. Breck looked down at white
water dashing through boulders.
“What do you make of it?” he
asked.
Sierra did not answer. His head
was tilted sidewise, attention cen
tered above and behind them. “Hear
that?”
Breck listened, yet heard only the
waterfall and roar of fire further
on.
“Nothing, Slim.”
“Maybe not. How about your
trail?”
“We’ve slipped up somewhere.”
“I thought so. It turns to the
right back here.”
Breck faced about dubiously. To
the right meant a straight drop into
the gorge. Sierra took a few steps
and halted. Suddenly he motioned
with his hand. Before them a nar
row rock bridge spanned the chasm
from rim to rim.
Sierra stepped back behind a boul
der and put his pistol on its flat top.
“Pardner,” he said softly, “this
looks like our place.”
Breck stood with his gaze sweep
ing up the granite barricade of Kern
Peak. No chance of escape up there.
He was satisfied. For Jud and Hep
it was this way out or none. His
hands tightened. A name flashed
through his thoughts. Jim Cotter.
Dawn came swiftly. With it a
new sound broke the rumble of the
falls. Breck met Sierra’s eyes and
his question was acknowledged with
a look. Horses were climbing along
the far rim of the gorge, having
5*
fh
I
Breck sprang up.
difficulty in woods where night still
lingered. One stumbled its shoes
clattered.
From behind the rock, Breck lev
eled his gun on a black opening
between two giant trunks that stood
like gate posts at the opposite end
of the bridge. Sound of approach
came nearer. The riders would first
pass through a hollow where trees
grew thick.
Abruptly a horse thrust its white
face between the two trunks. It
came on. Another followed.
“Pardner!”
“I see,” Breck whispered. He
steadied his aim over the flat rock
top.
“Wait till they get on the bridge.”
Sierra advised. “Call out once. If
they move to break away, let ’em
have it.”
Breck watched behind his sights.
Jud rode in the lead, straight, alert.
Hep crouched in his saddle. They
came upon the narrow bridge with
horses walking nose to tail reached
the center. Breck rose with a com
mand that was never uttered.
All in a split second the two horses
were plunging on with saddles emp
ty. Though watching the spot,
Breck scarcely caught a glimpse of
two bodies hurtling downward into
the gorge. He whirled to Sierra.
Sierra faced him. Neither had shot,
yet the mountains still echoed to
the crack of guns.
“Rifles!” Sierra gasped. “Back of
us!”
Breck turned. “The nesters?”
Up the bank behind them, horses
were being hard-ridden to the crest.
They passed over and the sound
died.
Sierra leaped from the rock. “No
use following up there now! We’ve
got to get out of here. That fire’s
traveling!”
“Wait,” said Breck. “I want to
be sure of this.”
“Them two didn’t live to hit bot
tom!” Sierra flung out. “Come
on!”
But Breck ran to the bridge, knelt
and peered over. Only white wa
ter, foaming through jagged rocks
of the gorge, met his eyes. He
stared at it, drawn tense by a vision
of Hep Tillson’s treacherous face.
The man who had killed Jim Cotter
was dead!
“Pardner!”
Breck sprang up. Sparks were
eating the cloth of his shirt. A red
wave curled over the opposite ridge.
“We’ve got to move.” Sierra
shouted. “Cook will be needing us
bad!”
CHAPTER XXIII
Cook did need them. They
climbed a ridge east of Sulphur and
looked across to a small round
meadow halfway up Kern Peak’s
flank. Fire had already swept two
sides of Indian Rock. The blaze
corning up at their backs would soon
complete the circle. All the country
for miles both north and south lay
under smoke.
“Sierra swung from his horse.
“Ought to begin here and make our
firebreak on the way down,” he ad
vised.
It was past noon when they had
finished a break and rode into camp.
Cook was
"Saw you coming,” he said brief
ly. “It’s a good job you did yon
der. How about the Sulphur busi
ness?”
“Nesters saved us a couple of
shots,” was Sierra’s laconic report.
“Where’s Louise?” Breck asked.
“Gone out. It looked like we were
going to be surrounded and some
one had to reach a telephone. She’s
trying to make it to your station.”
“Rock House?” Breck gasped.
“Good God!” He looked south into a
pall of smoke. “That whole trail’s
under fire!”
“I know it,” Cook admitted.
“Someone had to go, and she
wouldn’t let me spare a man. Be
sides that, she had to get old Tom
and the Senator out.”
He mounted, giving orders, “You
ride that north canyon. JG and
some of his boys are up there. Slim
and I will go to a bunch working
on Nine Mile. Do what you can
God knows we’re blind without a
wire to Kern Peak.”
What they could do was little
enough. Breck realized that when
he came upon Jackson and a hand
ful of cowpunchers. The cowman
met him, grim faced, as he said,
“We’ve done our damnedest, Rang
er.”
Breck took up his tools and
plunged into the endless job of clear
ing brush. But only a giant, able to
tear trees by the roofs, could have
held the blaze that swept steadily
upward. Night came men had to
sleep. They dropped on the ground
for two-hour turns, Breck waiting
until his legs collapsed beneath him.
Dawn rose over that most desolate
of sights—a mountain range being
laid waste. Throughout the morn
ing Breck flung his wearied crew
against the line, yet they were
blocked. Even as they built back
fires in one canyon, spots flared fur
ther on.
Toward noon he rode to a bald
knob, hoping to get some idea of
their position. He was half an hour
in climbing up and founh that the
point which had seemed so high was
still lower than those around it. He
sat numbed in mind and body. In
another day the whole South Sierra
would be stripped. Only a miracle
could save the forest.
He did not believe in miracles,
though as he rested on the knob
there sounded a far-off droning. It
puzzled him recognition of its mag
ic came slowly. Then suddenly he
knew. Not the miracle of rain from
a cloudless sky, nor an unseen hand
beating back the flames, but of a
winged man.
The droning surged into a roar
as a white ship burst through rolls of
smoke. It shot close over his posi
tion and he read the letters: USFS.
From somewhere word had gone
outside!
Swept with grateful impulse he
lifted clasped hands high toward it.
The plane banked as if answering,
circled, and upon passing once more,
dropped a long white ribbon. Breck
rushed to it, found a small bag
weighted with sand, then a tube of
paper.
“Relief,” it said, “coming in from
Sequoia.”
Swinging upon Kit. he raced from
the knob and shouted the magic
word to his men below. “They’ve
got us located, boys. We’ll get re
lief now.”
The plane’s promise was not ful
filled through the afternoon nor in
the first hours of dark. But about
midnight Breck saw back fires
springing up over a ten mile front
both north and south, and by morn
ing the line was almost solid. Hun
dreds of men must have poured up
Kern River gap under the air pa
trol’s direction.
It was a little before mid-day that
a lean, brown-faced man rode in
at the head of an emergency crew.
He halted among Jackson’s cow
boys and swung off. "I guess you fel
lows have had enough of it. Is
Breck here?”
Breck went to him.
“I’m Green.” the man said, “from
Sequoia. We’ll finish this. Cook
says for you to meet him at Temple
Meadow.”
“Did you get the call through
Rock House Station?” Breck asked,
his first thought for Louise.
“I don’t know,” Green answered.
Fear shot strength into Breck’s
deadened body. He threw on his
saddle and rode at once. All the
way as he climbed a summit then
dropped into Long Canyon, a dread
goaded him on. A familiar spot in
the canyon momentarily turned his
thoughts to another day.
Here he had saved Louise from
the cattle stampede. He had car
ried her home in his arms. They
yearned for her now. That day he
had not known what it was to love.
Desperation swept upon him. He
could make life happy fcr her.
She could paint. Thev would live
below winters. But summers
they must come back. Realization
of that struck him forcibly. Bound
into his love for Louise, growing out
of it. was a love for the High Si
erras.
Temple Meadow, since he last
saw it, had changed from fiesta
grounds to hospital ward. He loped
in before evening, coming among
cots beneath the pines where men
lay asleep with arms and faces in
white cloths.
Dad Cook came from a shed and
hailed him. “Dam’ me if you don't
look like an old-timer. Mountain
man for sure! Son. you’ve earned a
rest and you’d better grab it. Slim’s
getting his.”
“Louise here?” Breck asked, even
before he reached the ground.
“In the cabin. She’s all right.
Been worried?”
Breck dropped upon a log. relaxed
tension suddenly leaving him un
steadied.
“Better turn in,” Cook advised
him, “and count this iob done.
We’ve got some black forest, but
she’s otherwise cleaned up.” He
paused, drawing an envelope from
his pocket. “Here’s something for
you. The Senator’s party went out
with the first pack train. Had
enough mountains, but he knows a
sight more than when he came in.
I think we’ll name a trail for him
yelZL------------------------------- __
im|BfcCTCTON NBWS, BLUFFTON, OHIO
Breck tore open the letter. It
was from Irene. He expected some
thing, not knowing exactly what. A
change of some sort. But here was
still the evasive writing, poured out
in unfinished thoughts—until the
end. There she wrote: “Arthur is
a dear boy, Gordon. Don’t put him
in jail. I lied to him beautifully.
We quite understand each other
now.”
“What about Art?” Breck asked.
“The doctor packed him down last
night. He’ll pull through.
“I mean what are we to do about
him.”
Without hesitation Cook answered,
“Give him a chance. You’re fin
ished with the Tillsons. Hep was
the one. Ask Louy.”
But when Breck found Louise, it
was not to ask her that. She came
from Temple’s shanty, softly clos
ing the door. Her eyes welcomed
him, yet were filled with trouble.
“Your father is worse?” he asked.
She nodded. “The fire was too
much. He shouldn’t have gone.”
They moved from the cabin and
Breck led her into the pines where
the words would not carry back.
"Louise, I’m going to send your fa
ther out. I know a surgeon. He’ll
do wonders.”
She stood with eyes averted,
though one hand clasped his tightly.
“While he is there,” Breck con
tinued, “you and I will work two
jobs—the forest and the ranch.” He
hesitated. It had never occurred to
him that it would be hard to tell
this girl he loved her. Now he
seemed wordless. He wished she
would help.
She looked up. “We?”
That was enough. His arms swept
her close. “We, yes, you and I to
gether. Louise! I love you, want
you always.” All at once words
rushed too swiftly where there had
been none. “We can live the life we
have talked about. Outside, then
here. You need not answer now—
not until you know more of me.”
"Know you!” Her eyes and her
voice checked him. "Don’t I know
you? Haven’t you shown me what
you are, over and over again?”
“But nothing of who I am,” he
asserted.
“And of course that matters!”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No.” Gently she lifted her hands
to his face, drawing him down. “Not
here nor any place I know of! And
if you want my answer at all, take
it now.”
[THE END.]
NOTICE OF APPOINTMENT
Estate of Walter G. Hoffman Deceased
Notice is hereby given that Ella Hoffman
whose Poetoffice address is R. D. No. 2. Bluff
tor’, Ohio. has been duly appointed and quali
fied as administratrix of the Estate of Walter
G. Hoffman late of Allen County, Ohio,
deceased.
Dated this 19th day of April 1939.
RAYMOND P. Smith
Judge of the Probate Court,
THE DIM
LANTERN
Y
TEMPLE BAILEY
A beautiful love story
by one of America’s
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Allen County, Ohio 2
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Misses Nancy Jane and Helen Ann
Williams spent the week end with
their grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. J.
R. Koontz at Findlay.
Mrs. Tillie McDorman is spending
a few weeks with Mrs. Cynthia
Elliott.
Herman Eckenwiler was a week
end visitor of his mother, Mrs. Nora
Eckenwiler.
Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Foltz enter
tained as Sunday dinner guests Mr.
and Mrs. R. L. Pifer and family of
Rockford.
Mr. and Mrs. Roy Ramsey of
Wabash, Indiana Mr. and Mrs. Les
ley Fisher, Mrs. Mary Fisher, Don
Fisher and Miss Ruth Jones of
Peru, Ind., were Sunday guests of
Mr. and Mrs. Don Ralston.
Mrs. Albert Davis, who has been
spending the winter with her daugh
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fayette returned home Sunday. She
had as dinner guests Mr. and Mrs.
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PAGE SEVEN
ville and Mr. and Mrs. Alexander
Gross of Cygnet were Sunday dinner
guests of Mr. and Mrs. Ferd Turner.
Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Younkman
spent Sunday with Mr. and Mrs.
Morris Anderson at Pandora.
Mrs. Harley Lugibihl spent the
week end with her daughter, Kath
leen, at Chicago.
Mr. Walter Oldaker of Bellefon
taine called on friends here Monday.
Mr. and Mrs. Sam Davis had for
Sunday visitors Mr. and Mrs. Ver
non Davis, and Paul Davis of Mans
field.
Mrs. Gideon Simmons is spending
a few weeks with her daughter Mrs.
Della Weaver.
The Ladies Aid and Missionary
society of the M. E. church met
Thursday with Mrs. John Augs
burger. Those present were Rosa
Searfoss, Rosa Amstutz, Edith
Wolfe, Roda Marquart, Frona Bush
ey, Jean Augsburger, Bessie Brack
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Gooderding, Rev. and Mrs. E. J.
Williams, Dora Turner, Verda
Baughman, Hettie Younkman, Ada
Rowland, Clara Jennings, Lillie
Anderson, Adda Yoakum, Genevieve
Pugh, Jackie Pugh and Mildred
Baughman.
Miss Bene Amstutz of Ft. Wayne,
Indiana spent the week end with
her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Isaac
Amstutz.
Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Green and
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