To Be a Logger Page 4

  “I wish I could live in town,” said Sandy. “Some day I’ll go stay with Aunt Alice in Rogue River. I don’t know why I have to stay in the woods all my life.”

  Joel and Jinx did not listen to her bragging.

  “Mom, I’m hungry,” said Jinx. “When do we eat? Aint’ it time for Dad to be comin’ home?”

  Mom was so excited over her new purchases, it was hard for her to come down to earth again. Slowly she took off her earrings—they were new, too, and they sparkled—and put on her apron. She looked in the wood-box, but there was no wood to start the fire.

  “Joel, Dad told you to get wood in,” called Mom.

  She took a hard look at the boy. He was a sight, his face and arms streaked with blackberry juice and peanut butter and oil and grease.

  “What on earth have you been up to?” Mom asked.

  Then she looked at Jinx. The girl was even worse. She looked as if she had been in a battle. All the smudges of jelly and blackberry juice on her face had been streaked with her own tears. And her hair! What was the matter with her hair?

  Sandy forgot about Rogue River, as she stared at Jinx. Her eyes opened wide with astonishement.

  “Her hair, Mom! Look!” cried Sandy. “It’s been cut!”

  “Good grief!” cried Mom. “What you kids been up to?”

  “I killed a rattler, Mom,” said Joel quietly.

  “A rattlesnake? Oh, no!” cried Mom, as frightened as Jinx had been a short time before. “Where? How?”

  “I shot it with my .22!” said Joel.

  “Heck, I don’t believe you,” said Sandy. “You’re just makin’ that up.”

  Joel went out without saying a word. They followed him down the steps. He came back, carrying a stick with the snake looped over it.

  “Now, do you believe me, Sandy?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Sandy, “but still I don’t see …”

  Mom made Joel cut the head off and bury it. Mom had an idea that a rattler absorbs its poison from the ground, so the head had to be buried. Dad said this notion was all nonsense, but Joel buried the head anyway. He counted the rattles on the tail—there were seven.

  Mom started the fire in the stove and put the coffee pot on. She was still feeling good from her trip to town. So she said, “Let’s play a trick on Daddy.”

  Joel and Jinx and Sandy all agreed. It would be fun to fool Dad. All the loggers liked pulling practical jokes.

  Out near where Dad parked his pick-up, stood a pile of foundation blocks. They were intended for the new house-to-be. Joel took the snake and Mom helped him coil it in a circle beside the blocks, right where Dad would step out. Then they went back indoors.

  “But Jinx’s hair!” cried Sandy. “Who cut Jinx’s hair?”

  Mom hadn’t noticed it before. Now as she looked and saw that all of Jinx’s long blonde hair had been hacked off. She was shocked.

  “You haven’t told everything …” she began. “I never said you could …”

  Joel told about the blackberry briars and from the scratches on the children’s faces and arms, Mom was forced to believe their story.

  “I still don’t see why you had to cut it off!” cried Mom. “Why didn’t you just pull it out?”

  “I had my knife …” Joel began.

  “You know, Mom, Joel always has to use that knife,” said Sandy. “To keep it sharp, he has to practice with it. It’ll cut wood, it’ll cut initials in the bark of a tree, it’ll open tin cans, it’ll cut human hair!”

  “Well,” said Joel soberly. “What’s a knife for, if not to cut?”

  They all laughed.

  Mom put her arms around Jinx. “You’re a sight!” she said.

  “It looks better now,” said Sandy. “She can see out. Before, she had bangs down to her chin.”

  Suddenly there was the noise of the pick-up.

  “There he is!” cried Joel.

  They ran to the door to look out.

  Dad stepped out of the truck, reached over to get his lunch bucket, then jumped. He jumped a foot in the air and yelled. He had seen the snake.

  “Nellie, bring me my pistol!” he shouted. “Quick! Hurry!”

  Mom came out on the step and asked innocently, “What for, honey?”

  The question made him pause. He looked first at Mom, then down at the snake. The children crowded around Mom and could no longer keep their faces straight. They began to giggle.

  “Great guns!” cried Dad.

  He knew he was being taken in.

  He gave the snake a good kick and it landed on top of the camper. He looked at the mess of things scattered over the yard. The dogs came up to lick his hands and Rusty the rooster began to crow. When Dad came inside, they told him the whole story. Mom poured him a cup of coffee and everybody talked at once. The snake had seven rattles and Dad was glad Joel had killed it.

  Then he saw the stuff Mom had brought back from town.

  “What’d you do, buy the whole town out?” he asked.

  “No,” said Mom, “we left a few things.”

  Sandy told about the new living-room set and Dad frowned.

  “Any of that pay-check left?” he asked.

  “Oh, a few pennies!” laughed Mom, shaking her purse.

  Then for the first time, Dad’s eyes lit on Jinx. She had washed by this time and did not look quite so messy. But her face and arms were still badly scratched, and her hair …

  Dad pulled her over to him.

  “Who cut your hair off, sweetie?” he asked.

  “Joel,” said Jinx. “He had to, to get me out of the blackberry briars. I got all tangled up.”

  “Haw, haw, haw!” Dad laughed long and loud.

  “Another joke you’re playin’ on me. O.K. Haw, haw, haw!”

  He patted her head and let the shaggy short hair fall through his rugged fingers. He gave her a hug and kissed her.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I need another boy besides Joel. You want to be a logger, too?”

  Chapter Four

  THE WOODS

  One day Joel had a chance to go camping with Billy Weber. They planned to camp all night in the woods and return next day. Billy stopped at the Forest Service Station and got a permit.

  It was a big job to get ready. The boys took sleeping bags, a frying pan and flashlight. In the packsacks on their backs, they carried bread, peanut cookies, eggs and a chunk of bacon. No drinks—bottles were too heavy. Billy took his rifle along.

  Mom offered all kinds of food—sandwiches, cake, bananas, potato chips, wieners, canned beans, and other things.

  “This is not a picnic, Mom,” said Joel. “We are going camping. We’ll kill our own meat and cook it.”

  Sandy laughed and Mom smiled.

  When no one was looking, Joel did put in a can of beans.

  “I want to go along,” begged Jinx.

  “No girls allowed,” said Billy Weber.

  “But I want to go!” cried Jinx. “I can cook for you.”

  “You’re scared of the woods,” said Joel. “You’re afraid of bears.”

  So the two boys left without her.

  They started up the steep slope behind the house. Once they turned and looked back. There was Jinx sitting on the fence, waving to them. Joel felt sorry for her. He almost wished he had let her come. But still—it was better without girls.

  The boys made a beeline for the tall timber, cutting across pastures and slopes covered with brambles and briars. There were fences to climb and piles of brush to scramble over. They huffed and puffed going up the steep grades, then sat down to rest and take it easy for a while. They came to the range where the cows were, and after flapping their arms to scare them, went on. It was a long way to the big woods and they were tired when they got there. They sat down on a log to rest.

  How wonderful it was in the forest. Joel and Billy could go where they pleased. Nobody to boss or scold them—what fun it was. No fences they could not climb, no No Trespassing signs to hold them back. The for
est was a world of green and growing things, a world all its own. Joel took a deep breath.

  “We gonna camp here?” he asked.

  “Naw,” said Billy. “We ain’t even near the big woods yet. We got a long ways to go.”

  He took his compass out of his pocket and studied it. Billy seemed to know every creek and canyon and trail for miles around, the way he talked.

  “First we go to the edge of this canyon, then there’s a place we can slide down a piece, and right on that shelf there’s a spring …” said Billy. “And we can see a hundred miles across the valley. It’s purty, but in winter the snow’s deep and I don’t like it. My feet freeze off.”

  Overhead a woodpecker was knocking a hole in the side of a tree. The sawdust fell in a shower. A bluejay squawked and a squirrel jumped down and landed at the boys’ feet.

  Billy reached for his gun.

  “What you gonna shoot?” asked Joel.

  “That mean old jay,” said Billy.

  “He’s not good to eat,” said Joel.

  “Naw, but he robs birds’ nests and eats their eggs. He’s worse’n a crow.”

  “But we’re only gonna shoot to get our food,” said Joel.

  “I’ve shot squirrels and rabbits and hawks and crows,” bragged Billy. “They’re all no good.” He put his gun down again.

  “Look up there,” said Joel.

  On the branch of a large pine tree overhead, they saw a little pine squirrel. He jumped from one branch to another. Then, seeing the boys, he began to scold them in his shrill chattering voice. He went back to work, cutting cones off. A shower of cones fell at their feet. The squirrel stopped, cocked his head and listened to the cones hitting the ground.

  Joel reached down and picked a cone up. The squirrel came over and barked at him.

  “He’s sayin’, ‘Leave my cones alone!’” said Billy, laughing. “He wants to hide them under a wet log to keep them for winter, so he can eat the seeds.”

  “All right, little fella, you can have them,” said Joel.

  The boys walked on. The forest was quiet and beautiful with the morning sun slanting through the branches. Off on one side they saw three deer. The deer stood alert for a few minutes, then went leaping away.

  “I wish we’d meet an elk,” said Billy. “There used to be plenty of them around here. That’s how Elk Creek got its name. Old Indian John told my dad he shot the last one.”

  “There’s only deer left now,” said Joel.

  “But there’s plenty of bobcats and cougars,” said Billy. “If we look sharp, we might see their tracks.”

  Billy knew so much about the woods. He showed Joel a bear trail and the hiding place of a fawn. He pointed out a flying squirrel nesting in a woodpecker tree. He told how a bear cub backs down a tree, instead of coming down headfirst. He talked about the way the cougar feed on deer. He saw a tree that had been gnawed by a prickly porcupine. They passed huge rhododendron bushes covered with large pink flowers.

  “I’ve killed a gob of them!” bragged Billy. “Just bop ’em on the nose.”

  Joel listened with respect and admiration.

  The going was rough now. Dead logs and brush lay scattered on the ground. Snags and windfalls blocked the way. The boys had to heave and push branches to get through. Every so often, Billy took out his compass and studied it carefully.

  “You sure you know where we’re goin’?” asked Joel.

  “Yep,” said Billy. “We’ll get there in half an hour. Just keep amovin’.”

  By now Joel had a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. His pack was getting heavier and heavier. But he refused to give up.

  At last they came to an open spot, at the bottom of a tree-covered slope. A trickle of water dripped down from the side of the hill under a clump of grass.

  “Well, here we are!” cried Billy, breathless and panting.

  Joel looked around. There was no open valley, no canyon, no distant view. Trees, trees, nothing but trees on all sides.

  “But I thought you said we’d be able to see a hundred miles,” said Joel.

  “Oh, that was another place,” said Billy. “I’ll take you there next time. This spring’s O.K. We can camp here.”

  It was high up all right, but Joel felt a little cheated. He hated to lose faith in Billy, but maybe Billy was just too tired to go on.

  Billy flopped down, cupped his hands under the spring water, and lapped it up like a puppy.

  “You thirsty?”

  Joel took a drink, too.

  “My dad calls it ‘earth juice,’” Joel said. “Says it’s the best drink in the world.”

  “Better than beer?” asked Billy. “My dad says beer’s best.”

  After they rested, the boys built a campfire and got out the frying pan. Billy told Joel to do the cooking. Joel fried bacon, but had a hard time getting an egg into the pan without breaking the yolk. He broke a second one, a banty egg and out fell a little chicken!

  The boys laughed.

  “Did you bring a settin’ egg?” asked Billy. “Leave the chicken in and scramble it.”

  But Joel dumped it out and started all over again.

  While they were eating, Billy heard a noise like footsteps. He walked off to investigate, Joel following. They circled the camp and came back. Nothing. Nobody. Nothing but birds chirping and squawking in the silence.

  “You’re just hearing things, Billy,” said Joel.

  They walked around the second time and came back again. They looked at their lunch in dismay. The wrapper was torn off the bread and half the bread was gone. The wrapper on the peanut cookies was broken open, the cookies were broken and scattered. They had not been gone long at all.

  “Now what the dickens …” cried Billy.

  “Somebody’s been here,” said Joel. “Whoever you heard walking in the woods sneaked in here and stole our food.”

  “Looks that way,” said Billy.

  Usually Billy had all the answers, but this time he was stumped.

  The boys cleared up their lunch, put out their fire and doused it, then went exploring. Billy led the way to Old Indian John’s cabin. It had fallen to pieces and was now only a pile of logs. The ground was packed hard around it and Billy found tracks.

  “A cougar’s been here,” he said, looking closely. “It’s been stalking two deer.”

  Joel shook with fear. “Sure it’s not a bear track or a bobcat?”

  “It’s a cougar for sure,” said Billy. “Gee! Wouldn’t I like to meet him!”

  “Oh no!” cried Joel.

  “What? You spooked?” asked Billy. “He’s just a great big old pussycat. He’s scared of people. He’ll run away if he sees you. All he wants is a big fat deer for his dinner.”

  “A bobcat is bad enough,” said Joel. “Could you shoot a bobcat with your .22, Billy?”

  “You got to have a cat-dog,” said Billy, “trained just to run bobcats, and you got to do it at night. After twenty minutes, the bobcat’s trail gets cold, so he’s hard to get.”

  Billy’s father, though a logger, liked to lay off work frequently and spend his time hunting and fishing. Billy had learned a lot from his dad.

  “Soon as I’m thirteen, I’m gonna get a deer license,” said Billy. “I’ll hunt ’em with a big rifle. Ketch one grazing, sneak up across a log-pile, and wham! I got him. Then put my tag on him!”

  “And have good venison to eat!” added Joel. “Golly! Is it good! Wish I had a hunk right now.”

  “Once a big chicken hawk was after our chickens,” said Billy. “I took Dad’s double-barreled shotgun and tried to shoot it. I was just a little kid then. The gun was so heavy, I had a hard time holding it up. I shot, but all it did was knock me flat on my fanny!”

  Joel laughed with Billy.

  The boys came back to their camp and Joel started the fire up again. The twigs were damp and it began to smoke badly.

  “I hear something,” cried Joel, suddenly. “Footsteps.”

  “Somebody
’s coming,” said Billy. “I hear it, too. Heck, why can’t they leave us alone?”

  He tried to look unconcerned, but Joel could see he was nervous.

  “It might be the Forest Service guy,” said Billy. “Hide your matches.”

  They waited and soon a young man came up, whistling. Billy was right. He wore the green Forest Service uniform, with a shoulder patch on his sleeve and a badge on his pocket.

  “Hi, boys!” he said in a friendly voice. “You campin’ out?”

  “Yes,” said Billy, crossly. “Gonna sleep here tonight.”

  “That’s fine,” said the man. “My name’s Bob Downey. You can call me Bob. I saw the smoke from your campfire and I thought I’d better come over.”

  “We got a permit,” said Billy.

  “Good!” said Bob.

  He sat down on a log and Joel brought him a drink of spring water.

  “I’m making a survey of bug-killed trees in this area,” he said.

  Billy was still angry.

  “What d’you mean stealin’ our bread and cookies?” he demanded. “If you’d a asked us, we’d a give you some. If you was that hungry …”

  Bob Downey laughed.

  “I didn’t steal any of your food,” he said.

  “Yes you did, we heard you,” said Billy. “We heard footsteps off a ways and we walked out and all around to investigate, and when we come back, half our bread was gone and a lot of cookies.”

  “Your camp was robbed?” asked Bob.

  “It sure was,” said Joel.

  “No animal tracks?” asked Bob.

  “Not one,” said Billy. “I looked.”

  “There’s another robber you overlooked,” said Bob, “and he doesn’t leave tracks. He’s called Clark’s nutcracker—but his common name is Camp Robber.”

  “You mean a bird?” asked Billy.

  “Yes,” said Bob. “He’s pretty as all get out, big as a bluejay, gray all over, black and white on his wings, and a bright red spot on his black beak. He’s so tame, he’s not afraid of anything or anybody.”

  “I’ve seen him,” said Billy, “but I didn’t know …”

  “You turn your back,” said Bob, “and he’ll come up and get into everything that’s loose, lookin’ for food. He’ll even eat cooked pan potatoes and raw meat!”