To Be a Logger Read online

  Joel wondered why Jinx did not come. She must be through bug-picking by this time. She liked swimming more than anyone else. She was slow—she hated that job. Maybe he’d better go help her.

  Billy Weber was bored with the girls and got up to go. So Joel left, too.

  Yes, he’d go help Jinx, so she could be done with her job before Dad got home. Then nobody would get bawled out.

  Joel ran up the woods road and on up the hill to the vegetable garden. But Jinx was not there. He looked at her rows of potatoes. They were still full of potato bugs. There sat her can of kerosene in the path.

  “Jinx! J—i—n—x!” called Joel.

  She must have gone back to the house. Joel ran indoors, calling her name. No answer. No one there. The house was forlorn and empty.

  Then he saw it—the paper on the kitchen table.

  He picked it up and read the words:

  “I’m running away from home. Don’t try to find me. Jinx.”

  Joel frowned. Jinx running away? Jinx always so cheerful and happy, why was she running away?

  Joel went in her room. The closet door was open and he saw that her clothes were gone, but not Sandy’s. This was more serious than he thought. Did she really mean it? Would Jinx really run away from home?

  Joel took off his bathing trunks and put on his pants and shirt. He looked at the paper again, and read it over and over. It sounded final, as if she really meant it. But where would she go? Where does anybody go, when they run away from home?

  One thing was sure, Joel would have to find her. He would find her right away and bring her back. He crumpled her note in a wad and stuffed it into his pants pocket. He ran down the woods road. When he got to the highway, he stopped. Which way should he go?

  To the store, first, of course.

  Myra might know something.

  But Myra didn’t.

  “Where’s Jinx?” Joel asked. “Have you seen her?”

  “No,” said Myra, looking up from her book. “Why? She lost?”

  Now how did Myra guess?

  Joel shook his head.

  “You sure you ain’t seen her?” he asked again. “She’s not hidin’ in back somewhere?”

  “Go and look,” said Myra.

  Joel went all through the store and the little post office, but Jinx was not there.

  “I don’t hide kids,” said Myra. “Last time I saw Jinx was yesterday when I gave her your mail.”

  Joel had to believe her.

  He went out the door and stood by the gas tanks uncertainly. Which way should he go? To the south, on the road to Medford, or to the north on the canyon road to River Bend and Canyonville? Where would a girl go when she was running away from home?

  Just then a Chevvy drove up from the south. It stopped by the store and the driver sounded his horn. He was a stranger, Joel had never seen him before. He had a California license plate. He wanted gas and Myra came out. The man got out of the car and talked while she operated the pump.

  “Big truck in the ditch below here,” he said.

  “That so?” said Myra.

  “Yep!” said the man. “One of them big logging trucks that hog the roads up here in Oregon. Comin’ round a switchback, that guy dumped his load out over the bank. Serves him right, I say!”

  “Too bad,” said Myra. “Accidents do happen.”

  Joel heard it all.

  “What color was the logging truck, mister?” he asked.

  The man hesitated.

  “Blue?” asked Joel. “That’s Empire Logging Company. Yellow? That’s Johnson’s. Green? That’s Skinner’s. Orange? That’s my Uncle Irv’s. It wasn’t orange, was it?”

  “Don’t remember,” said the man.

  “It couldn’t be orange,” said Joel, “’cause my Uncle Irv’s a good driver. He’s never had an accident.”

  The man frowned.

  “There’s always a first time, you know,” he said.

  Then he grinned, as if it was funny.

  Myra went in the store to get the man’s change. Joel remembered Jinx and how she had run away.

  “You didn’t happen to see a little girl goin’ down the road, did you, mister?” he asked. “Short hair, long legs and …”

  “Why yes,” said the man. “I did see this kid a-streakin’ down the road as if somethin’ was chasin’ her. Had a suitcase in her hand. Seemed kinda funny to me, but …”

  Myra came out again, and Joel turned away.

  He didn’t want Myra to hear. The man got in his Chevvy and drove off.

  Joel knew all he needed to know. Jinx had gone south. So now he’d have to follow her. She had a good head start. Could he catch up with her? He hoped she had sense enough not to be a hitch-hiker and hitch a ride with somebody. Then he’d never find her.

  He started off down the road, walking as fast as he could go. He had not gone far when he heard a loud motor roaring behind him. It was a low-boy carrying a cat. The driver was Wallie Whitcomb from River Bend gas station. He must be going to the wrecked logging truck.

  Joel signaled. Wallie pulled up and the boy jumped on. This would be faster. Now maybe he could catch up with Jinx.

  He rode with Wallie to the scene of the accident. The first thing he saw before he jumped off was the color of the logging truck. It was not orange, so it was not Uncle Irv. Joel was thankful for that. It was yellow. That was the Johnson Logging Company.

  Before they got off, Wallie leaned over and said to Joel: “One of them cowboy drivers! College kid, still green behind the ears! Likes to go fast round the corners. Can’t tell them bright kids a thing. They know it all.”

  The driver was a young fellow, who looked pretty scared.

  “I was only goin’ sixty,” he said.

  “Limit for loggin’ trucks is fifty,” growled Wallie. “And you better make it twenty round these hairpin turns.”

  “Well, I got to get there,” said the driver. “I’m fightin’ for time all the time, got to make three trips a day. It’s fifty-six miles from the landing to the mill, that’s a hundred and twelve miles round trip, besides the stops for loading and unloading, besides the traffic, cars crawlin’ in and out and tryin’ to pass, and construction and red lights. It makes a very long day, unless I speed up a little.”

  “Speedin’ up can land you in the ditch,” said Wallie, “or even land you in jail.”

  Wallie set to work with his cat to pick the logs up. Then he would hoist the truck back to the road again and load the logs back on.

  Joel watched, fascinated.

  He sat with the driver on a stone by the road. The driver was friendly and talked. He said it was his first summer out of college and he aimed to make big money driving the logging truck. He wanted to go back to college again in the fall.

  “But I thought you graduated,” said Joel.

  “I did,” said the young man. “But now I want to do some postgraduate work in engineering. Just college is not enough.”

  “It’s not?” asked Joel.

  They had a nice talk and Joel liked the fellow even if he had tried to speed going around a corner.

  “Golly! I forgot!” said Joel suddenly. “I gotta go hunt for my sister. She ran away from home.”

  The young man stared. “She what?”

  “Ran away from home,” said Joel. “Jinx is always doing crazy things. I’m hunting for her, I’m gonna bring her back. Want to get her there before Dad gets home from work or she’ll be in trouble. You didn’t see her, did you?”

  “Seems like I passed some kids along the road,” said the young man, “but I’m not sure. Where’s she goin’?”

  “How do I know?” asked Joel. “A man in a Chevvy told me he saw her headin’ for Medford, or she might go to Rogue River where my aunt lives.”

  He got up and started off.

  “Hope you find her,” said the young man.

  Joel hated to leave the wrecked log-load, but marched sturdily on. He rounded a curve and followed the highway as it started up a
steep winding hill. He stopped and got a drink at a spring bubbling out from the side of the hill. He saw footprints—a girl’s sneakers.

  She’s been here! Joel said to himself. Those are her tracks. She stopped for a drink of water. If she walked all the way from home, without getting a lift, she musta been tired and thirsty by the time she got here. So maybe she didn’t go much farther.

  Maybe she stopped to camp in the woods.

  No, Jinx was scared of the woods. She would never sleep out all night, alone. She’d go to somebody’s house and ask for food and a bed, I bet. She’d rather sleep in some stranger’s house than out in the woods with the wild animals.

  Then Joel happened to think: But there are no houses along here. Not a single house all the way over the mountain. Nothing but woods.

  Joel kept to the road. She must be on the road ahead somewhere. He trudged steadily on. The road was uphill and he went slowly taking deep breaths. Several cars passed, but none stopped.

  Part way up the mountain was a Recreation Park maintained by the Forest Service. She might be there. It had some tables and benches for picnicking, outdoor fireplaces, and several shelters. Even there it would be too spooky for Jinx to sleep out, but at least she might be resting, and if so, he could catch up with her.

  Golly! He just had to get her home and get her home quick, before Mom and Dad got back. They’d be upset to find her run away.

  But where was that girl?

  There were no clues of any kind. Only guesswork. She might have come this way. But if a car picked her up, he’d never get her.

  Joel saw a Forest Service truck parked in a lane by the road. It was filled with paint cans. He went in and talked to the man. The man said this unit had been sold for salvage logging. He was marking the trees to be cut with a slash of blue paint.

  Joel asked, “Did you see a girl go by, walking? Small, short hair?”

  “No,” said the man. “I been in the woods painting.”

  The boy went back to the road again and started on. Up ahead he saw something funny. It looked like a flag flying above a tree. A white flag tied on a stick. What on earth? Was this some new kind of signal used by the Forest Service—for spraying or dusting? Something new that Joel did not know about?

  He went up closer.

  It was a madrone tree—a beauty, with several graceful curving red trunks. The dark green leaves were shiny and beautiful and made a thick canopy at the top. Above them, the white flag was sticking out.

  Joel stared, and as he stared, the flag began to wave up and down. Was somebody up there signaling? If so, to whom? Joel had never seen anything like this before.

  Then he heard a sound. Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!

  “Golly!” cried Joel. “Somebody’s up there!”

  At the same minute he saw on the ground a battered suitcase, lying open. He went up closer. He went under the tree and looked up. Over the branches hung an array of girl’s clothes—dresses, slips, nightgowns, and underthings.

  “JINX! You come right down here!” cried Joel angrily. “Are you crazy or what?”

  “No,” said Jinx. “I’m glad to see you. Come on in my house. I’m living in a tree now. This is my home.”

  “What’s your flag for?” asked Joel, curious.

  “Distress signal,” said Jinx.

  “Are you in distress?” asked Joel.

  “No,” said Jinx, “just playing a game. I didn’t want you to go past.”

  “You’re cuckoo!” said Joel. “How did you know I was coming?”

  “I knew you’d come to find me.”

  “What if I hadn’t?” asked Joel.

  “I’d a slept in this tree all night,” said Jinx. “My bedroom’s up here. I had a nice nap this afternoon.”

  “You can’t sleep in a tree, you’d fall out,” said Joel.

  “But I didn’t,” said Jinx. “I laid my coat on two limbs and went to sleep. To hold on, I braced my feet. My hands would drop off, but my feet were braced, so I didn’t fall.”

  “O.K., come on home now,” said Joel. “Here I had to come all this long way to find you, and I had no idea where you went. Please be sensible and come on home.”

  But Jinx insisted on staying where she was.

  “I’m not going home,” she said. “I live here now.”

  “Now Jinx, you know you’re just showing off,” said Joel. “You pulled this stunt just to get out of potato-bug picking. It’s not gonna help one bit. Tomorrow there’ll be twice as many potato bugs on your vines as today. You’ll have to pick twice as long.”

  “I hate potato bugs,” said Jinx.

  “That’s just too bad,” said Joel, “but you have to pick them anyway. Running off won’t help you to get out of it. When Dad says a thing, he means it.”

  Joel argued and argued with her, but the more he coaxed, the more determined Jinx was to stay. So at last in disgust he went off without her. He hurried back down the road till he came to the wrecked logging truck. The logs were being loaded back on the truck now.

  “Did you find your sister?” asked the driver.

  “Yes,” said Joel.

  “Where?”

  “Living in a tree up on the mountain,” said Joel, grinning. “She says it’s her home. She’s got all her clothes hanging on the branches. She’s crazy.”

  “You gonna take her home?”

  “She won’t come,” said Joel. “She’s stubborn. So I’m goin’ home without her. At least I know where she is.”

  Wallie’s work done, he turned the low-boy and started to go.

  “Want a ride, Joel?” he asked.

  “Sure!” said Joel, climbing on.

  Like a rush of mighty wind, a girl came flying down the road and jumped in the cab beside him, suitcase and all.

  “Don’t go without me!” cried Jinx.

  Wallie and Joel laughed. The young driver of the logging truck laughed, too.

  But Jinx didn’t.

  “You spoiled my game,” she said, sullenly.

  Joel did not answer.

  Jinx was sober now, thinking how silly had been her escapade. She did not say a word all the way back to the Drum Store, nor up the woods road. When she saw Dad’s pick-up in the yard, and Mom at the kitchen door, she was scared. She turned to Joel and said, trembling: “I left a note on the kitchen table. Do you suppose …”

  Joel pulled the crumpled note from his pants pocket.

  “You don’t need to tell them if you don’t want to,” he said. “I won’t tell either.”

  But it was hard for Jinx to keep secrets.

  She marched in and said, “Mom, I ran away from home today and Joel came and brought me back.”

  Dad heard it, too.

  “I’m glad Joel’s got some sense if you haven’t,” he said.

  He bent over and kissed her.

  The next day Jinx picked potato bugs.

  Chapter Seven

  THE RIDE

  One night Uncle Irv stopped in and asked Joel if he’d like to have a ride on his logging truck.

  “Sure!” said Joel. “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Uncle Irv. “I’ll take one load to the mill first and pick you up on my way back to the woods, at nine-thirty. You be down at the store ready. Be sure to bring your lunch. You’ll be plenty hungry before you get back.”

  Joel was always ready for a ride on the big truck. He enjoyed it now even more than when he was younger. Each time the trip was as great an adventure as it had been when he was six.

  Mom packed a lunch for him and he ran down the woods road as fast as he could go. He waited at the roadside, but not for long.

  Through the morning stillness, Joel could hear the sound of a truck motor getting louder and louder. The next moment the big diesel was there, grinding to a halt. In the cab sat Uncle Irv, grinning. He wore a blue T-shirt and a visor cap, tilted back. Quickly he pulled Joel up in the high seat beside him, with no time lost. There the boy sat like a king, looking down on the immense hood and watchin
g the road ahead being sucked under the mighty truck.

  Joel looked at Uncle Irv and smiled. There was so much noise and vibration, they could not talk. Uncle Irv kept shifting the gears between the two seats.

  Joel looked behind. The truck was a monster with sixteen wheels and could carry a load up to a hundred tons. It was empty now, without logs. The trailer with the rear wheels was riding on top of the body. They were heading for the woods to get the second load. The truck banged down the canyon road, took all the curves without slowing up and kept on going. Uncle Irv’s strong arms were on the steering wheel every minute and had it under perfect control. Uncle Irv put a box of red cherries on the seat and he and Joel began to eat.

  Before they knew it, they had left the highway and were on the gravel mountain road and climbing. Once they passed huge boulders in the road that had fallen from the high cliff at one side, and made the truck turn out. They came to one switchback after another, as the road ran in and out and around the mountains. It followed a devious track around one mountain and then another, climbing always higher and higher. Up the steep grades the big truck slowed down to twenty miles per hour and seemed to barely crawl.

  They were in National Forest now. That was where most of the logging was being done. The Forest Service auctioned off to the highest bidder the units of trees they wanted cut. The mills who bought the “sales” then hired gyppo logging companies to do the work. The good timber was harder and harder to get, so the units were on higher and higher ground. The Forest Service designated each unit for either “clear-cut” or “selective cutting.” For a “clear-cut,” everything had to be cut off, no trees of any kind left, and the snags and brush had to be burned afterwards. In some clear-cuts no burning was to be done.

  The Forest Service justified burning for two reasons—to reduce the fire hazard caused by the slash or limbs, and to prepare the ground for tree seeding or planting. Burning was not done if there were established seedlings.