of fresh-cut lumber trailed away into the forest.



V. THE SAWMILL

In my surprise I almost forgot the Mexican. Then I thought that if Dick
were there the Mexican would be likely to have troubles of his own. I
remembered Dick's reputation as a fighter. But suppose I did not find Dick
at the sawmill? This part of the forest was probably owned by private
individuals, for I couldn't imagine Government timber being cut in this
fashion. So I tied Hal and the pony amidst a thick clump of young pines,
and, leaving all my outfit except my revolver, I struck out across the
slash.

No second glance was needed to tell that the lumbering here was careless
and without thought for the future. It had been a clean cut, and what small
saplings had escaped the saw had been crushed by the dropping and hauling
of the large pines. The stumps were all about three feet high, and that
meant the waste of many thousands of feet of good lumber. Only the
straight, unbranched trunks had been used. The tops of the pines had not
been lopped, and lay where they had fallen. It was a wilderness of yellow
brush, a dry jungle. The smell of pine was so powerful that I could hardly
breathe. Fire must inevitably complete this work of ruin; already I was
forester enough to see that.

Presently the trail crossed a railroad track which appeared to have been
hastily constructed. Swinging along at a rapid step on the ties I soon
reached the outskirts of the huge stacks of lumber; I must have walked half
a mile between two yellow walls. Then I entered the lumber camp.