The Young Forester, Zane Grey [good books for 8th graders .TXT] 📗

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG FORESTER *** Produced by Bill Brewer, and David Widger

THE YOUNG FORESTER

By Zane Grey

CONTENTS

I. CHOOSING A PROFESSION

II. THE MAN ON THE TRAIN

III. THE TRAIL

IV. LOST IN THE FOREST

V. THE SAWMILL

VI. DICK LESLIE, RANGER

VI. BACK TO HOLSTON

VIII. THE LUMBERMEN

IX. TAKEN INTO THE MOUNTAINS

X. ESCAPE

XI. THE OLD HUNTER

XII. BEARS

XIII. THE CABIN IN THE FOREST

XIV. A PRISONER

XV. THE FIGHT

XVI. THE FOREST'S GREATEST FOE

XVII. THE BACK-FIRE

XVIII. CONCLUSION

I. CHOOSING A PROFESSION

I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in when I tried to explain forestry to my brother.

“Hunting grizzlies!” he cried. “Why, Ken, father says you've been reading dime novels.”

“Just wait, Hal, till he comes out here. I'll show him that forestry isn't just bear-hunting.”

My brother Hal and I were camping a few days on the Susquehanna River, and we had divided the time between fishing and tramping. Our camp was on the edge of a forest some eight miles from Harrisburg. The property belonged to our father, and he had promised to drive out to see us. But he did not come that day, and I had to content myself with winning Hal over to my side.

“Ken, if the governor lets you go to Arizona can't you ring me in?”

“Not this summer. I'd be afraid to ask him. But in another year I'll do it.”

“Won't it be great? But what a long time to wait! It makes me sick to think of you out there riding mustangs and hunting bears and lions.”

“You'll have to stand it. You're pretty much of a kid, Hal—not yet fourteen. Besides, I've graduated.”

“Kid!” exclaimed Hal, hotly. “You're not such a Methuselah yourself! I'm nearly as big as you. I can ride as well and play ball as well, and I can beat you all—”

“Hold on, Hal! I want you to help me to persuade father, and if you get your temper up you'll like as not go against me. If he lets me go I'll bring you in as soon as I dare. That's a promise. I guess I know how much I'd like to have you.”

“All right,” replied Hal, resignedly. “I'll have to hold in, I suppose. But I'm crazy to go. And, Ken, the cowboys and lions are not all that interest me. I like what you tell me about forestry. But who ever heard of forestry as a profession?”

“It's just this way, Hal. The natural resources have got to be conserved, and the Government is trying to enlist intelligent young men in the work—particularly in the department of forestry. I'm not exaggerating when I say the prosperity of this country depends upon forestry.”

I have to admit that I was repeating what I had read.

“Why does it? Tell me how,” demanded Hal.

“Because the lumbermen are wiping out all the timber and never thinking of the future. They are in such a hurry to get rich that they'll leave their grandchildren only a desert. They cut and slash in every direction, and then fires come and the country is ruined. Our rivers depend upon the forests for water. The trees draw the rain; the leaves break it up and let it fall in mists and drippings; it seeps into the ground, and is held by the roots. If the trees are destroyed the rain rushes off on the surface and floods the rivers. The forests store up water, and they do good in other ways.”

“We've got to have wood and lumber,” said Hal.

“Of course we have. But there won't be any unless we go in for forestry. It's been practiced in Germany for three hundred years.”

We spent another hour talking about it, and if Hal's practical sense, which he inherited from father, had not been offset by his real love for the forests I should have been discouraged. Hal was of an industrious turn of mind; he meant to make money, and anything that was good business appealed strongly to him. But, finally, he began to see what I was driving at; he admitted that there was something in the argument.

The late afternoon was the best time for fishing. For the next two hours our thoughts were of quivering rods and leaping bass.

“You'll miss the big bass this August,” remarked Hal, laughing. “Guess you won't have all the sport.”

“That's so, Hal,” I replied, regretfully. “But we're talking as if it were a dead sure thing that I'm going West. Well, I only hope so.”

What Hal and I liked best about camping—of course after the fishing—was to sit around the campfire. Tonight it was more pleasant than ever, and when darkness fully settled down it was even thrilling. We talked about bears. Then Hal told of mountain-lions and the habit they have of creeping stealthily after hunters. There was a hoot-owl crying dismally up in the woods, and down by the edge of the river bright-green eyes peered at us from the darkness. When the wind came up and moaned through the trees it was not hard to imagine