Scott Burton, Forester

by Edward G. Cheyney

Scott saw that he was sincere, and decided to time it rather than chance showing his ignorance by disputing it now. In the meanwhile Ormand had unpacked the oatmeal, sugar, a can of milk, the tin cups and spoons.

“How about pancakes?” he called.

“Too late this morning,” Morgan answered, and the pancake flour was left in the pack.

Scott was watching the fire with considerable interest. Greenleaf sat patiently beside it, occasionally poking tiny twigs in between the logs, but never on any account overfeeding it. In a few seconds over the prescribed five minutes the water began to boil. Greenleaf immediately removed it from the fire, dropped into it a small bag containing a heaping teaspoonful of tea, and getting two of the canteens, which Scott had looked upon as superfluous baggage, considering the number of houses they would pass, leaned them carefully against one of the logs with their uncorked mouths up. Five minutes later he fished out the little bag and poured the tea into the canteens, which he corked immediately.

No sooner was the tea out of the kettle than Ormand rinsed it and poured into it a cup of oatmeal and three cups of water which he had already brought to a boil in the frying pan. He put the kettle back on the fire, dropped in a pinch of salt, and proceeded to trim a good stiff, green stick. With this he began to stir the oatmeal vigorously, at the same time feeding the fire with the other hand.

“Anybody want any tea before he has his oatmeal?” Greenleaf asked. They all did. The smoking tea was poured into the tin cups, a can of condensed milk punctured in two places with a nail which Greenleaf produced from his pocket—“I always carry a nail,” he explained, “a round hole is so much easier to plug,”—and the tea was adjusted to every individual taste. Ormand stopped feeding the fire long enough to manage his tea with one hand, but never left off stirring for a second. They all sipped their tea contentedly until Ormand announced that the oatmeal was “done.”

It was then dealt out into the teacups, sugared and plastered with the undiluted milk. The cooking being over Morgan piled some larger sticks on the fire and they sat around it comfortably. Scott was very much surprised to see how very full a cupful of oatmeal made him feel.

Breakfast over, Morgan rolled the two logs apart so that by the time the teacups and the teakettle had been sand-scoured and rinsed out in the little stream the fire was almost out. A pot or two of water on the dying embers, the cups strung on the individual belts, and the party was ready to move. The most astonishing part to Scott was the perfect harmony of all the actions, and the promptness with which each one performed his part when he knew that they were not acting on any prearranged plan. He was to have a still more striking exhibition of this freemasonry of the woods when the little camp was pitched for the night.

Ormand took the lead and the four filed away down the river. Very little was said. Each man was wriggling himself into harmony with his pack and too full of the sheer joy of being once more in the open to care to talk. The houses very quickly ceased to obtrude themselves and Scott was surprised to see how soon they were in practically uninhabited woods. The flat river bottom was here very narrow and the cliffs rose almost at right angles to a height of one hundred and fifty feet. Frequent streams crossed their path, emerging from miniature gorges in the cliffs, and hurrying across the narrow strip of bottom land to the river. Trees there were in plenty, many of them species which Scott did not expect to find at all in such places.

At the end of an hour and a half of steady walking Ormand declared that it was time for a rest, and dropping his pack at the foot of a big elm tree, sat down beside it. All the others followed his example and they were soon comfortably settled in a little hollow protected from the wind.