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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN
PERFORMANCE AND TECHNOLOGY

Circus, Science
and Technology
Dramatising Innovation
Edited by Anna-Sophie Jürgens
Palgrave Studies in Performance and Technology

Series Editors
Susan Broadhurst
School of Arts
Brunel University
Uxbridge, UK

Josephine Machon
Middlesex University
London, UK
This exciting and timely new series features cutting-edge books which
centre on global and embodied approaches to performance and tech-
nology. As well as focussing on digital performance and art, the series
includes the theoretical and historical context relevant to these practices.
Not only does the series offer fresh artistic and theoretical perspectives
on this exciting and growing area of contemporary performance practice,
but it also aims to include contributors from a wide range of international
locations working within this varied discipline. The series includes edited
collections and monographs on issues including (but not limited to):
identity and live art; intimacy and engagement with technology; biotech-
nology and artistic practices; technology, architecture and performance;
performance, gender and technology; and space and performance.

Editorial Advisory Board

Philip Auslander
Carol Brown
Sita Popat
Tracey Warr
We welcome all ideas for new books and have provided guidelines for
submitting proposals in the Authors section of our website. To discuss
project ideas and proposals for this series please contact the series editors:
Susan Broadhurst: [email protected] Josephine Machon:
[email protected]

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14604
 Anna-Sophie Jürgens
Editor

Circus, Science
and Technology
Dramatising Innovation
Editor
Anna-Sophie Jürgens
Australian National University
Canberra, ACT, Australia

Palgrave Studies in Performance and Technology

ISBN 978-3-030-43297-3 ISBN 978-3-030-43298-0 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-43298-0

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2020

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc.
in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such
names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for
general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and informa-
tion in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither
the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with
respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been
made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps
and institutional affiliations.

Cover illustration: Circus Flic Flac, Hannover 2015. Photo by Jürgen Bürgin

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
 Foreword

As the editor of this volume of various and intriguing essays points out,
the collection owes its existence to a conference entitled ‘Imagineers in
Circus and Science’ held at the Humanities Research Centre (HRC) at
the Australian National University in 2018. The HRC is the oldest centre
for humanities research in Australia, and I offer these prefatory remarks
as its Director. Established in 1972 as a national and international centre
for scholarly excellence and a catalyst for innovative and interdisciplinary
research within the ANU and beyond, the HRC has hosted many of
the world’s leading humanities scholars over the forty-odd years of its
existence. One of its central functions has been to bring to the ANU
scholars of international standing who will provoke fresh ideas within
and beyond the academic community—like the scholars represented in
this volume and like Anna-Sophie Jürgens herself, who for two years was
resident in the HRC as a Feodor Lynen Postdoctoral Fellow, courtesy
of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. As well as offering and
administering a Visiting Fellows programme organised around an annual
theme, the HRC funds and organises conferences and colloquia, like
Anna-Sophie’s ‘Imagineers in Circus and Science’, and tries to bridge the
gap between the humanities, the social sciences and the sciences, including
engineering. With links to the ANU’s Centre for the Public Awareness of
Science, the HRC considers the natural or ‘hard’ sciences, not as one of
two cultures, but as an integral part of the one culture we all share as
inquiring, thinking, feeling and acting human beings. With this in mind,

v
vi FOREWORD

the HRC offers a platform for questions about how science and tech-
nology are interpreted, valued, communicated and applied.
And so does the circus, it turns out, which is hardly surprising because
it is precisely surprise and wonder that predominate in our experience
of both science and the circus. ‘Imagineers in Circus and Science’ took
place in April 2018 with delegates from around the world and the
collaboration of a broad number of experts from disciplines as diverse
as computer science, engineering, theatre, literary and cultural studies,
and circus performance—all of them represented in this volume of essays,
which offers the reader the opportunity to savour the ideas and values
shared by the delegates amongst themselves over the three engrossing
days of the conference. (As part of this conference, Anna-Sophie launched
the University’s first cross-campus competition for creative conference
recording, with inspired results.)
I commend Anna-Sophie’s energy and enthusiasm in gathering so
many and such diverse scholars together, first as speakers and then as
contributors, but most importantly let me commend to the reader the
essays themselves and their thought-provoking explorations of the Circus,
Science and Technology. Enjoy.

William Christie
Australian National University
Canberra, ACT, Australia
 Acknowledgments

Alexander von Humboldt was not a circus artist. He was not an engi-
neer either. And yet the editor feels she needs to thank him first. After
Humboldt’s death in 1859, friends of the polymath, naturalist, explorer
and philosopher created a foundation with the aim to continue his
generous support of young academics. 160 years later, it is a Feodor
Lynen Postdoctoral Fellowship of the Alexander von Humboldt Founda-
tion that has made this book a reality. It gave its editor the opportunity, for
which she is thoroughly grateful, to conduct research in Australia. Equally
important in the genesis of the volume is the generous support from the
Humanities Research Centre (HRC) at the Australian National University
and its director, Will Christie. The chapters in this edited collection owe
their existence to a conference titled ‘Imagineers in Circus and Science’
held at the HRC in 2018. The conference turned out to be an extremely
inspiring, thought-provoking and momentous event, a vehicle for coop-
eration and publications, not in the least thanks to an array of most
supportive partners. The editor/conference organiser takes this oppor-
tunity to thank them all: the National Science and Technology Centre
(Questacon), the National Film and Sound Archive, Inspiring the ACT,
the Warehouse Circus (Canberra’s youth circus), as well as Mark Eliott
(Glassblowing Performance) and Karl Fischer (Magic Show).
In addition, the editor is indebted to her colleague Rebecca Hender-
shott for her intellectual contribution to this book; to Will Christie,

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Jochen Brocks, Kylie Message and Konrad Lenz for stimulating conver-
sations at various stages in the process; to the University House at
the Australian National University (aka Peter Kanowski and team) for
awarding her a fellowship that contributed to the preparation of the
book; and to Bert Peeters for clarifying key elements in the editor’s
writing. Anonymous reviewers approached by the publisher provided bril-
liant advice in the early stages of the book, and an international cohort of
eminent scholars—including but probably not limited to Mark Cosdon,
Richard Weihe, Matthias Christen, Stefan Buchenberger and Jessica
Milner Davis—have been instrumental in their enthusiastic endorsement
of the editor’s (ongoing) intellectual exploration of the intriguing cultural
intricacies and connections between popular performance and technology,
particularly the delicious art of clowning and engineering. The editor
expresses her heartfelt gratitude to each and every one of them.
Amongst the contributors, Katie Lavers would like to acknowledge the
Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts at Edith Cowan Univer-
sity for their ongoing support of her research, and for a grant awarded for
transcription purposes. Likewise, Jon Burtt is indebted to the Department
of Media, Music, Communication, and Cultural Studies at Macquarie
University for ongoing support of his research. Erin Ball is very appre-
ciative of the love and support of everyone who has been a part of her
journey.
Last but not least, the editor thanks all the contributors to Circus,
Science and Technology. Collectively, they have challenged Arthur C.
Clarke’s famous dictum that advanced technology is indistinguishable
from magic. Their cooperation in preparing their chapters on technology
and circus in culture was definitely magic, too.

Canberra
May 2019
 Praise for Circus, Science and
Technology

“Circus, Science and Technology: Dramatising Innovation brings together

a remarkable collection of essays demonstrating the sheer ingenuity,
daring, engineering and wonder of the circus and its allied arts. Docu-
menting and theorising at the intersections of science and human imagina-
tion, these leading authors remind us of circus’s past, present and possible
future as a crucial site of spectacle, imagination and awe.”
—Mark Cosdon, Professor of Theatre and Performance Studies, Allegheny
College, USA. Author of The Hanlon Brothers: From Daredevil
Acrobatics to Spectacle Pantomime, 1833–1931

∗ ∗ ∗

“In addition to its interventionist, interdisciplinary and transhistorical

approach, shedding new light on the relationship between the circus and
science (both broadly conceived), Circus, Science and Technology bril-
liantly rethinks the faculty of technology as an innovative source for
popular entertainments, also considering its essential role in the dissem-
ination of circus innovation as human achievement across cultures, time
and the ‘mutual shaping’ of performance spaces. Jürgens has meticulously
curated a selection of essays from leading scholars, resulting in a radiant

ix
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x PRAISE FOR CIRCUS, SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

book electric with unique voices and diverse perspectives that should spark
critical explorations across a variety of scholarly fields.”
—Sean F. Edgecomb, author of Charles Ludlam Lives!, Associate
Professor of Theatre and Performance, The Graduate Center & CSI, City
University of New York

∗ ∗ ∗

“Circus people and technology people are equally enthralled by wonder.

But they rarely converse even though they have so much to show and say
to each other. This exciting, field-expanding book gets everyone talking,
discovering and enjoying the trans-disciplinary adventure.”
—Ross Gibson, Centenary Professor in Creative and Cultural Research,
University of Canberra, Australia

∗ ∗ ∗

“This remarkable book gives us a compelling picture of circus as a

powerful and rich arena for innovation in science and technology.
Featuring brilliant analysis, evocative writing and impeccable scholarship,
its fascinating essays underscore the central role circus plays in cultural
life—and especially how technology and engineering is a vital part of
this overlooked story of Western modernity. Riveting to read, the volume
opens up new ways to understand science and technology, and their inti-
mate and mutually productive relations with culture and social systems.”
—Gerard Goggin, Wee Kim Wee Professor of Communication Studies,
Nanyang Technological University, Singapore

∗ ∗ ∗

“Circus, Science and Technology offers a wide-ranging collection of essen-

tial, thought-provoking essays on topics ranging from historical mechan-
ical contrivances to postmodern imagineering through media. It is an
essential book for anyone interested in the material history and behind-
the-scenes workings of circus.”
—Professor Louis Patrick Leroux, Concordia University, Montreal.
Co-author of Contemporary Circus (with K. Lavers and J. Burtt) and
co-editor of Cirque Global: Quebec’s Expanding Circus Boundaries
(with C. Batson)
 PRAISE FOR CIRCUS, SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY xi

∗ ∗ ∗

“This is a book to savour and enjoy, successfully interweaving a range of

academic disciplines. Each chapter offers original thinking and scholarship
on the intersection of science and drama, giving deeper insight into a little
studied field.”
—Jessica Milner Davis, University of Sydney, author of Farce
(Transaction, 2003), and Judges, Judging and Humour (with Sharyn
Roach Anleu, Springer, 2019)

∗ ∗ ∗

“Recent scholarship is making it increasingly clear just how unstuffy the

stuffy Victorians really were. In this marvellous volume Anna-Sophie
Jürgens and her co-authors explore the intersections of science and spec-
tacle since the nineteenth century. These wide-ranging and entertaining
essays offer further evidence of just how important spectacle was for the
Victorians, and how central a role spectacular entertainment played in
putting science and technology at the heart of culture.”
—Professor Iwan Rhys Morus, Aberystwyth University. Most recent book:
Nikola Tesla and the Electrical Future (Icon Books, 2019)

∗ ∗ ∗

“This fascinating book takes the popular circus as a key site of intersection
between the arts and sciences. Taking case studies from the long and rich
cultural history of the circus, this book is an important reminder that
scientific and technological innovation takes place in popular spaces as
well as scientific laboratories. Essential reading for those interested in the
circus arts and the popular history of science.”
—Elizabeth Stephens, Associate Professor and ARC Future
Fellow, Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities, University of
Queensland, Australia
 Contents

1 Circus Matters: Engineering, Imagineering and Popular

Stages of Technology—Introduction 1
Anna-Sophie Jürgens

Part I Engineered to Promote Awe: Circus (and) Bodies

2 Engineers of Curiosity: The Barnum Era 15

Jane Goodall

3 Unreal Limbs: Erin Ball and the Extended Body in

Contemporary Circus 33
Katie Lavers, Jon Burtt, and with Erin Ball

Part II Technological Invention: Engineering (on) the

Circus Stage

4 Circus as Laboratory: Imagineering Legitimacy 57

Mark St Leon

xiii
xiv CONTENTS

5 Circus and Electricity: Staging Connexions Between

Science and Popular Entertainments 81
Gillian Arrighi

6 Technologies of Risk, Fear and Fun: Human and

Nonhuman Circus Performance 101
Peta Tait

Part III Techno-Imaginaries: Imagineering Circus in

Other Media

7 The Circus and the Magic Lantern: A Portfolio of

Hand-Painted Mechanical Magic Lantern Slides 123
Martyn Jolly and Elisa deCourcy

8 The Circus and Technologies of Animation 143

Ruth Richards

9 Engineering Circus Enchantment: Automagic

Technology and Electrifying Performances in Fiction 159
Anna-Sophie Jürgens and Robert C. Williamson

Index 185
 Notes on Contributors

Gillian Arrighi is Senior Lecturer in the School of Creative Industries,

University of Newcastle, Australia. She has published over twenty-five
refereed journal articles and book chapters and is editor of the scholarly
journal Popular Entertainment Studies. Her books include The FitzGerald
Brothers’ Circus: Spectacle, Identity and Nationhood at the Australian
Circus (Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2015), Entertaining Children:
The Participation of Youth in the Entertainment Industry (Palgrave
Macmillan, 2014), and A World of Popular Entertainments (Cambridge
Scholars, 2011). She is currently editing The Cambridge Companion to
the Circus (ms due 2020) and writing a monograph about child actors
1880–1910 (ms due 2020).
Erin Ball is an independent circus artist, co-founder of LEGacy Circus
and owner of Kingston Circus Arts. Her researches into new movement
and performance possibilities inform her work as a circus artist, teacher
and disability advocate. She created Flying Footless, a course for coaches
wanting to create more accessibility in their classes, and she runs an
Amputee Circus Camp annually for people with adaptive bodies to train
in circus aerials. Erin Ball runs her own accessible circus space and circus
school in Kingston, Ontario. She performs widely in solo work and in
duo performance work with Vanessa Furlong in their company LEGacy
Circus, most recently in her autobiographical show which has toured
North America.

xv
xvi NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Jon Burtt is a Lecturer in Dance and Performance Studies in the

Department of Media, Music, Communication, and Cultural Studies
at Macquarie University in Sydney. He is the co-author of Contempo-
rary Circus published by Routledge (2019), was associate editor for
The Routledge Circus Studies Reader (2016), and has published on
circus in numerous academic journals. He has received numerous awards
including two ArtsWA (Western Australia) Creative Fellowships, many
Australia Council for the Arts Awards, the Macquarie University Faculty
of Arts Learning and Teaching Award, and the Macquarie University Vice-
Chancellor’s Citation for Outstanding Contribution to Student Learning.
Elisa deCourcy is an art historian, specialising in early photography and
associated visual technologies from the nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. She is the Research Fellow on ‘Heritage in the Limelight: The
Magic Lantern in Australia and the World’ Australian Research Council
Project run out of the Australian National University. She has been
published in leading international Humanities and Visual Culture journals
and was awarded a 2018 summer fellowship to the Harry Ransom Centre,
Texas. Her first (co-authored) book, Empire, Early Photography and Spec-
tacle: The Global Career of Showman Daguerreotypist J. W. Newland will
be published by Bloomsbury in 2020.
Jane Goodall has written extensively on arts in the modern era, with a
special interest in the historical relationship between the arts and sciences.
Her books include Artaud and the Gnostic Drama, Performance and
Evolution in the Age of Darwin (winner of the Australasian Drama Studies
Association’s Robert Jordan Prize), Stage Presence and, with Christa
Knellwolf, the collection Frankenstein’s Science (Ashgate, 2008), which
contextualises Mary Shelley’s work in contemporary scientific and literary
debates.
Martyn Jolly is an artist and writer and Honorary Associate Professor at
the Australian National University School of Art and Design. In 2006, the
British Library published his book Faces of the Living Dead: The Belief in
Spirit Photography. His work is in major Australian photography collec-
tions. In 2014, he received an Australian Research Council Discovery
grant to co-research the impact of new technology on the curating of
Australian art photography. In 2015, he received an Australian Research
Council Discovery Grant to lead the international project ‘Heritage in the
Limelight: The Magic Lantern in Australia and the World’.
 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS xvii

Anna-Sophie Jürgens is an Assistant Professor at the Australian National

Centre for the Public Awareness of Science of the Australian National
University. She works in the fields of Popular Entertainment Studies and
Science in Fiction Studies. She has published on circus fiction, the history
of (violent) clowns, and comic performance and science/technology in
culture, in numerous academic journals. Her recent books include Mane-
genkünste: Zirkus als ästhetisches Modell (co-edited; transcript, 2020) and
Poetik des Zirkus (Winter, 2016). Anna-Sophie is guest editor of two
special themed journal issues published in 2020 with the Journal of Science
& Popular Culture and Comedy Studies.
Katie Lavers is an Adjunct Senior Lecturer in the Western Australian
Academy of Performing Arts (WAAPA) at Edith Cowan University. Her
book Contemporary Circus was published by Routledge (2019), and she
is co-editor with Peta Tait of The Routledge Circus Studies Reader (2016).
She has published writings on circus in numerous academic journals and
is a circus, physical theatre, and dance reviewer for ArtsHub, Australia.
Her awards include an ArtsWA (Western Australia) Creative Fellowship
(2010), numerous Australia Council for the Arts Awards, an Australian
Academy of the Humanities Travelling Fellowship (2016), and a Varuna
Residential Writing Fellowship (2018).
Ruth Richards recently completed her Ph.D. in Media and Commu-
nication at RMIT University. Her thesis was situated at the intersec-
tion of animation studies and feminist theory, exploring the nature of
the animated body through feminist materialist frameworks. Her research
interests include women in animation, histories of early animation and
cinema, and feminist film and television studies. She has previously
published on the clown in animation at the intersection of horror and
humour.
Mark St Leon is a freelance university lecturer in the areas of manage-
ment, economics and accounting. He is the author of Circus: The
Australian Story (Melbourne Books, 2011) and has written numerous
monographs and articles on the subject. In 1991, while serving with
the Australia Council, the Federal Government’s arts funding and policy
advisory body, he organised Australia’s first national conference of circus
people, the Circus Summit, which was convened at the Arts Centre,
Melbourne. He also launched the Sydney Arts Management Advisory
Group, now in its 28th year of continuous, non-profit operation.
xviii NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Peta Tait is Professor of Theatre at La Trobe University and Fellow of

the Australian Academy of the Humanities. Recent books include: the
co-edited Feminist Ecologies: Changing Environments in the Anthropocene
(2018), Fighting Nature: Travelling Menageries, Animal Acts and War
Shows (2016), the co-edited The Routledge Circus Studies Reader (2016),
the edited Great European Stage Directors: Antoine, Stanislavski and St
Denis, vol. one (Bloomsbury, 2018), and Emotion (Bloomsbury, in press).
Robert C. Williamson is a Professor in the Research School of
Computer Science at the Australian National University. Until recently, he
was the chief scientist of DATA61. His research is focussed on machine
learning. He is the lead author of the ACOLA report Technology and
Australia’s Future. He obtained his Ph.D. in Electrical Engineering from
the University of Queensland in 1990. He is a Fellow of the Australian
Academy of Science.
 List of Figures

Fig. 3.1 Erin Ball (Photo by Michael East) 38

Fig. 3.2 Erin Ball (Photo by Michelle Peek) 47
Fig. 7.1 ‘Two acrobats jumping’, three states of an animated,
hand-painted, double-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide,
c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the Limelight 130
Fig. 7.2 ‘Clown with jumping dog on a stage’, two states of
an animated, hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic
lantern slide, c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the
Limelight 131
Fig. 7.3 ‘Disassembled Harlequin’, two states of an animated,
hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide,
c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the Limelight 132
Fig. 7.4 ‘Juggler’, two states of an animated, hand-painted,
lever-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide, W. C. Hughes,
Optician, London, c1870s. Collection: National Film and
Sound Archive, Canberra 133
Fig. 7.5 ‘Two acrobats jumping’, three superimposed states
of an animated, hand-painted, double-slipping, glass,
magic lantern slide, c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the
Limelight 134
Fig. 7.6 ‘Clown losing head’, two states of an animated,
hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide,
c1890s. Collection: Bill Douglas Centre, Exeter University 135

xix
xx LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 7.7 ‘An acrobat jumping between ladders’, two states of

an animated, hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic
lantern slide, c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the
Limelight 136
Fig. 7.8 ‘Clown and cauldron’, two states of an animated,
hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide,
c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the Limelight 137
Fig. 7.9 ‘Clown with whip and jumping dog’, two states of an
animated, hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic
lantern slide, c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the
Limelight 138
Fig. 7.10 ‘Clown with animated eyes’, four states of an animated,
hand-painted, single-slipping, glass, magic lantern slide,
c1890s. Collection: Heritage in the Limelight 139
Fig. 9.1 Zirkus des Horrors (Circus of Horror), Berlin 2016
(Photo by Jürgen Bürgin) 169
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 “I saw Tally and learned that he has stabled his burros in a good
place, so I let him take our mounts there as well. Then I sent word
to Mr. Burt, who was in the billiard-room, and made an appointment
to meet him in the lounge after dinner. I should like to know if you
wish to meet him?” Sandy gazed at Julie, but he had meant his
words for every one in the party.
“Later will be just as well, Sandy. You ought to say your say with
him on the business matter for which he came west. That off the
slate, you can mention us. We will be the ‘refreshments after the
meat course,’” laughed Mr. Gilroy.
But it happened later, that Sandy and Burt were discovered in the
reading-room of the hotel. It had been vacated by the guests who
sought outdoor diversions, and the two men considered they would
find the place quiet enough for them.
Sandy was cracking his closed hand upon the solid table beside
him as Mr. Gilroy came to the door to peep within the room. This
conversation sounded very good to him, so Mr. Gilroy tip-toed across
to an armchair and listened silently. An illustrated newspaper, open
upon a table back of Sanderson, caught his eye, and he leaned over
to take it. He saw the date—November 29, 1922—and he wondered
that such an old paper should be found upon such a modern hotel’s
reading-table. He soon understood how it came there. Mr. Burt had
had it in his script case and had shown it to the Ranger. It was a full-
page article on the Pueblo Indians, and the illustrations were
excellent.
Sanderson seemed to know his subject from A to Z, and the
newspaper correspondent soon realized that fact. Both men were so
interested in the debate that neither one had noticed the entrance of
Mr. Gilroy. Mr. Burt took up the discussion and asked his companion
many questions bearing upon the work before them, and Mr. Gilroy,
glancing down at the paper upon his knees, saw a line that seemed
to answer a question that Burt had just asked. Thereupon he
became so intent upon reading the article that he never heard the
girls come in quietly and take chairs near the door.
 The Ranger was declaring vehemently at the time in defense of
the Indians. “I tell you, Mr. Burt, that these United States owe the
red Indians more than we citizens can estimate. If that Bursum Bill
goes into effect it will be a lasting disgrace to this nation. How is it
possible that our Senate can be so misinformed as to pass a bill
which will take from the Pueblo Indians in New Mexico thousands of
acres of land upon which they depend for a living—land which was
bestowed upon them by patented land grants and subsequently
confirmed by the Republic of Mexico, and later by the American
Government in 1858.
“Should this bill pass the House, the Indians will be deprived not
only of their land rights, but also of legal redress. Why, these
guileless Pueblos will become the target of so many unscrupulous
lawyers who will induce them to sue to recover their land, that the
courts of New Mexico will be congested with their claims.
“The award of these Indian lands to non-Indian claimants leaves
no possibility for defense to the Indians. The Bursum Bill dooms the
agricultural future of the Pueblo Indians; it would also appropriate a
section which strikes at the center of their tribal life. These Indians
have been self-governing, and the judgment of well-informed
investigators who know the form of these tribal governments declare
that this system is the best safeguard of the morale of the race.
Destroy their traditions alike with their tribal government, and you
destroy the moral fiber of the individual Indian.”
“So far you’re right, Mr. Sanderson, but you forget that one white
man is surely worth more than a poor ignorant Indian,” argued Mr.
Burt.
“Surely ‘a man’s a man’ no matter what may be his color,” declared
the Ranger. “Eight thousand industrious farmers out there are more
valuable to the United States than eight thousand promoters of
graft, be they white or red. Another unfair thing is the breaking up
of the Indians’ form of government, which means, actually, that you
affect the vital community centers of these quiet, peaceable farmers;
at the same time it means that such a step is calculated to so disturb
the poor Indian that he will give up his land the quicker.”
 “Oh, Mr. Sanderson, I think you have the wrong slant on this
matter,” objected the newspaper man.
“I think, Mr. Burt, that I have every slant that is possible to get—
all but one slant which I refuse to entertain, and that is the grafters’
slant.”
“Now you are unjust. As far as I have looked into this entire
matter I find a singular absence of anything that would seem like
personal reward for this measure being adopted,” said Mr. Burt.
Sanderson smiled tolerantly. “How about the Mescalers Bill, also
introduced by the Senator of New Mexico, to establish an All-Year-
National-Park, but the bill would include the establishment of private
leaseholds to commercial enterprises. A fine ideal for our National
Parks!”
Mr. Burt seemed ill at ease, but the young Ranger gave him small
chance to offer further opinions on the subject.
“Every fair-minded Westerner recognizes the necessity of clearing
up the conflicting Spanish and American land grants in New Mexico,
but we want this done without illegal treatment of the honest,
faithful natives of the land.
“Many disputants maintain that the Pueblo Indians are so lazy that
they won’t farm what little land they have, so why should they not
give up tracts which they do not live upon. Simple enough to one
who will study the situation fairly: most of the good, irrigable land
has been encroached upon by non-Indian claimants, leaving the
arid, unirrigated portions to the unprotesting Indian farmer who
strives pitifully to make a living for himself and his dependents.”
“Why don’t the fellows protest in a way which will get some one
after the land grabbers?” demanded Mr. Burt. “I am out here to write
up the situation for my paper, not to show partiality to either side.”
“Well, then, Mr. Burt, let me tell you this much—from an impartial
observation of one who has studied the problem for some years, and
visited the Pueblos during all of several summer vacations—the
passing of this Bursum Bill means that the water rights for irrigation
belongs to those who have seized and held such water rights for the
past four years. Can you imagine anything more intolerable, and so
open-handed in its grab as this law? And this in defiance of an
existing law of the United States Supreme Court in 1913 which ruled
that no statute of limitation can operate against the Indians because
they are Government proteges.”
“Gee! I didn’t know this!” exclaimed the newspaper man,
apparently stirred.
“Maybe you didn’t, but this you know: that in New Mexico and
Arizona where water means everything—and any land that cannot
get water is absolutely valueless—any private ownership, or a
syndicate’s claim on water rights, means added taxation, or no water
—get me?” fumed Sanderson.
“Yes, I do. But tell me, Ranger, is there any solution, in your mind,
for this problem?” demanded Burt.
“The solution is water! the draining of the waterlogged sections
and the storage of it for irrigation purposes. The mountains of New
Mexico, as well as the Rio Grande and other rivers, supply ample
water sources for all the irrigation needed to make this land more
fertile than you can imagine. Such work will not only redeem the
deserts but redeem our honor, as well, because it will place the
Indian above want and deprive the grafter of one secret way of
wringing money from the defenseless.”
“Say, Sanderson, this must be my lucky day. I swore under my
breath when I got word from the boss of our paper to stop off at
Springer to wait for a messenger who would meet me. But I’d rather
have met you and heard more on this subject than have spent the
time in Las Vegas, in a luxurious hotel,” remarked Mr. Burt.
Sanderson smiled. “You didn’t think so when you first began to
argue with me, did you? I have been given leave of absence from
duty in order to accompany you and help you get ‘the right slant’ on
this problem.”
“Well,” said Mr. Burt, “had I been given a choice of companions on
this jaunt, I could not have selected one more to my liking.”
During the discussion between Sanderson and the newspaper
man, Mr. Gilroy and the scouts sat perfectly quiet and listened. Julie
was not a little chagrined to learn that she would not be the only
attraction now; and Mr. Gilroy was amazed to learn how much the
young man knew of the subject under debate. At this time Mr.
Vernon entered the room and spoke loud enough to include every
one in the party.
“Well! I’ve been going around in search of you people, but I never
expected to find that you-all had turned literary so suddenly. Why all
this mouselike quiet in the reading-room, and not one of you besides
Gilly with a paper in your hands?”
Sanderson turned around and smiled to find his friends seated
behind him. The Ranger now introduced his companion to his friends
and explained his mission in the southwest. The scouts listened
eagerly, for here was a political and also an ethical problem before
the people of the United States, and these girls were about to visit
the Indians about whom the debate had just taken place.
“Lucky no guests came in here to read quietly while you were
arguing,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, laughingly.
Later, while the others were planning for the morrow’s trip, Julie
got the newspaper correspondent in a corner and talked most
confidentially to him. He took several sheets of closely written paper
which she showed him and then he nodded with interest. Sandy, as
he pretended to be listening to Mr. Vernon, watched jealously.
Joan could not hear what was said, nor would she ask her chum
to confide whatever it was she seemed so interested in. After Mr.
Burt left the room, Julie sat at the desk and wrote as if for dear life.
Joan watched, thinking she must be sending a letter to a sweetheart
in Elmertown. But which one? Joan knew Julie had no preference,
though she had many admirers because of her attractive personality.
The bulky letter finished, Julie sealed it carefully and hurried to
the mail-box, without a glance at her chum. Joan would not wait to
meet her but ran upstairs and pretended to be sleeping when Julie
came in the room.
 CHAPTER SIX

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PECOS FORESTS

The addition of young Sanderson and the hustling young

newspaper reporter to the scout group was hailed by the four
misses, as well as approved by Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, but the
Captain felt dubious over the daily association of such a handsome
young Ranger in the becoming green uniform of the official forester,
and the fascinating entertainer, Mr. Burt. She noted with trepidation
that Julie often seemed to get the newspaper correspondent by
himself and talk confidentially with him. This was unusual for Julie,
and Mrs. Vernon wondered at her, but decided to withhold any
comment for the present.
The atmosphere of Las Vegas is one of its most remarkable
attractions. Looking off toward the Cimarron range, or the Spanish
Peaks, the clarity of the air tints everything with pastel shades. One
can see Pike’s Peak in central Colorado seemingly quite close at
hand; and the snow-capped Northern Rockies, more than two
hundred miles away, seem quite near.
At Las Vegas the scouts found three cities in one: first, the ancient
Spanish, then the up-to-date town with its fine hotel called the
Castañeda, and, thirdly, the health resort town with its famous Las
Vegas Hot Springs. At these Springs, which are a paradise for the
sick or for those who believe in prevention of illness, you may sport
about in boiling mineral waters, if you choose, or merely bask in the
sunshine and enjoy the exhilarating air.
 The following morning the Ranger led the party along the trail to
Hot Springs, thence on to the Gallinas Cañon where 60,000 tons of
ice are cut and shipped annually to points for 600 miles area. This
ice forms at night, but the walls of the Cañon prevent the rays of the
sun from ever penetrating to the bottom; thus the temperature
during the day remains at the point which keeps the ice from
melting.
From Las Vegas a great scenic highway of over eight thousand
feet above sea level was followed by the scouts. This trail skirted
forbidden cañons, sequestered lakes, ran at the base of snow-
capped peaks, and through densest forests of yellow pine.
“Perhaps you do not know that the Rangers have made most of
the splendid trails throughout the mountains,” said Sanderson, when
Mr. Burt commented on the excellence of the road.
“I don’t see how you ever find time with all the other duties you
are supposed to do,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.
“Why, Captain, right in the Pecos Forest alone you will find about
six hundred miles of the finest trails which have been cut by us as
our patrol rounds demanded,” explained Sanderson.
“No wonder you have such muscle and not an ounce of flesh!”
laughed Mr. Vernon, admiring the erect, slender form in front of him.
“Another thing you’ll find in the Pecos—all the game we will need
for food whenever we camp. If you prefer trout, all you have to do is
to camp on the banks of a stream. The trout jump into the frying
pan and cook themselves. Should you prefer wild turkey or quail,
even venison, just wish and there it is!”
“Gee! what wouldn’t I give to have time to go with you on a
hunting trip,” exclaimed Burt.
“You would never enjoy a hunting trip with me,” declared the
Ranger, “for the best of reasons: I never hunt or kill for sport. If I
need food, I take it, but I have yet to kill for the satisfaction of
seeing a wild creature give up its life just because I can use a gun.”
The scouts felt like applauding this polite rebuke to the
Tenderfoot’s zest for hunting, but they knew enough to hide their
sentiments.
“How about mountain lions and wildcats? I heard that the Service
hailed those who would help to clean them out of these forests in
order to preserve the deer and harmless wild creatures. I read last
winter that as many as a dozen bears were caught in a few weeks
on one ranch alone out here. That doesn’t look much like
protection,” returned Burt.
“Oh, the destructive beasts, you meant! That is all right, but killing
of deer, or wild game birds, for the sake of hunting is quite another
thing,” said the Ranger.
Conversation during the trip from Las Vegas to the next camp that
day was like a game of tennis—the ball was batted back and forth
between the players: the men on the one side and the scouts on the
other. But this conversational ball was made of such stuff as would
educate and inform the girls so that they would the better
understand and appreciate the country and conditions they visited.
At noon, the first day out from Las Vegas, they camped on Bernal
Creek and the scouts listened to Sanderson talk, thus they learned
that in the 750,000 acres of land in the Pecos Forest the pine trees
stand from eighty to a hundred and fifty feet in height; that the
Rangers have to protect the young saplings; and harrow the ground
where quantities of pine are cut and removed—this to keep a new
growth coming on to replace the trees taken out.
That night they camped on the Pecos River, near Blanchard. The
next day, having followed the remarkable trail along the Pecos River
and passing many farms which dotted the land, the scout party
climbed to an elevation of 8,000 feet, where they found the little
adobe town of Pecos. It looks more like an ancient village in Spain
than an American settlement in the twentieth century; the people
living in the simplest manner and dressing in picturesque ways:
women in full, short skirts, with gay shawls over their heads or upon
their shoulders; children in red or blue calicos; men with sombreros,
loose shirts and bandannas around their swarthy necks; goats
grazing everywhere; old houses, bright flowers, red sand—all served
to paint a picture for the girls.
 Here, quite unexpectedly, Sanderson met a Ranger from the
Government Lookout at Panchuelo. He had been at Glorieta to
restock the larder from the meager supply to be had from the
grocer. To the surprise of the Easterners they heard from him that
fresh meat could be had there at prices which were current thirty
and forty years ago—before the great meat trusts choked the
individual butcher out of business.
“Mr. Gilroy,” said Sanderson, “I advised Mr. Burt that we go
forward to Santa Fé to get important papers he will need. My friend
here says he will escort you up the forest trail; he knows the country
better than I, and he is a good camp-cook.”
As this was a practical suggestion, it was agreed that the scouts
were to go with Ranger Johnson, while Sanderson and Burt, after
attending to some publicity work in Santa Fé for the Pueblo Indians,
would join the scouts at Taos Pueblo. Thus the two young men said
good-by and departed.
Ranger Johnson suggested the Apache Inn, at Valley Ranch,
where he knew the tourists could be entertained for that night.
“But,” said the Ranger, “before we leave for Valley Ranch, Mr. Gilroy,
you may wish to escort the scouts about the town.”
“We might get lost in such a great city,” giggled Joan.
“Lost in wonderment, maybe,” retorted the Ranger. “There’s a little
mission church said to have been built way back in 1600; and the
ruins of a prehistoric Indian Pueblo named Cicuye—it is worth
photographing. Then there’s the Pecos Ruins halfway to Valley
Ranch. A view of this real Mexican town is well worth the trouble of
going to see it. The house where you will stay to-night, with its
whitewashed walls glistening in the sunshine, will make a good
picture, too.”
That night the scouts stayed at Apache Inn as planned, and early
the next morning they started off, with Ranger Johnson leading up
the Pecos Cañon. The trail ran close to the edge of the cliffs, but the
walls of the Cañon were heavily wooded to the bottom where ran
the Pecos River, hence the danger, if one went over the edge, was
not so great.
 Camps and cabins with visitors from everywhere dotted the groves
or parks wherever a good camp-site was to be found along the trail
of the Pecos River. There were many Cañons which forked off from
the main one, and upon the wooden level knolls one could see the
tents or the portable bungalows of the summering visitors.
The trail zig-zagged up through the forest of aspens and sentinel
pines, close by sparkling waterfalls and glistening cascades, past
many a cool trout pool, till the top of Baldy Pecos loomed up far
ahead.
“How far is this from Pecos Town, Mr. Johnson?” asked Mr. Gilroy.
“Folks will tell you it is only twenty miles—straight up. But who
ever came up here straight! An aëroplane might do it, but not a
Mexican pony! Just think of the way we zig-zag and go round the
bluffs.”
“What is our objective for to-day’s trip, Ranger?” asked Julie,
gazing at the peaks which seemed so near but were actually miles
farther north.
“Why, I plan to take you to Grass Mountain, where my friend and I
have charge of the branch station. To-morrow I will take you to
Panchuelo, where you will be able to see a view that will never be
forgotten. From the U. S. Forest Rangers’ observatory you can see
the entire Pecos Valley, as well as get closely acquainted with the
Santa Fé Range on the other side of the Pecos Cañon. We’ll spend
the night with my friends at the lookout and start you on the trail
early in the morning.”
The air was most exhilarating, but it got to be so cool that the
Captain called a halt in order to make the girls don their heavy
sweaters. Even the men took advantage of the stop to get out their
cardigan vests and slip them on under their coats.
Finally, they reached the top of Grass Mountain and were
introduced by Ranger Johnson to his friend in the service.
The view from this plateau was all that had been said of it, but
even that leaves much to be said, because mere words are so
inadequate to describe such a glory. The scouts stood looking down
the Las Vegas Valley, then they crossed the plateau and looked down
the Pecos Valley. To the north the Santa Fé Range, and in still
another direction stretched the Sangre de Cristo Range.
“Yes, this certainly is worth the effort of coming up,” remarked Mr.
Gilroy, nodding approvingly.
“I don’t see that you made an effort,” retorted Julie; “it was the
poor horse that had to carry you.” The others laughed, and Joan
added: “A hundred and eighty pounds good weight, too!”
As there was ample bedding to be had for the plucking, the scouts
decided to weave their beds and get supper preparations under way
before they accepted the invitation of Ranger Johnson to go up into
the observatory and gaze through the powerful telescopes. By the
time the beds were finished, however, it was too late to see very
much, though the senior Ranger of this station, Mr. Oliver, tried to
direct their gaze to certain points.
Ranger Johnson was told to invite his associates to dine with the
scout-party, and a merry group sat down as the last rays of the
setting sun shot up over the distant peaks and touched the tin
dishes, transforming them suddenly to golden platters.
That evening around the cheerful camp-fire the Rangers told their
adventures; then Mrs. Vernon requested Tally to tell of his winter
experiences. The Guide, eager to oblige, described his escapes from
the blizzards, his fights with the grizzlies, and other thrills of a
trapper’s life. Finally he was persuaded to relate one of his Indian
legends.
“We haven’t heard any of your new stock, you know,” added Joan.
“Oh! wait just a moment, please, before you begin, Tally,” called
Julie, jumping up and running to her bag for a pad and pencil.
Returning with the desired articles she squatted again on the ground
in front of the camp-fire and said: “Now, then—all set!”
The others laughed at the movie term, then Tally said: “Dis gon’a
be a leetle injun tale, ’bout so beeg,” and he held his hands apart for
a length of about six inches to show the size of the story he
proposed telling.
 As Tally told the story, Julie wrote quickly, and this is her copy of it
which she sent to the Elmertown Record.
“Once upon a time the Beaver and Porcupine were very good
friends. They traveled everywhere together and kept each other
informed of all that happened; and, because of the Porcupine’s sharp
quills, other inhabitants of the woods shunned them both.
“The Bear was in constant fear of the Porcupine; he had
experienced the sharpness of those quills, but he preferred the
Beaver for a dinner and he endeavored to break up a beaver-dam
just to catch and eat one of the family. The Porcupine stayed in the
Beaver’s home which is very dry inside and comfortable to live in;
so, when the Bear would try to tear down the dam to let the water
run away and expose the Beavers, the Porcupine generally came out
to object. When the Bear saw his enemy he, with an apology, would
hurry away. Then the Porcupine would jeer and the Beavers usually
came out to hoot at their clumsy adversary.
“But the dam had to be repaired, hence the Porcupine sat and
kept guard during that time. When the dam was almost completed,
the Porcupine said: ‘My, but I am hungry! Will you come with me
while I get some bark and sap from yonder tree?’
“Now the Beaver cannot climb trees, so he replied: ‘Friend, I will
remain here at the bottom and wait while you eat your fill.’
“The Porcupine was soon up in the tree enjoying his supper, then
the stealthy old Bear crept back to catch the Beaver. But the wise
Beaver saw him coming and called to his partner:
“‘Brother, the Bear is coming! What shall I do?’
“The Porcupine slid down the tree quickly and said: ‘Lay your head
close to my back and I will help you up the tree.’
“So the Beaver was helped into the crotch of the lower limbs of
the tree, and the Porcupine waited near the ground to drive off the
Bear. After a time, the Bear being gone, the Porcupine jumped down
from the tree, but the Beaver was huddled where the boughs
branched from the trunk.
 “‘Oh, come and help me down!’ cried he to the Porcupine, but the
little animal pretended not to hear him.
“‘I will do anything for you, if you will only take me down,’ begged
the Beaver, in great distress.
“The Porcupine, paying no attention to his friend, hurried away.
Then a Squirrel, another friend of the Beaver, brought a number of
his colony and helped the frightened Beaver down safely to the
ground.
“‘Where is my partner, the Porcupine?’ asked Beaver of the
Squirrels, after he had thanked them for their aid.
“‘We saw him scurry away to a hole in the rocks where lives a
family of Porcupines. He was telling them of the trick he had played
on you and when they laughed so loudly I heard about the trouble
you were in,’ said the friendly Squirrel.
“The Beaver said nothing, but went his way and resumed work on
the dam. He swam up and down the stream, and cut or carried the
alders as he needed them for the repairs. Then one day the
Porcupine came back.
“Beaver saw him coming and called out: ‘Come down to the house
and enjoy yourself.’
“But Porcupine was afraid of getting wet.
“‘Oh, just climb upon my back and I will swim with you,’ suggested
Beaver.
“Then Porcupine climbed upon his host’s back and held on firmly.
The Beaver flapped his broad tail on the water and made a dive,
then came to the surface again. The Porcupine shivered and shook
in fear for he did not like being submerged that way. The Beaver
laughed and said, ‘Oh, that’s nothing! I consider it great fun to dive.’
“Again he went under the water and when he arose to the surface
he flapped his tail energetically so that the water flew over
everything. Finally he swam to an island in the lake and put the
Porcupine ashore, then went flapping away.
“The little Porcupine wandered about the small island, but could
not get away. He climbed a tree and called for the Beaver to come
and take him off, but the Beaver seemed not to hear as he
continued building the dam.
“Then the Porcupine climbed the tree again and cried and cried for
help until a Wolverine heard his call.
“‘What is the matter with you?’ screamed the Wolverine.
“I want the North Wind to blow and freeze the lake, so I can crawl
back to shore and go home.’
“The Wolverine then called all the wild-wood creatures together on
the shore of the lake and began calling to the North Wind.
“The North Wind, cross and sulky, because he was disturbed
before his season for blowing, came out of the cave and whistled
furiously for a time, then blew gustily over the face of the lake. The
ice formed and soon the Porcupine crawled carefully back to land
and scampered home.
“But the Beaver and Porcupine were friends no longer, so the
Porcupine made overtures to the Ground-hog and they lived
together up on the mountainside where they could spy upon the
men that came hunting.
“One day a man climbed the mountainside to hunt, and the
Porcupine sang out: ‘Up to the home of the Ground-hog! Up to the
home of the Ground-hog!’
“The man heard and followed the sound till he found the spot
where the Ground-hogs lived. He trapped and killed a small Ground-
hog and then sat down to skin it. This done, he made a hot fire
between some stones and was about to roast the hog, when the
head plainly sang to him:
“‘My poor little head! my poor little head, you will never fill his
stomach!’
“The hunter was so frightened at hearing the head speak that he
jumped up and started home without tasting the meat. He told his
friends about the queer experience and they marveled.
“The next day the hunter went to look after his beartraps. The
Porcupine, from sheer curiosity, crept over to see if the Bear had
been caught. The man tightened the release of one of the traps, but
the dead-fall came down and struck the Porcupine on the back of
the neck. His head fell off and, as it rolled away under the leaves, a
Ground-hog came from its hole.
“The hunter went his way, but the Ground-hogs said: ‘Oh, the
Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the
Ground-hogs again!’
“The Beavers heard the echo of the cry and hurried to the spot
where the Porcupine’s head lay, and they took up the refrain: ‘Oh,
the Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the
Beavers again!’
“But the old Bear, who was glad, also, that the Porcupine was
dead, kept away from the spot, for he knew the trap was as
dangerous as the quills.”
As Tally concluded his camp-fire tale the scouts looked
disappointed, and Joan said: “Oh, is that all?”
“It was quite long enough,” said Mrs. Vernon. “It is time for bed,
because we wish to get up at dawn and resume the climb to the
peak.”
Thus, with the next day’s adventures in mind the girls agreed to
go to bed without offering any protests.
It was so cold up on Grass Mountain that night that the scouts
shivered in their sleep, and all were glad to jump up early in the
morning to bestir themselves and get the blood circulating freely.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

WHERE ARE THE BURROS?

After Tally had the horses ready and waiting for a start in the
morning, Ranger Johnson announced: “Sorry I’m not to be in on this
picnic to-day, friends, but my pal Oliver and I take turn and turn
about. And this is his day off. He says he’ll be delighted to ride over
to Lake Park with you-all and back-trail to Grass Mountain after
leaving you in camp up at Mountain View.”
“Is Lake Park near the trail we plan to follow?” asked Mrs. Vernon.
“Yes; in fact it forms the eastern boundary line of the Park,”
explained Johnson. “By riding to Lake Park you get a wholesale
group of sights in one day. There is Santa Lake, Aspen Mountain,
Stewart’s Lake, Santa Fé Baldy, and Spirit Lake. You ought to be able
to get along the up-trail before sundown and pitch camp at the first
good spring or camp-site you come to. Oliver says he can see you
comfortably settled for this night and then ride back here, as he
knows these trails by heart.”
“That’s awfully good of him, Johnson, but we have no right to take
his day like that,” said Mr. Gilroy.
“Why, he’ll enjoy the outing more than any of you. It’s so seldom
we get a chance to picnic with the sort of people who make things
pleasant,” said Johnson.
So it was settled that Oliver should go with them that day, and in
less than ten minutes’ time Johnson was left standing on a bowlder
envying the good times his chum was about to have with the scout-
party.
 Having ridden down from Grass Mountain and crossed the trail to
take a short cut to Lake Park, it was Oliver’s suggestion to leave the
three packburros hobbled somewhere along the trail. As the scouts
could ride on twice as fast, and be able to get back to the Pecos
River trail that much sooner, this plan was agreed upon, and Oliver
showed Tally an excellent spot where the animals might graze during
the day. The packs were cached under some rocks, and the burros
secured, then the scouts rode away to the park as had been outlined
by the Ranger at breakfast that morning. By four o’clock that
afternoon, the scouts sent Tally for the burros, and then, reaching
Winsor, said good-by to Oliver, who continued on the trail to his
station, while they rode on further and pitched camp on the Pecos
River, just south of Panchuelo.
They had been undecided whether, after reaching Panchuelo, to
take the trail that followed the Rio del Pueblo for some distance on
the trail to Taos, or whether to turn northwest and follow the trail to
Truchas, thence northeast to Taos. Therefore at the breakfast, next
morning, a vote was taken and because there was a possibility of
having Ranger Sanderson and Mr. Burt overtake them on that trail
from Santa Fé to Taos, Truchas trail won the election.
Panchuelo was located at the fork of these two Taos trails and the
scouts wished to ride on a short distance to visit Round Mountain
and Pecos Baldy, so they debated what to do with the burros.
“What’s the use of dragging these slow coaches over the trail to
the mountains and back again?” demanded Mr. Gilroy. “Why not do
as Oliver did yesterday—find a place to hobble them and, later, send
Tally to get them?”
“All right!” agreed Mr. Vernon. “Tally, we’ll ride on, and you hide
the burros somewhere along the trail where they can graze till you
come for them.”
“But do not unpack? We won’t be at the peaks more than three
hours,” added Mrs. Vernon.
After breakfast the party rode on to the Forest Station, where they
were cordially received. Not till they stopped to look around were the
scouts aware of the altitude of Panchuelo. Now they stood in the
Lookout gazing upon the peaks of surrounding mountains which
stood out clearly in the morning light; they found that the far-down
dots betokened villages and camps in the valleys. Silvery streams
winding here or there showed where the Pecos and other rivers
followed the course of least resistance.
Having visited and photographed everything of interest at the
station the scouts bid good-by to the Foresters and rode away to the
northeast point of the triangle trail, thence westerly to the Truchas
point, where they were to meet the guide. He was not there.
“How could he be, when he has three burros to push and pull
along the road?” said Julie.
Finally, waiting got to be irksome, and the Captain suggested that
some one return to the Panchuelo point of the trail to see if anything
had happened to the Indian or to the burros.
Then Tally himself came to explain.
“Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped. “I hunt and hunt an’ I
axe ever’ one what pass, but nobody see dem!”
 “Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped.

“Why! Where do you suppose they could have gone?” gasped Mr.
Gilroy. But Tally was already on the way back, so they all turned and
followed him.
“Tally, what do you say? did the burros run back to Grass
Mountain? If they did we shall soon know because Oliver will bring
them down,” said Mr. Gilroy.
“Burros go down-trail,” remarked Tally, “Not ’lone; two man-riders
drive ’em.”
 This amazing information surprised the scouts, and Mr. Gilroy said:
“How do you know.”
Tally explained about faint impressions made by the hoofs of the
burros, and the tracks made by two larger animals.
After a time they came back to the place where the burros had
been left.
“Dem men not gone long. He drop ash here, see?” and the guide
pointed to a small rock beside the trail where some one had knocked
the ashes from a smoking-pipe.
“Even that does not prove it to be from a man to-day. That may
be from last night,” returned Mr. Vernon, deeply interested in Tally’s
deductions.
“Dem foot-tracks not last night’s,” said Tally, showing plainly where
the grass had been pressed flat.
“If that had been from last night the dew would have freshened it
so that the blades would have straightened again,” added Betty, her
scout-lore expressing itself.
“Then we’d better ride on and overtake the zealous assistants!”
was the Captain’s advice.
“You mean if they allow us to,” Mr. Gilroy amended. Tally had
jumped into his saddle and now he started ahead of the others, but
he kept his eyes fixed upon the faint tracks in the trail as he went.
Halfway between Panchuelo and Winsor was a trail which ran along
the northly boundary of Lake Park and so on down to Santa Fé. This
they followed, the guide leading. Just before they reached the foot
of Santa Fé Baldy they came to a rushing torrent with a rough-hewn
bridge of logs across it.
Tally halted, and said: “Burros and riders no go up-trail f’om here.
Mebbe men lead um up brook to fores’,” and the guide pointed to a
small tributary which emptied into the larger stream which was
spanned by the bridge upon which his horse stood.
“Well, Tally, what shall we do?” asked Mr. Gilroy.
“Me scout here for signs if he’em come out. Tally got full gun,” the
Guide patted a Colt’s revolver upon his hip. “Boss take some scouts
up-trail an’ keep look-out for Ranger San’son, en some scout go wid
Mr. Vernon down-trail f’om Winsor en ask eve’y touris’ if dey see
men who got packburros what look familiar, see?”
“Yes, I see, Tally. But they may be down at one of the towns by
now, and the animals with our packs sold. Or they may be hiding in
the woods, waiting for a chance to come out again. Whichever it is
we will be without camping equipment and nowhere to get new
things,” worried Mrs. Vernon.
“You-all got hosses. Always scouts kin ride to hotel and get bed
and board,” was Tally’s practical reply.
“You’re right, Tally; some of us go Lake Park trail, and some ride
the Aspen Mountain trail and wait at Bishop’s Lodge. You stay and
hunt man, but be sure and meet us before dark at the Lodge,” said
Mr. Gilroy.
It was sundown that evening, when the girls, accompanied by Mr.
Vernon and the Captain, rode up to Bishop’s Lodge to secure
accommodations for the night. Tally and Mr. Gilroy were out on the
trails still hunting for the men who had stolen the burros. While Mr.
Vernon registered, the girls stood near by talking.
“It’s just like a horrid nightmare where you start for a place and
some unseen foe holds you back,” said Joan.
“I suppose Sandy and Mr. Burt are almost up in Taos by this time,”
wailed Julie.
“Who’s taking our names in vain?” called a genial voice from
behind a wide-open newspaper. The man thus screened, sat in a
chair in the corner. Now he jumped up and laughingly came forward.
“Wby, Sandy! Where did you come from?” cried the girls in one
voice.
“Right straight to you from that corner,” said the Ranger, pointing
to the paper on the chair.
“My! but you’re good for sore eyes, old chap,” remarked Mr.
Vernon, shaking hands with the Ranger.
“Yes, eyes sore from hunting for needles lost in a haystack,”
laughed Julie.
 Sanderson smiled at her as she spoke. He had not believed Julie
so enchanting as he now found her to be. But the recital of a tale of
woe now demanded his attention. When Mr. Vernon’s story was
ended, the Ranger’s advice was asked.
“Burt and I arrived here not twenty minutes before you came. He
is out somewhere, but I wanted to see the papers before dinner. I
saw you come up to the door and I hid myself to see what you
would do when you found me,” explained Sanderson.
Then he proceeded to outline what could be done to get the
burros as well as the men, common rustlers without a doubt, who
had stolen the animals.
“We have the beasts insured, Sandy, and I’m not worried about
them, but we had dandy camping outfits as you know, and we need
them for our entire season,” complained Mr. Vernon.
“Leave it to me, Mr. Vernon, and you’ll get them all back in no
time,” promised Sanderson, “but that means I shall have to leave
you here with Burt while I run back to Santa Fé to pick up a coupla
guides who can find anything in New Mexico.”
Sanderson, merely leaving word for Burt, rode away on his
wonderful horse to Santa Fé, to find the Indians, of whom he had
spoken. He said he would be back at the lodge that night in order to
start his men on the hunt at dawn in the morning.
As long as the scouts had visited the Pecos Region and now were
down where the trail ran north to the Nambe Indian Pueblos, and
thence on to Truchas and northwest to Taos, it was agreed that they
would ride with Sanderson and Burt when they started up that trail.
For various reasons the scouts refused to retire that night. One
was, Sanderson had not yet returned; another was that they fully
expected to have Tally and Mr. Gilroy come in at any moment, and
they wished to be on hand to hear all the news if either party
arrived.
“Evidently, Sandy has not had so simple a job in finding his
Indians, as he had expected,” remarked Mr. Burt, glancing at his
watch. It was just eleven.
 By eleven-thirty Betty was dozing, and the other girls were doing
their best to stifle sleepy yawns. At a quarter to twelve they heard
the sound of horses’ hoofs in the court-yard outside, and they all ran
to the door to see who it might be.
“Behold the conquering heroes come!” sang Mr. Gilroy, rolling from
his horse and limping up to the scouts.
“Oh, Gilly!” exclaimed the girls, trying to peer through the
darkness to see who was with Mr. Gilroy.
“Ish me, an’ we got burros all fine!” laughed Tally, finding the
scouts could not see him through the darkness of the night.
“And some ride we’ve had from Lake Park here!” grumbled Mr.
Gilroy. “Had it not been for those bully Rangers, Tally and I might
have lost our way again and again.”
“Oh, Boss! Not say so for Tally!” exclaimed the Indian. “You know
you mek me go your trail an’ he’em alius wrong one. But you be
Boss, and Tally have to mind you.”
As every one laughed at this, Burt added: “Come in, Tally, and tell
us all about it. At the same time we’ll see if there’s a chance of
getting at the pantry to find you some supper.”
Burt enlisted the sympathies of the night-clerk who went with the
newspaper man to the culinary regions. Within ten minutes’ time
they both returned.
“Now, then, boys, you come with me and sit down to the
impromptu spread,” was Burt’s hearty invitation to the belated
wanderers.
“We’re all coming,” declared Julie; “if we don’t, you’ll hear the
whole story and then we girls’ll have to have it warmed over.”
Mr. Gilroy laughed. “Come on, you’re in the game.”
After sitting down to a table in the corner of the room the two
men spoke not a word but plied knife and fork diligently for a time.
Finally Julie exclaimed: “Don’t use all your power on the supper—
spare a little with which to tell the story.” And Mr. Gilroy obeyed.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

GILLY TURNS FOREST RANGER

“Well, you know, soon after you left us to go down the trail to this
place, Tally rode into the stream to reach the tributary he had
mentioned. This he followed and, soon, I lost all sight and sound of
him and the horse. Then I rode back to Winsor where I expected to
turn to go up Grass Mountain for the two Rangers’ advice, and to
make sure the burros had not strayed back there.
“I had almost reached Winsor, when I noticed smoke drifting up
the trail. I cursed such luck that would call the Rangers to fight a
forest fire just when I wanted to find them. But I rode on hoping I
might meet them.
“Then the thought flashed through my mind that this fire might
drive the horse-thieves to the trail, or burn the slow-going burros
with our packs.
“I had not traveled much farther, before I heard the echo of
several horses’ hoofs pounding down the hard trail.
“In a short time I saw a number of fire-fighters come tearing over
the trail. To my intense relief I saw Oliver and Johnson with them.
They recognized me and called to know if I was lost; I tried to
explain, but they told me to join them. Then Oliver said:
“‘Panchuelo telephoned our station that a tiny spiral of smoke was
seen to rise from the woods at Lake Park. They thought some
camper must have left a fire smoldering and gone away to let it eat
into dry timber and start a flare.
 “‘Johnson and I left orders for our subs on Grass Mountain and
caught up our tools, then jumped into the saddle and were off
down-trail to meet the other boys coming from Panchuelo.
“‘When we met they told us you had been there and had marveled
at the view of the surrounding country when seen through the
powerful lens we keep in the observatory. The scouts seemed
surprised to hear that a Ranger’s life was not one of ease and “high-
living,” laughed Oliver.
“‘And I’m surprised to hear you chat so unconcernedly, Oliver,
while we’re on our way to a conflagration,’ said I.
“Oliver replied: ‘We’re used to this. But as I was about to say, you
scouts seemed amazed to find that our territory stretches over an
area of 100,000 acres. That we have to patrol this area and watch
for timber thieves, forest fires, floods, and other calamities to which
the forest is subjected; then as a little diversion we construct roads,
build bridges, clean away debris and such.
“Oliver now gave me a chance to explain why I had been alone on
the road when they had found me.
“I heard Johnson say to Oliver, ‘Say, that may explain the presence
of those two disreputable characters that were reported to be
camping in Lake Park.’
“And Oliver replied: ‘If we find them I bet we find the three
burros.’
“Well, that was some adventure, girls—that fire!” exclaimed Mr.
Gilroy.
“Is that all you’ve got to say about it?” demanded Mr. Vernon,
impatiently.
“Great Scott, no! I haven’t begun yet.”
“Goodness sakes! It’s past midnight now,” retorted Mrs. Vernon;
“when do you expect my girls to sleep if you drag on this way?”
“Oh, Verny! We don’t want any sleep,” declared Joan, and her
friends agreed eagerly with her decision.
“I wish you’d all feel this way in the morning, when I have to pull
you up,” laughed the Captain.
 “If you females will only give me your silence for a time, I’ll finish
my story and then you can go to bed,” said Mr. Gilroy, authoritatively.
Burt and Mr. Vernon laughed, but Tally continued eating for dear life.
“Well, Oliver and Johnson and I caught up with the other Rangers
by the time they were ready to leave the trail and break into the
woods. They had drafted every tourist and Indian they met on the
road, and we had quite a squad to fight against the fire. I was given
a spade and told to get busy when the orders were issued.
“Then we were sent in units to different sections.
“We three, Oliver, Johnson and myself, were sent to a point up the
trail for some distance and told to work down to the others.
“Oliver, pausing in the run, said to Johnson: ‘Looks like a mess
over there, Johnny. But the wind is for us to-day; it’s blowing in the
direction of the open trail and the Ruins.’
“Johnson nodded understandingly, but rode on. Later they met a
number of men and several Rangers who had been summoned by
the telephone call from other stations. Tally was not to be found at
the bridge, neither had the aids, when questioned, seen him or his
pony.
“The ‘Ruins’ proved to be a vast area of great bowlders with not a
green blade growing there. As this barren, rocky place covered more
than five acres, from the stream on one side and the upward slope
of the mountain on the other, the fire-fighters could devote their
entire attention to that side where the tall trees offered excellent
fuel to the fire.
“Working side by side, cutting and chopping away with the double-
bitted axes, spading up fresh earth wherever it was possible to turn
under any inflammable timber, the dauntless men progressed step
by step, yard by yard, till the solid green wall on the up-side began
to gap widely.
“But the fire had been advancing, too. Now the men could feel the
heat from the flames, and the air became filled with choking smoke
and fine, falling wood-ashes. Cries and terror-stricken calls from wild
denizens of the forest served to increase the energy and zeal of
these systematic fire-fighters.
 “As the men and the fire came nearer each other, the trees
seemed to drip red-hot cinders. The heat became unbearable, and
the fire seemed to win the battle for supremacy, but the wide swath
made by the axes now began to have its effect on the encroaching
blaze.
“Ranger Oliver blew his patrol whistle to signal the men away from
their positions. Here and there he saw spots where a little extra
work would save the situation, and to such places he sent his aids.
“Finally these brave men, baffling a peril which menaced all alike,
realized that they had subdued the enemy. The flames found nothing
in its way upon which to feed and advance, hence they began to
weaken and die down, lower and lower, until their roar and hellish
heat abated.
“The Ranger now commanded: ‘Go to it, boys, and beat out the
ground-fire with your mats.’
“For an hour more, therefore, every one whipped and smothered
the sparks or kindlings on the ground, till only a blackened, smoking
stretch of woodland remained.
“The night came before the Rangers pronounced the danger to be
averted for that time, and thanked all those who had rendered such
valuable assistance in quenching the fire,” concluded Mr. Gilroy.
“How about our guide and the men found hanging about the
Park?” asked Mr. Vernon of Mr. Gilroy and Tally.
“Why, search as they would, not a sign could the fire-fighters see
or hear of Tally, his pony, or of the outlaws and the stolen property.
When all hope of finding any clews had been abandoned, the men
dispersed to go their respective ways. Then I, with the two Rangers,
started to the protected spot where we had tethered the horses.
Climbing into the saddles, we rode up the trail, discussing meanwhile
the possibilities of Tally’s escape.
“‘You know, if your guide had been acquainted in these mountains
he could safely have taken another trail at that bridge and have
made his way to our lookout by a different trail. We Rangers have to
blaze many trails on our sections in order to facilitate our own riding
when we have to hurry to a blaze. If a trail is impassable it
engenders great areas of forests by giving the fire a chance to
spread,’ said Johnson.
“‘Tally is a well-trained guide, and I’d wager anything that he’ll
find a trail even where there isn’t one blazed. If it comes to the
worst he’ll blaze a trail of his own,’ I said.
“‘He must be a pretty wise chap,’ said Oliver.
“‘He’s that wise that I’ll wager you still further if that fire hasn’t
done for those outlaws and the horses, I bet he’ll bring them to time
single-handed!’ I added.
“Twilight was darkening into night before we three weary riders
said good-by to each other and parted—they to go back to their
lookout, and I to ride down here to keep the tryst with you fair
ladies.”
As Mr. Gilroy concluded his tale, the scouts cried: “Oh, Gilly! That
isn’t all! Where did you find Tally and the burros?”
“Ah! But that’s another yarn which must be told by the hero
himself. Now Tally, it is your turn to brag of all you did,” chuckled Mr.
Gilroy, leaning back in the chair to hear Tally speak.
At the same time the Guide leaned back in his chair also, and
sighing heavily, remarked with satisfaction: “Ah, dat goot job done
clean!” Then he pushed his polished plate away from before him and
wiped his mouth carefully on the napkin.
The scouts laughed, but Julie added: “Tell us your story.”
“Solly, Mees Jule, but me go fix burros for sleep now,” and with
that the Indian slipped away and could not be urged back.
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