"Where are the other fellows?" asked Tom, as he ate.

"Out chopping," answered Ed.

"Did they have bacon dripping b.u.t.ter on their bread this morning?"

"Indeed they didn't. That was saved, by unanimous vote, for you. For but for you there wouldn't have been any bread in Camp Venture to b.u.t.ter with anything."

"Oh, well," said Tom, "but you see it isn't fair. You ought to have divided the bacon fat--"

"Now look here, Tom," Ed broke in, "if you'll find a single boy in this company who is growling about the breakfast he got this morning--the best part of it due to your exertions in getting us the meal,--I'll agree to eat that boy and all his complaints. I tell you this bacon fat was saved for you by special request of every fellow in the camp, and that's all there is about it. I foresaw that you'd want to divide it up, so I put it on your bread myself instead of leaving that for you to do.

You see you can't help eating it now."

"Ed, you fellows are the very best and kindliest that ever were in this world," said Tom, with so much of emotion that he did not venture to say any more.

"But I say, Tom," said Ed, eager to turn the course of the talk, "where and how did you get this meal?"

"Oh, that's a long story," answered Tom, "and the other fellows will want to hear it, and really I can't tell it twice. Besides, now that I've had my breakfast I'm going out to do my share of the chopping. I'll tell you all about it while we sit around the fire to-night."

CHAPTER XXVI

_The Doctor's Talk_

Tom went at once to his chopping, for being, as the Doctor said, "a healthy young animal," his sleep, his bath and his breakfast had completely cured him of his exhaustion.

At noon the boys made a hasty dinner, as was their custom when chopping, for the days were still short and they liked to utilize as many of the daylight hours as they could.

They had contracted to deliver a specified number of ties by the first of April or sooner, and they had already completed that part of their task; but their contract permitted them to send down as many more ties, doubling the number if they could; while, as for cordwood and bridge timbers, there was no limit set upon their deliveries. They were anxious to cut all they could and thus to make their winter's work as profitable as possible, and so they were not disposed to waste any part of a day so fine as this one was.

While they were chopping in the afternoon, just as a big tree on which the Doctor was at work began swaying to its fall, a large racc.o.o.n which had been hiding in the hollow of one of its upper limbs leaped to the ground. The Doctor, who had become almost as "quick on trigger" as Tom himself, seized a shotgun and fired. The animal fell instantly, riddled with turkey shot, and a minute later the Doctor held it up by the tail, saying:

"Here's a supper for us, boys! It'll be a change from bear beef, any how, and you are to have the skin, Tom."

The boys shouted for joy, for they were growing exceedingly weary of bear meat by this time, and there are few things more appetizing than a fat racc.o.o.n. So the Doctor carried his game to the house, where Ed proceeded at once to dress it for supper.

It was not until after supper that Tom related the story of his mountain adventure, and as he was an expert mimic, he succeeded in so presenting the mountaineer's part in the conversation as to cause a deal of laughter, in which Tom himself joined heartily, although his own memory of his difficult journey was anything but ludicrous.

The weather had grown exceedingly cold again and the logs were piled high on the fire. As the boys basked in the heat that was radiated into the room, some one said: "What a pity it is to waste all the heat that is going off up the chimney! It would run an engine."

"So it would," said the Doctor, "but that is what all the world is constantly doing. The wood that we have burned since supper would supply a French or Italian house with fire for a month at least."

"But how?" asked Jack. "Surely wood burns up as fast in France or Italy as it does here."

"Of course. But the French and Italians--especially the Italians--have very little wood, and they use it very sparingly. When they make an open fire it is made of sticks about eight or ten inches long, very small and usually consisting of round wood. They rarely have a split stick, because they never cut down a tree, or if they do they use every part of it that is bigger than your wrist for some kind of lumber useful in the arts."

"But if they don't cut down trees," asked Harry, "how do they get any wood at all?"

"They have very few trees," answered the Doctor, "and instead of cutting them down they trim off the branches from time to time and make fire wood of them, utilizing every particle, even down to the smallest twigs, which they cut into eight inch lengths and tie up in bundles for use in boiling their soup kettles. In some parts of Southern California,"

continued the Doctor, "they get their fire wood in the same way, though they do not have to bother with the little twigs, as tree growth is enormously rapid in that winter-less climate. At San Bernardino I have seen many houses standing in large grounds, with a row of cottonwood trees all around at the edge of the sidewalk. I have often seen these trees with every limb cut off close to the stem of the tree--not more than a few feet from it at farthest. In that way the owner gets his fire wood--he doesn't need much of it--for three years to come. The trees thus pollarded quickly put out a host of new branches and as these grow rapidly in a climate that has no winter, they are ready to be cut again three years later."

"But if trees grow so rapidly there," asked Tom, "how is it that there are no woodlands there?"

"Because it is a rainless region. It is a desert simply for a lack of water, and when men build reservoirs up in the mountains and bring water down in irrigating ditches that desert literally blossoms like a rose.

The soil is as rich as any down in our valleys and creek low grounds here, and as there is no winter every living thing grows all the year round. At Riverside, for example, you find a luxuriance of growth unmatched anywhere in these mountains. Eucalyptus trees border all the roads, towering to great heights. Back of them are orange and lemon groves and still further back vast vineyards in which the stumps of the vines--for they are cut back to a stump every year, to make them bear--are from four to six inches in diameter, so that they need no stakes to support them as vines do here. Often also there are rows of luxuriant pepper trees flourishing in the middle of the road. In short, you can nowhere on earth except in swamps, find a more luxuriant riot of vegetation than at Riverside. Yet until men made reservoirs and ditches and brought water down there from the mountains the ground that now supports all this splendid growth was as bare as the palm of your hand, and when you drive out of Riverside in any direction, you come instantly to an absolute desert, without even a weed growing on it, the moment you pa.s.s beyond the line of irrigating ditches."

"Is there much land of that sort?" asked Jack, "land that is fertile I mean in itself, but is desert because of a lack of water?"

"Millions of acres of it, though much of it has already been redeemed by irrigation. General Sherman once said that when he first crossed the San Joaquin and Sacramento valleys he could have bought the whole of them for twenty-five cents, and in fact would not have given a penny for both. Yet to-day those valleys are the most productive wheat fields in the world, not even excepting Minnesota and the Dakotas. In a single year they have been known to furnish fifty million bushels of wheat for export, after feeding the Pacific coast fat."

"But is there always water to be had for irrigating purposes?" asked Jack, who was becoming intensely interested.

"Practically, yes," the Doctor answered. "That is a country of vast mountain ranges, all the way from the Rockies to the sea, with great valleys and plains lying between. It is almost always raining or snowing in the mountains, and indeed the tops of the higher ranges are nearly always snow clad, even in summer. I remember once crossing the Utah desert, which lies between the Rocky mountains proper and the Wa.s.sach range. There is no sand or gravel there, but only a singularly rich soil, barren for lack of rain alone. During the entire trip across we were never for one minute out of sight of either a snow storm or a rain storm some where in the mountains that surround the desert. Obviously enough water falls in the mountains to make of that desert the very garden spot of America when ever men take measures to store the water and bring it down to the desert lands below. The Mormons, who have made a rich farming region in this way out of the desert west of the Wa.s.sach range, have already begun doing this on the eastern side in a limited way. At Pleasant Valley they have brought water down from the mountains and made gardens that are a delight to the eye and mind. They grow there the finest black Hamburg grapes in the world. But neither that nor any other of the great deserts can be redeemed entirely until either the government or some great company able to spend money by scores of millions shall undertake the work in a systematic way, selling water rights with every farm. Of course no farmer can provide a water supply for himself from mountains twenty miles away, but if a great company or the government would catch and store the water and sell the right to use it to each farmer, as is done in parts of Southern California, the major part of what used to be called 'the great American desert' would soon become the great American garden. Of course the alkali deserts of Nevada and worse still, the arid, sandy, gravelly, soilless plains of Arizona and New Mexico can never be reclaimed in that way. But the regions that are barren only because they get no rain, can be redeemed and very certainly will be when this country becomes so crowded with population that every acre of arable land will be needed."

"But isn't this country pretty badly crowded already?" asked Tom.

"Crowded? No," answered the Doctor. "It is very spa.r.s.ely settled instead. This country has a population of only twenty people to the square mile, while Belgium has 529 and England 540 to the square mile.

Long before we fill up to any such extent as that all our arid lands that are fit for cultivation will be watered from the mountains, and regions where now even a cactus cannot grow will produce wheat, corn, cattle and fruits in lavish abundance. But I say, boys, we've talked till after eleven o'clock. This will never do; let's get to bed."

CHAPTER XXVII

_Some Features of the Situation_

Every morning Tom "prowled," as he put it, all around the camp, "just to see how things are," he said.

Two mornings after the talk reported in the last chapter Tom found, out under the bluff, a big bag of rye meal or rather of rye coa.r.s.ely ground for whiskey making purposes. He dragged it over the hard snow to camp and opened it. In its mouth he found a piece of paper and written upon it in rude letters was the following:

U Pade 2 Mutch Fer the Mele. Heares A nother bag to Mak it SKWAR. Dont gim me Awa.

BILL JONES.

Tom called all the boys into conference before deciding what to do with this present. He said to them:

"Bill's ideas of morality are somewhat confused. In his eagerness to render me some return for my act in letting him go back to his 'little gal' on parole, he wanted to give me the meal I brought to camp the other morning. It never occurred to him that as the meal didn't belong to him, he had no right to give it to me, and all I could say to him was utterly futile as an effort to make him take a moral or rational view of the case. Now I am seriously afraid our friend Bill stole this rye meal.

That would perfectly fit in with his ideas of morality, grat.i.tude and all that sort of thing. Still we don't know that he did steal it. After all I did pay him a double price for the meal we got, and possibly he has applied part of the surplus payment to the purchase of this additional supply from his criminal friends the distillers. After all I have no means of knowing that he ever paid the original owners of that first meal any part of the money that I gave him for it. He couldn't see at the time why he shouldn't steal it for me, and so he may have stolen this."

"Well," said the Doctor, "you honestly paid him for the former supply of meal, insisting that you wouldn't take it at all unless you paid for it. He understands that perfectly. He has a sufficient sense of honesty now to bring you an additional bag on the ground that you paid an excessive price for the former supply and that he wants to make it 'skwar.' I don't see how we can go behind that, especially as we cannot possibly return the meal either to him or to its owners if he stole it.

Our only option is to eat the stuff or take it back out there to the foot of the bluff and leave it there to rot."

After some further discussion it was decided to eat the rye meal as practically the only thing that could be done with it.

One week later another bag of meal--corn meal this time--was found out under the bluff, but with it came no explanation of any kind. Thus the bread supply in Camp Venture was made secure for a time at least, and for a meat supply the guns did all that was necessary--especially Tom's gun, for Tom spent many of his hours wandering over the mountains in search of game, and Tom rarely sought game in vain.