Fire, The Read Free

More than nine billion board feet of old growth went up in smoke in two days and three million acres of pristine forestland were destroyed. If you can imagine a fire the size of Connecticut moving at seventy miles an hour, then you can imagine the Big Burn."
    "Did many people die?"
    "Well, that depends on your definition of many. The blaze claimed eighty-seven lives, including two in Wallace. By comparison, the Peshtigo, Wisconsin, fire of 1871 killed more than fifteen hundred. The casualties here might have soared into the hundreds as well were it not for the actions and bravery of a handful of Forest Service officials and the men they managed."
    "Do you mean men like Ed Pulaski?" Irene asked.
    "I do, indeed. How do you know about Mr. Pulaski?"
    "I ate a hamburger named after him yesterday."
    Several people laughed.
    "Well, good for you," Walt said. "I like that burger with pepper jack cheese."
    Irene smiled.
    "What you may not know is that there's quite a story behind that hamburger. Ed Pulaski is pretty much a household name in these parts. He was not the only hero of the fire, but he was the most famous. For those of you who do not recognize the name, Ed Pulaski was the Forest Service ranger who saved most of his crew by leading them into a mineshaft a few miles south of here. When things got a bit hot in the hole and some of the men got restless, Big Ed threatened to shoot anyone who left. In the end, only five of his forty men died."
    Walt stopped and turned to face the group. He still had its attention.
    "Mr. Pulaski is also credited with inventing a half-ax, half-mattock tool that is still in use in the Forest Service today. There's also a nearby mountain named for him."
    Kevin watched Irene as she stepped away from the group, placed a hand on the corner of a building, and examined smoke-stained bricks that probably hadn't changed much since 1910. He could tell by her serious expression that she was trying to work out something in her mind.
    Walt appeared ready to expound a bit more about Ed Pulaski when he, too, noticed that one of his sheep had left the flock.
    "Do you have a question about that building?" he asked.
    Irene turned to look at Walt and shook her head.
    "No. I was just thinking about the fire. It must have been awful for the residents."
    "It was," Walt said. "Many who witnessed the blaze, including some of the hundreds who escaped on trains, called the scene hell on earth. Thankfully, as a result of that fire, we've gotten much better at preventing and preparing for such calamities."
    Kevin surveyed the town, or at least the part he could see from Cedar and Sixth, and tried to reconcile the sight of a sleepy mining town with the tour guide's dramatic narrative. It was hard to imagine a community on fire and surrounding hills ablaze.
    He had known a few details about the disaster, including some passed down through the generations. His grandfather, Roger Johnson, had often told the story of an inferno that had wiped out virtually every house on Garnet Street, sparing only the Johnson residence. The fire had threatened the town's prosperous west side before suddenly moving in a different direction.
    "It hopped o'er the hill on the wings of the wind and burned the east side instead," Roger had told him. "It took out the newspaper in minutes. Those inside barely escaped with their lives."
    As Walt led the tour group down Sixth toward Bank Street, Kevin thought also of Professor Smith's warning about blue lights in mines. What was that all about? Was he just having fun at a student's expense? Was it his way of saying that curiosity killed the cat and that sometimes the unknown should be left alone? Kevin never asked the professor to elaborate. He figured it was just another of Joel Smith's throwaway lines. Now, he wasn't so sure.
    Whatever the case, it wouldn't be an issue for at least a few days. The Johnsons had decided to do most of their work before most of their play. The family had an old house to clean