Free The Big Burn by Jeanette Ingold

fire of fuel. At first he hadn't been able to see beyond his own job. Then, as he'd been put on one task and then another, he'd started to understand how the various jobs fit together.
    This was his first time as an axman, pushing the fireline into new territory by chopping down brush and small trees.
    Not far behind, sawyers using crosscut saws took down the bigger stuff, cutting through downed logs and dropping trees with branches that hung over the fireline's path.
    A third group followed them, raking away all the small, burnable fuel—pine duff and sticks, leaves and grass—and scraping the line down to bare soil.
    And word was, when conditions were right, a low blaze would be run along the inside of the break to widen it with a charred black line.
    It was all backbreaking, arm-numbing work, but Jarrett had built up calluses and lung power, and that helped. And the crews were working far enough in front of the main fire that its heat didn't blast them the way it did when they had to dig hot line, laboring close to the flames.
    Of course, working so far ahead of the spreading fire also meant they had to cut a longer trench than they would have closer in, and Jarrett had asked Elway the sense in that.
    "Buys time," Elway had answered. "What you want is to strike a line just big enough so you can get it done before the fire can outflank you."
    "Sounds reasonable."
    "Just theory," Elway had said. "Me, I'd put money on the losing side of a fixed fight before I'd bet on outguessing afire."
    Now the foreman called, "Take ten!"
    Jarrett leaned his ax against some saplings he was cutting down and sank gratefully to the ground. Up and down the line, men guzzled water, tamped tobacco into pipes, and swatted at the plaguing wasps.
    The routine had become so familiar, Jarrett found it hard to believe he'd ever done anything else. Or that he had ever been as raw as he was his first night out here.
    Remembering, Jarrett smiled. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
    Elway, resting nearby, asked, "You thinking of a good joke?" The two of them had partnered up, and they were getting a name for being a reliable team.
    "I guess, with me the butt of it. Elway, you think we're doing any good? We're working our hearts out, but from what I hear, this fire just keeps jumping in new directions. I think it's bigger than ever."
    Elway shrugged. "At least we're still in the battle. The thing to be scared of is a fire you can't fight"You think this one could get like that?"Yeah," the old man said. "Enough things go wrong, any fire can."

Cool Spring Ranger Station
August 7, Afternoon
    "I'm really not sure this is appropriate," Celia said when they finally pulled up at the hitching post in front of the ranger station. She surveyed the neat cabin and outbuildings without making any effort to climb down from the wagon.
    "Aren't we going in?" Lizbeth asked. "We can't just leave the pie on the porch and take off."
    "I was just thinking—it seems hard to believe this place and ours have been cut from the same woods."
    Impatience and frustration warred in Lizbeth. "That's what I've been telling you, Cel. We could make something of our place, too, if you'd just give us a chance."
    "No. This place doesn't have to make money. Ours does. Well, are you coming?"
    Celia, Lizbeth by her side, knocked on the cabin's closed door. Then she stepped back, apparently just then noticing the poster that said Wife Wanted.
    "Oh, lord," Celia said. "I knew this was a mistake. What kind of man ... Lizbeth, let's go."
    Samuel Logan and his dog came around the side of the house. Boone ran up and greeted them like people the ranger had already cleared, while the ranger himself showed surprise and pleasure and then concern. "Mrs. Whitcomb—Lizbeth—are you all right? Is there a problem up your way?"
    "No," Celia answered stiffly. "Not at all. We had things to do in town and just thought to stop by..."
    "To give you this," Lizbeth said, holding out the mincemeat pie.