Fire: Where the Flowers Sing

By Wesley Arlin Brown and Jackie Brown Benham

A roaring forest fire adventure unfolds in the beautiful Rocky Mountains of Colorado where two unlikely families, a courageous horse, a stubborn mule and a faithful dog are camping.

The reader will be captivated from beginning to end of this harrowing experience when a huge fire threatens to trap an arrogant but innocent city family left in the high country by an irresponsible trail guide.

Despite warnings by Lindall Brown, whose family has respected the wilderness for years, the wealthy Smythe family rejected any advice about safety and campfires.

Lindall intended to report the guide but encountered utter chaos at the trailhead under the leadership of a novice forest service ranger trying to organize a group to fight a forest fire out of control.

Lindall offered his services, as he had fought many fires, but instead, was ordered to get his tired horses and mules ready to pack in equipment. Having no choice, he started to get the tired animals ready for the steep trip back up the smoky trail.

Rena remembered the Smythes who could be trapped in the fire. Lindall started to the ranger to inform him that they would need the animals to go rescue the family but when he turned his head to speak, he was hit in the head by a pulaski a ranger was using to practice. The ax left him bleeding with a deep cut.

The sisters reluctantly left their unconscious dad with their mother, and rode up the steep trail to attempt a dangerous rescue.

This exciting tale speaks volumes about courage and compassion of young girls who dared to risk their animals lives and theirs for an undeserving family. The reader will live every breathtaking event of this dangerous mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452099965

Wesley Arlin Brown

Wesley Arlin Brown, co-author of Fire: Where the Flowers Sing has been a college professor, high school teacher, miner, county worker, forest service employee and fire fighter, basketball and baseball coach, among many other part time summer jobs. He was born in Bellview. New Mexico and received his bachelors degree from Eastern New Mexico University, two masters degrees from Western State College, Gunnison, Colorado and his doctorate from the University of Northern Colorado, Greeley, Colorado. He taught at San Diego State College, San Jacinto Junior College, and University of Northern Colorado. He retired as first professor emeritus from Aims College in Greeley, Colorado where he taught literature, philosophy, ethics, logic and humanities. The author, as with his first two novels, Coker, A Mountain Mans Story and its sequel, Coker, The Last Switchback, used his personal experiences to bring this novel to fruition. He lived the life of both a professor and a true mountain man, camping, riding, training and packing his mules and horses in the Colorado Rocky Mountains he loved so much. He really did fight forest fires using every piece of fire fighting equipment mentioned in the story. He rode every trail and stood on every peak, thus was very qualified to base his stories on the factual events he mingled with the fiction. The author has written several novels as well as numerous short stories. Unfortunately he passed away a few months before he finished this novel for publication. In his memory I have put the final touches on the novel and prepared it for publication. Jackie Brown Benham, widow of Wesley Arlin Brown

Book preview

Dedication

Fire: Where the Flowers Sing is the first novel started by Dr. Wesley Arlin Brown. It was put aside while he worked on his two published novels, Coker, A Mountain Man’s Story and its sequel, Coker, The Last Switchback. The author finished the sequel only two months before his death.

Knowing the passion he had for his horses, mules, the mountains and his writing, I felt compelled to get the book ready for publication. He loved a variety of music but listened to classical music while he wrote.

Many of the events in the story are factual and patterned after our daughters’ experiences with him so their actual names were used in the story.

They spent many summers packing into the mountains with their father and developed the same love for the animals and high country wilderness that he loved so much. Because our daughters shared their father’s love and respect for the mountains, I, their mother, find it appropriate to dedicate this novel to Rena Sebold, Marna Abbott and to their late father and author, Wesley Arlin Brown.

Jackie Brown Benham

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Bob Benham who spent many hours with secretarial jobs as well as advice and encouragement in getting this book published as well as the author’s second book, Coker, The Last Switchback, the sequel to Coker, A Mountain Man’s Story.

Thanks also to Larry Fort, brother-in-law who managed to transfer the novel from Dr. Brown’s old three and a quarter discs to a workable and readable version.

Thanks to the readers of Dr. Brown’s previous novels who wrote many kind words and wanted to know if there were more to be published. One other novel and several short stories are yet to be published.

Table of Contents

Chapter I

A Goat Senses

Chapter II

Listen to the Flowers

Chapter III

A Biology Lesson

Chapter IV

Meet Miserable Smythes

Chapter V

Wind Rising! Smell of Smoke!

Chapter VI

Surprise at the Trailhead

Chapter VII

Chaos, Injury and Courage

Chapter VII

Bruised Ego! Courageous Girls

Chapter IX

Frantic Hikers try to Ambush Girls

Chapter X

Spared by Faithful Dog

Chapter XI

Good Sense Prevails

Chapter XII

Concern and Hope

Chapter X111

Arrogant Smythes Located

Chapter XIV

Courageous Mule

Chapter XV

Ranger cedes authority to Lindall

Chapter XVI

Trailhead but Trouble! Can Ginger Save?

Chapter XVII

Ecstasy short lived! Dragon Waiting

Chapter XVIII

Flames Howling toward Trailhead

Chapter XIX

Toffa and Ginger tackle Ravenous Reptile

Chapter XX

Hope Fades for Rescuers

Chapter XXI

Black Apparitions stumble behind Ginger

Chapter XXII

Rains and Revisit to the Mountain Where Flowers Sang

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CHAPTER I

A Goat Senses

A GRIZZLED MOUNTAIN GOAT, his hair glistening white in the afternoon sun, led his herd of nannies and kids to a crystal-clear lake to drink from the cold water. A clattering of small rocks caused them to look up at the rocky crags surrounding the crater. A herd of Rocky Mountain sheep made their way across the side of the sheer ridge, coming to the lake.

No concern were they to the Billy, so he led his group to bushes growing among the gray boulders beneath a massive rockslide. There he grazed with his herd, but he did not stay for long where he could see only the inside of the rock cirque surrounding the Crater Lake. But while his herd browsed on the bushes, he picked his way past lichen-covered rocks toward the highest peak in the region.

He gave scant attention to a pika dragging a small willow branch in front of him, nor to a marmot whistling from its position on the tip of a rock. For a few moments he stood eye to eye with a big buck, then continued his journey.

Almost straight up he climbed until he reached the highest rock and looked at the ridge west of him where wispy clouds heralding bad weather scudded across the sky. South of him a hundred elk grazed on the grass just above timberline.

He shifted his gaze and peered through the blue haze at five lakes nestled in craters around a large valley. A coyote splashed in the creek running out of the largest lake in the center of the valley. Since the little animal posed no danger, he surveyed the area north of the peak.

Small streams ran down the sides of the mountains and made a larger creek in the bottom. He looked carefully into the willow bushes beside the creeks for sign of a mountain lion or another ambitious goat, but he saw nothing to frighten him.

Then he saw three human beings trotting along a trail by the big creek. He shook his long beard, whirled to check his herd. He then watched the figures until they followed the trail into a forest of dark spruce trees.

A tent awning flapped in the slight breeze causing him to look quickly to the northeast. Even to his sharp eyes, the tent looked like a rock, and the men in front of it like strange trees. Between him and the tent another man made his way to the head of a little creek. The Billy goat stomped his feet until he knew the man had moved away from him.

He completed his survey of Lost Wilderness by looking across the mountains to the plains a hundred miles east. Satisfied no immediate threat existed, he lay down and slept in the summer sun.

Only a few minutes passed before his sensitive nose detected a foreign smell. He jumped to his feet with his brown eyes flashing. He snorted and ran around the peak searching for the cause of the odor. He spotted smoke drifting out of a grove of dense spruce trees far across the valley near the peak on that side.

Lowering his head, he butted into the air with his sharp horns. The three figures jogged out of the trees into a clearing. He twisted on his perch glaring first at the smoke and then at the figures on the trail. Finally he snorted even louder, ran down the mountain to the base of the rockslide, and led his herd over the rocky ridge away from Lost Wilderness toward the gathering storm.

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CHAPTER II

Listen to the Flowers

RENA AND MARNA Brown ran up the mountain, straining to maintain their speed as the trail got steeper. They had run for miles, jumping small streams, winding through thick, pine-scented forests, admiring the wonders of nature. As they reached the crest of the steep hill, Rena broke the spell.

How far was Mother ahead of us? she asked.

Marna panted and struggled to speak. I think . . we gave her . . nearly a mile head start.

Let’s rest a while then, Rena said. We probably can’t catch her.

No way. If we let her beat us to camp, Dad will laugh at us for days. We’ve got to catch her.

They charged up the trail determined to catch their mother. As they rounded a clump of bushes by the trail, Rena said, There she is with Toffa, the dog. She hasn’t crossed the creek.

Good deal. Let’s help her along, Marna said.

She stopped and grabbed a handful of small pebbles. Rena also picked up some rocks. Then they hurried, running softly to keep their mother from hearing them. When they were twenty feet from her, they threw their first pebbles.

Hey, cut that out! Marie Brown shouted as she jumped Ruby Lake Creek. Quit hitting me with those rocks!

Rena narrowly missed her with another pebble. Come on, you can run faster than that!

Faster, Marna yelled, and she hit Marie squarely on the bottom.

Shaking with laughter, Rena could hardly run. Both of them taunted their mother as they trotted by her.

Crying out in mock anger, Marie stopped and grabbed a stick lying by the trail. I don’t have to go faster. In fact, I don’t have to run at all. Just because you smart alecs think you are track stars doesn’t give you the right to pelt me with rocks.

Rena and Marna stopped for a moment and grinned at her. Both had white teeth framed by full lips, big, wide eyes set in tan faces with high cheekbones. A few freckles scattered over their noses. Their chins squared just a little. They could have passed for twins except Rena stood an inch taller at five feet eight, and Marna had a dimple on her left cheek.

Rena was sixteen, two years older than Marna. However, she was reserved with anyone but her family, while Marna was outspoken. Track and a foreign language club constituted Rena’s extra-curricular activities. On the other hand Marna participated in more social clubs in school. Some tensions had developed between them because of their disparate personalities, but they had one mind as they ran away from their mother.

Shaking the stick Marie started after her daughters, but they teased her and ran away. You can’t catch us, ha, ha, ha, Marna said. You can’t run fast enough.

Up the steep hill through the spruce and fir they ran giggling as they went with Toffa, their big German shepherd dog, nipping at their heels.

Maybe I can’t, Marie said, but you’ll have to come to camp sometime tonight. Lindall will hold you, and I’ll wear this stick out on you brats.

We’ll outrun him too, Marna said as they jogged up the hill with their long, dark hair bouncing on their shoulders. Come on, long legs, Marna said, let’s go pester Daddy.

Sensitive about her comments, Rena said, If you had long legs, you could run farther. Then her anger diminished, and she said, I think you’re right. Dad does need some heckling.

Bundles of muscles and legs, the two often scored enough points to win track meets by themselves. Rena ran the mile, the half-mile and high jumped. The four-forty, the mile, and the sixty-yard dashes made up Marna’s specialties. Although they packed into the mountains with their parents, they never forgot they were runners. Consequently, they often ran on the mountain trails to get ready for the track season.

They were excellent riders as well. When they got their first horse, their father could not afford a saddle so they rode without one and learned to stick to their mounts like cockleburs. They could ride bareback better than most people could with a saddle. If anything required physical skill, the girls could do it.

Their parents, Lindall and Marie Brown, grew up in the desolate territory of Eastern New Mexico. Lindall lived forty miles from a town and for a while had no electricity, running water, or telephone. Depression and the dust bowl tutored him. Six feet tall, he grew unusually tough and strong digging postholes and scooping wheat. His piercing green eyes, set wide and punctuated by a large English nose, seemed to look inside people and sometimes caused them to think he was arrogant and cold. At times he struggled with a high temper, but adversity had made him gentle and kind.

Marie lived about sixty miles away and closer to a town, but she also knew how to get along without luxuries. Summers she dug out bear grass in the burning sun with a mattock big enough for a man then helped out with chores in her big family. Her auburn hair surrounded large, blue eyes in a pretty face getting more beautiful with the years. Soft spoken and tender, she had great inner strength but could be ferocious.

Both of them learned endurance and patience from their poverty. When they met at college, they fell in love, got married, and struck out for the mountains in an old Ford six that would barely run. After some years in small mountain towns, they were now teachers in Lonetree, a college town of forty-five hundred people.

As they neared their camp, Rena and Marna still laughed. Bursting out of the timber into a little clearing, they saw their father sitting on a big rock gazing across a meadow carpeted with yellow daisies, white buttercups, and dark burgundy elephant-head flowers. He heard them coming and held his big hand toward them indicating he wanted them to be quiet. They slowed and tiptoed beside him.

What do you see? Rena whispered, expecting to see a deer or elk.

I see flowers, he said softly. Flowers prettier than your green eyes.

My green eyes are just like yours so how could anything be prettier? Rena said.

My blue eyes, Marna said, are prettier than green eyes anytime.

Rena’s eyes flashed, and her lips compressed. You and Mother think your blue eyes are a gift from heaven, but they’re not. Everybody has blue eyes, but green eyes are rare.

Lindall frowned. You girls sound like a magpie convention. Be quiet. These flowers are here so you can hear them.

What? Marna said. Did you make us be quiet for flowers? They won’t run away. You can’t scare flowers.

No, Lindall said, but you can’t find flowers like these very often, and you can’t listen to them with two cow elk snorting and stumbling up the hill.

Snorting! Rena said.

Stumbling! We don’t stumble. At least I don’t, Marna said.

His insults aggravated them too much. They tried to jerk him off the rock, but he wrapped a long arm around the waist of each of them, pinned their arms against their sides and held them as if they were in straitjackets. Toffa barked because she didn’t like for them to wrestle with anyone but her. However, Lindall knew she wouldn’t attack any of the family so he held them until they stopped squirming.

Marie came up, saw Lindall holding the girls and said, Too bad I threw down my stick. What’s going on?

Oh, your husband is listening to flowers, Marna said, and he wants us to be quiet so he can talk to them.

Lindall, are you talking to the flowers again? Marie said.

No, I’m listening to them. That is- I was until a herd of heavy-footed females came charging through the forest making enough noise to drown out the roar of thunder in a lightning storm. Listen! he said. All of you just listen carefully.

Marna shuffled her feet because she was eager to get on with something else. That’s silly. I can’t hear any flowers. What are they supposed to be saying, Dad?

They are not saying. They are singing. Everything in the universe is vibrating at a different pitch, so in a manner of speaking every flower and every rock has its own song. Like a beautiful chorus, you can hear each part distinctly, but they harmonize perfectly. Only human beings get out of tune so we can’t hear their symphony. This meadow is one of the best places to hear their melodies and feel the Spirit of the Wilderness. Now be quiet. Look at the whole meadow until the colors blend with the forest. Use your imagination and listen with your whole being. Don’t try to make anything happen but let the flowers push out all your other thoughts, and you can hear their music.

They listened to detect what he heard from the flowers.

In a reverent voice he whispered, "Hear them! The flowers are singing the lead in the Song of the Wilderness with the pines, the birds, the wind in the trees, and the water in the creek furnishing the other instruments of the orchestra. Their music is heard throughout the universe so