Yes, chicken did come high. All those dressed birds must be replaced, and the little company’s purse was very flat. There was a worried note in Dave’s voice as he said, “Tomorrow we must return to the mainland for fuel oil. I wonder if we get it? The last bill isn’t paid yet!”
That worry was still with them as, after unloading the fishermen’s goods, they headed away across the glassy waters of Superior. But when Father Superior is in a happy mood, who can worry? “Never,” Florence thought, “was the water so smooth or the sky so blue.”
With Indian John at the wheel and Katie’s galley sending out delicious odors, the three of them, Dave, Florence and Jeanne, sat on deck looking dreamily off across the water.
“There is a phantom fisherman off the end of Edward’s Island,” Jeanne murmured, half talking to herself.
“A fisherman, but no phantom,” Dave insisted.
“It is our privilege in this life,” said Jeanne, “to have what we want, provided we tread on no one’s toes. I want a phantom fisherman, so I shall have one. You want a real fisherman. You may have him, too. Neither of us wishes any fish, so what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dave agreed.
“One thing is important,” Florence insisted. “Are those fires on the island being set?”
“No,” said Dave.
“But I’ve been told they were,” insisted his cousin. “Twice I’ve heard it.”
“Who told you?”
“I—I don’t know. That’s the queer part.” She went on to tell of the strange voice.
“Probably some ignorant fisherman talking nonsense,” was Dave’s verdict. “They cling to these crags trying to eke out a living until they get a little cracked in the head.”
To this, Florence would not agree. She had heard the voice. She had seen the mysterious youth and was sure she would see him again.
“Questions that interest me more are—shall we be allowed to continue carrying passengers?” said Dave, “and can we get more fuel oil on credit? Upon these answers depends our future.”
“And perhaps the future of the island,” Florence added soberly.
“Yes, even that,” Dave admitted.
“Well,” Dave laughed as, late that day, his boat tied up at Houghton, he slowly paced the dock, “we won’t have to worry about the future for a day or two. This nor’wester will keep us in port, come what will.” Just as they entered the canal, ten miles from Houghton, a wild storm had come booming in.
“Couldn’t we make a trip if we had to?” Florence asked.
“Well, if we had to, I suppose we could.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” a brusque voice interrupted.
“Why?” Dave stared. He found himself looking into the keen, gray eyes of the elderly man whom with his granddaughter, they had rescued some days before from Greenstone Ridge on Isle Royale.
“They are having a hard time on the island,” the man explained. “Chips wants more pumps and hose. There are pumps here—twenty of them—and ten thousand feet of hose. I’d like—”
“But I don’t see—” Dave broke in.
“You don’t see how that affects me,” the man laughed. “I happen to be an assistant national park commissioner; so this is my job. I am Colonel Colby.”
“Oh-o,” Dave breathed, “and you want us to make a trip to Isle Royale?”
“It is imperative. The pumps must go. TheIroquoisis in port, but she is old and clumsy. She’d not be safe, but your boat—”
“She’d do all right, but—” Dave hesitated, “our passenger license expires tonight.”
“Passenger license!” The old man’s voice rose. “Who said anything about passengers? Of course,” he added, “I shall go with you, but—I,” he hesitated. “Well, you may ship me as freight,” he laughed heartily. “Anyway, I represent the Government.”
“All right. Bring on your pumps. We’ll run down for fresh fuel. Be back here in half an hour,” was the young skipper’s reply.
“One thing more,” he hesitated, “I hate to tell you this. You may think we’re whining, but I doubt if our credit for fuel is good.”
“I’ll attend to that also,” the colonel replied without a second’s hesitation.
“O.K. We’ll be with you in an hour.”
“That’s the talk!” The colonel gripped Dave’s hand for an instant, then was away.
When two hours later theWanderernosed her way out of the smooth water of the canal into the surging seas that swept Lake Superior, Dave caught his breath. Had he, for once, overestimated the cruising power of his stout little craft? Only time would tell. TheWandererappeared to glory in its battle with the waters. Climbing one monstrous wave, it glided down the breaker’s slope, only to start climbing again. Great splashes of white spray were dashed against the pilothouse window. The deck was all awash; yet theWanderer’smotors throbbed sweetly as the gallant boat forged its way ahead.
Night came. The storm increased. The black waves of night seemed more terrible than those of the day. Struggling into her little galley, Katie braced herself stiff-legged against a screwed-down table while she prepared sandwiches for the weary men.
Below deck, one of the twenty pumps, breaking its moorings, threatened to smash the others into bits. Only after many bumps and bruises was Rufus able to restore it to its proper place.
“Wi-wild night,” Dave’s words were blown down his throat as he reached gratefully for his sandwich.
“Tho-thought I saw a light,” Florence screamed.
“Sure! Sure! There it is!” Dave shouted. “Must be Passage Island. And boy, oh, boy! If it is, we’re right on our course!”
They were on their course. They had Indian John to thank for that. One peril still lay before them—the narrow, rocky entrance of Rock Harbor. Could they make it? There was a prayer in every heart as they neared the dark bulks looming out of the night.
“Little islands that guard the channel,” Dave explained, playing his ship’s light upon them. “They’re all solid rock. And you don’t see all of them. Some are just under the water. One touch on a night like this, and—
“There! There’s the gap!” he exclaimed excitedly. “It’s straight ahead of us, one marker to the right and one to the left. Thank God, the waves are striking the island squarely! We’ll ride them like a bucking broncho.
“Now!” he breathed, as a huge breaker bore them forward.
“Now!” Florence exclaimed, as a second, larger than the first, broke with a hiss under theWanderer’sprow.
“And now!” shouted the gray-haired colonel, as the stout little craft glided off the last wave to the calm of Rock Harbor. “That—that was marvelous!” He gripped Florence and Dave by the hands. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And now,” he added quietly, “now for Chips. He’ll be waiting.”
Chips was waiting, and it was the privilege of the young navigators to witness his marvelous efficiency. With the smoothness of clockwork, his men marched aboard the boat, thrust rope-lashed poles beneath each pump, then disappeared into the night.
“That’ll lick the fire,” Chips murmured. “Besides, the wind’s shifting, and there’s the smell of rain in the air.”
“There are good beds down at the lodge at the other end of the harbor,” the gray-haired colonel turned to theWanderer’screw. “You all need some real rest. It’s smooth going all the way. What do you say we go down and tie up there for twenty-four hours?”
“That,” exclaimed Florence, “would be keen!”
“And so say we all,” Dave echoed.
“O.K.,” he exclaimed, “John, you know this channel. Suppose you take the wheel.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Indian John saluted.
“And now, how about a few words over a cup of coffee?” suggested the colonel.
It was a very friendly chat they had with the colonel, as, with the light of the moon streaming in at their window, they sat contentedly listening to the distant roar of dashing waves.
Without seeming to pry into their affairs, the gray-haired man found out just how matters stood with them.
“You’ve been doing a grand work,” he rumbled at last. “In a most splendid spirit. Before I left I told Addison, the fuel man you know, to supply all your needs. I shall stand back of you in this.”
“Oh, that—that’s grand!” Florence choked a little.
“I don’t know how we can thank you, sir!” Dave said huskily.
“You don’t need to. This is perhaps but the beginning. I hope we have much better things in store for you.”
“The little we have done has been for the good of the kindly people of the island,” said Florence.
“And for the good of all,” added the colonel. “You must not forget that Isle Royale is to be a national park. That it is to belong to all the people of America. When you save a square mile of that virgin beauty you are saving it for all the American people.
“By the way,” he said after a moment’s silence, “That man with the speed boat doesn’t like you very well, does he? I suppose you know the reason why.”
“No,” was Florence’s quick reply, “we have wondered about him ever since we brought him to the island and he seemed ready to put us in chains because we insisted on helping to save the camp at Siskowit.”
“He’s threatened to have our license revoked,” Dave put in. “It all seems a bit fantastic. We really never did anything to him.”
“No, probably not,” the colonel agreed. “But your grandfather did and it is his boat you are operating, I am told.”
“Grandfather! Grandfather?” they exclaimed. “He never wronged anyone.”
“He never did,” the colonel agreed, “but he got in bad by doing right. This man who has chosen you for an enemy was once running a boat contrary to regulations, carrying many more passengers than the law allows, endangering people’s lives. The authorities asked your grandfather about it. Being the sort of man who hates lies, he told the truth.”
“Good for Granddad!” Florence exclaimed.
“Right,” the gray-haired man agreed. “For all that, he made himself a lifetime enemy. But,” he added, “you need not worry further about him. I shall see that he is properly taken care of.
“Look!” he exclaimed springing to the window, “we are at Snug Harbor—our night of storm is over. I shall arrange at once for your accommodations at the Lodge.”
“We are to have a hot bath and sleep between clean, white sheets,” Florence whispered to Jeanne. “How perfectly grand!”
Scarcely had their boat touched the dock when Katie began talking in her own tongue to a fisherman whose small boat was tied up to the dock.
“He says,” she exclaimed eagerly, “that he is going to the camp at Siskowit where mine brother is. I do so wish to see him.”
“Is he coming back?” Florence asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Let her go,” said Dave. “She’ll catch up with us somewhere.”
So the happy Katie went gliding away through the dawn with her new-found friend. She had dinner that day with her brother and his companions at camp. That night, fired with enthusiasm by the talk of the boys who had only words of praise for theWandererand her crew, she returned to Rock Harbor in plenty of time to take up her duties.
To our good pals, Florence and Jeanne, who had been so tossed about by the waves of old Superior in his worst mood, nothing could have been more delightful than the interlude that followed.
“Contrast!” Florence exclaimed, as, after a refreshing bath, she welcomed the clean coolness of linen sheets. “It is contrast that makes living such a joy. Half the night we tumble about in the dark, the other half we rest in the most perfect of summer lodges.”
“Yes,” Jeanne agreed. “Tomorrow we dream by an open fire. And next day—who knows?”
Who indeed!
They slept until ten next morning. Because of their service to the island all dining room rules were broken, and they were served with delicious French toast and coffee. After that, they retired to the broad lounge where they stretched themselves out in roomy chairs before a cheerful fire.
“How grand it would be just to live here as guests!” Jeanne whispered.
“And forget all about the fire,” Florence agreed. “But that would be impossible.”
And indeed it would. The fires were not forgotten by anyone. Only the hardiest of souls had remained on the island. At that moment, catching snatches of conversation from the guests lounging in the big room, the girls heard, “They say they’re being set; these fires.” It was a woman who spoke.
“See?” Florence whispered. “What have I been saying?”
“That’s nonsense,” a man’s voice rumbled. “The island is like tinder. Bits of birchbark are lighted by the flames. They break away and are carried miles.”
“Still on fire?” said another voice.
“Absolutely!” the man insisted. “There are ashes in your hair right now, and you weren’t out of doors a quarter-hour. Where did they come from? Many miles away. Yesterday I saw a black object floating down. I caught it. It was a leaf, charred black by the fire. It had floated in the air miles and miles.”
Apparently convinced, his companions said no more. But Florence was not satisfied. Had she not been told the fires were being set? And had she not seen the youth with the crimson sweater? Did some imp whisper, “Yes, and you are to see him again—very soon. No good will come of that, either.” Well, perhaps not. Who can say?
“There’s grand fishing here at the island,” said a man in high boots and red plaid shirt. “I row a heavy boat three hundred miles every summer, trolling for lake trout. It reduces my waistline two inches.”
“I am always going to row a heavy boat three hundred miles,” drawled a large, fat man, “next year!” Everyone laughed.
“Last year,” said the ardent fisherman, “I lost my metal lure. Wasn’t tied right. A fish carried it off, but he gave it back.”
“Gave it back? How come?” asked his fat friend.
“Seems he didn’t want it, so he hung it on a fisherman’s net and the fisherman gave it to me.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I’ve got the lure to prove it.”
“Jeanne,” Florence whispered, “I’m going fishing first chance I get. A fellow has a little fun coming to him.”
“Yes,” Jeanne admitted, “you have.”
So the long, lazy day passed. It was glorious to sit in the sun, to climb over the rocks, to loaf by the fire without a care.
When the next day dawned— Sh! That was to be quite another matter.
Their day of perfect peace was climaxed by a pleasant surprise just before sundown. The evening meal was over. They had settled themselves before the fire, when someone burst into the room with a low exclamation, “Moose! Over at the salt lick!”
This was a signal for a silent exit and a tiptoe march out around the stockade at the back of the lodge, across the tennis court, then into the brush to a spot where salt had been placed to lure the wild moose.
“A monster!” someone whispered, as they came in sight of the salt lick. And he was just that. With wide spreading antlers and bulging eyes, in that dim light he appeared like a very dangerous creature. Jeanne shuddered at the sight of him. And well she might.
“No cause to be afraid,” said the Commodore. “This is a game preserve. No one is allowed to shoot them. They are as tame as cattle.”
“Almost!” came from someone in the rear. Who had spoken? Later, when they tried, no one could recall.
The moose did seem tame enough. There was a camera enthusiast in the group. Slipping up close, he took time exposures. Then, growing bolder, he touched off a flash bulb. The moose looked up, glared about him, then once more began licking the salt.
“Perfect!” someone whispered.
“Almost!” came as a sort of echo.
And then peace ended. Something stirred at Jeanne’s feet. It was Plumdum. Jeanne gasped. She had left him curled up asleep by the fire. Somehow, he had got out. The dog scented the moose. The moose saw the dog. To a moose, a dog is a wolf. To a dog, moose spells danger.
Plumdum was courageous. Barking wildly, he leaped straight at the moose. Lowering his head and letting out a terrifying bellow, the moose charged the dog.
“Plumdum! You’ll be killed!” Poor Jeanne shrieked.
The visitors vanished.
“Come on.” Florence seized Jeanne by the arm, “You can’t do anything about that!”
“He’ll be killed!” the little French girl screamed.
Slowly, as the moose came on, Florence led her companion back. It did seem as though Plumdum would be killed. Yet, quick as a flash, he avoided every toss of those massive antlers.
Then came a touch of comedy. A stout clothesline was stretched three times across the monster’s path. Heaving his antlers high for one more try at Plumdum, he brought them squarely into these lines. At once he was entangled. Florence laughed at his frantic efforts to break loose. But Jeanne, dashing forward, seized the small dog to carry him away.
She was not an instant too soon. The moose, having torn the line from its hooks, gave vent to one more bellow of rage, and was after them. Before them was a high board fence, and in the fence a swinging gate. Pushing her companion before her, Florence crowded through the gate. The moose, only a step behind them, thrust his nose into the opening just as the gate slammed shut. A chain, hung with two heavy rocks, held it tight. Florence added her weight to that of the stones by dropping on the chain, and Mr. Moose had his nose pinched in a manner he would not soon forget.
When at last he had freed himself, he went swiftly and silently away into the brush. The fight was over. Peace again reigned in Snug Harbor. Jeanne and Florence enjoyed one more night of repose. And tomorrow was another day.
The next morning Florence lay dreaming luxuriously in bed. Without knowing why, she thought of smiling Tim O’Hara and his Adventurers’ Club of the air. On her last trip to the mainland she had found a letter from him.
“The radio program is going big,” he wrote. “It’s a grand spot, coast to coast. We are looking forward to your coming. As soon as the battle of Isle Royale is over, wire me, collect, and I’ll get off a round trip ticket for you that every hour.”
“To speak over the radio,” she thought, as she thrilled at the prospect, “a chain broadcast, coast to coast! What would that be like?” She had not the slightest idea, but hers was the right to dream. And dream she did.
Jeanne, who had risen at dawn to watch the matchless sunrise from over the dark waters of Superior, suddenly burst into the room.
“Come, my dear!” she exclaimed. “It’s slacks and hiking boots today!”
“What’s happened?” Florence asked.
“There’s to be a mountain climbing. It’s Mt. Franklin, only five hundred feet high, but you can see the fire from there.”
“It’s worth doing, if we have no more serious business,” Florence agreed.
“Oh, yes!” Jeanne exclaimed. “Your gray-haired friend is back. He says there’s good news for you.”
“Good news?” The big girl’s heart leaped. She was in her clothes and out of doors before Jeanne could catch her breath.
“Come inside and have your morning coffee,” Colonel Colby invited, after greetings had been exchanged. “Dave has gone in. I have something to say to you both.”
He was tantalizingly slow in coming to the point, but after he had talked of moose, salmon, trout, Snug Harbor and big timber, and after the morning coffee was over, clearing his throat, he satisfied their curiosity.
“I have been in touch with my Department by short wave radio. We are obliged to revise our plans—” Pausing, he looked at his young companions, then went on, slowly,
“I truly hate doing this. I think it would be splendid training for your young souls if you were allowed to return home for a month or two hence with empty pockets, but fired by the realization that you have made a real contribution to the happiness of your fellow men, as you surely have.
“However,” he cleared his throat again, “there is your grandfather’s interest to be considered. He is a splendid man. I know him well. He can ill afford to lose.
“What’s still more important,” he paused for a space of seconds, “the truth is, we need your boat.”
“You do!”
“Absolutely.” The colonel leaned forward. “When men are to be moved by hundreds, a large craft like theIroquoisis best. But when we have won this major battle with the fire, which we hope to do in a few days—two weeks, at most—there will remain weeks of mopping up to be done. Men will be scattered here and there all over the island, putting out spot fires, cutting down charred trees, digging out burning peat bogs. They must have food and other supplies. Their officers must be moved from place to place. For such a task theWanderer, that can turn around on its own shadow and can enter every little cove with safety, is just the craft.
“So-o,” he added, as his listeners waited in breathless suspense, “in the name of our Government I am going to requisition your boat for perhaps eight weeks. The pay shall be four hundred and twenty-five dollars per week, and you shall be supplied fuel and oil without cost.”
“But—”
“The matter has been gone into quite carefully,” the colonel held up a hand for silence. “We have decided that this will be a fair settlement. And you,” he threw back his head and laughed, “you can’t do a thing about it!”
“Do anything about it!” Dave enthused. “Four hundred and twenty-five a week, for two months. We’ll pay off the debt!”
Florence let out a low “Hurray! Boy! That sure is a break for us!”
“No,” the colonel counseled. “Don’t say that. It is not a matter of luck. The best things of life do not come by chance. You have been tried and have proven yourselves worthy of trust. Having discovered an opportunity to do a real service, you did it without thought of reward. Time after time in my long life, I have seen men who placed service before reward led by their very attitude into higher things.
“Well, that’s settled then.” He rose from his chair. “I doubt if we shall need the services of theWanderertoday. At least you may stand by here for further orders.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dave rose to salute in a soldierly fashion.
Florence’s head was fairly bursting. What wonderful good fortune! They were to carry on this fight, to do all the good possible, to help save the island and its people. “And be paid for it!” she whispered. “How grand!”
It is little wonder that she should be ready for a picnic. When Dave assured her that he, with the help of Katie and Ruben, could take care of any emergency that might arise, she and Jeanne joined the hikers, who, after a long walk, were to view the fire from the peak of Mt. Franklin.
Recalling her experience on that other occasion when she climbed the ridge, she slung the heavy field glasses over her shoulder.
“May see a moose,” she laughed. “Or perhaps a bear!”
“There are no bears on the island,” someone corrected.
“All right,” she laughed, “then I’ll look for some other creature.” She knew what. Nor was she to be disappointed.
Two hours later they were standing on the crest of the ridge, looking down the length of the island, where great clouds of smoke were rising and drifting away across the water. The nearest fire, Florence estimated, could not now be three miles from the spot where they now stood.
“If a strong wind came up—blowing this way—” She shuddered as she spoke.
“Yes,” said Jeanne, “that would be tragic!”
And so it would be. Back of them were woods and water, picturesque cottages and happy people. Before them, fire.
“Look, Jeanne!” With trembling hands Florence passed the field glasses to her companion. “There on the rocks close to that dark cluster of spruce trees, right between three fires—do you see anything there?”
“Yes.” Jeanne spoke very slowly. “There is a spot—a crimson spot. It moves. It is a man.”
“Or perhaps a boy,” said Florence. “Listen, Jeanne,” the big girl’s lips were a straight line, “I am going to that spot!”
“Oh, no!” Jeanne protested.
“Yes.” Florence was serious. “If that is the firebug, I shall get him.”
“See that trail?” She pointed to a narrow break in the forest. “It leads to the head of the harbor. I’m going down that on the run. If you wish you may follow me to the camp and the dock at the end of the trail.”
“I shall follow,” said Jeanne.
“Wait for me there.”
Florence was away.
As, a half hour later, Florence neared the entrance to a second trail leading to the flaming forest, she suddenly thought of the fire-fighter, who had been placed there to prevent fire-fans from rushing into danger, and her knees all but doubled under her.
“How am I ever to get past him?” she asked herself in sudden consternation.
How indeed? Well enough she knew what these hard-boiled fighters thought of girls who, for sentimental reasons or for the purpose of experiencing a thrill, tried to crowd past them.
“If I stop to argue I’m lost,” she told herself.
Then the experience of a friend in a great city came to her and she smiled. This friend had been hurrying to a train when a man sprang out before her and exclaimed,
“Give me your money! This is a stick-up!”
“I—I’ve got to catch a train,” her friend had panted as she went racing straight on.
“I’ll do something like that,” she concluded. And she did.
“Hey! Where y’ think yer goin’, sister?” the fire guard demanded as she ran up to him.
“I—I’ve got to get back there,” she puffed. “It—it’s awfully important.”
She was past him and had lost herself in the brush before he knew what had happened.
“Well, that’s that,” she chuckled. “Now to find that boy.”
This, she discovered at once, was not going to be easy. There was little or no trail. She had hoped to find an even slope on which to travel. Instead there were ridges and narrow valleys or low, deep runs. She was obliged to pass around the deepest of these. In doing so she lost her sense of direction. The brush was thick. Wild raspberry bushes tore at her. Vines tripped her. She stepped on a great, fallen log. It caved in and sent her sprawling. Fallen trees blocked her path.
“I—I’ve got to get through,” she thought, fighting doggedly on.
To make matters worse the wind shifted, setting great masses of smoke bellowing down upon her. Choking and coughing, eyes blinded, she paused to consider.
“Am I going the right way?” she asked herself in some alarm. To this question she could form no answer.
The wind changed again. The smoke was less dense. She pushed on.
Fifteen minutes later, billows of smoke once more bore down upon her. And this time the air seemed hot to her flushed cheek.
“What a dunce I was,” she exclaimed. “I—”
She did not finish, for, at that second, the smoke appeared to rise straight in the air. And there, not a hundred yards away, was a wall of fire. Even as she watched, the flames, reaching the foot of a great spruce tree, raced to its very top with a great whoosh. A second tree went up like a rocket, then a third.
She did not wait for more. She turned and ran. Over rocks and fallen trees, through masses of thimbleberry bushes, through a low swampy spot that sank to her tread, she raced until, with staring eyes and wildly beating heart, she came squarely up against one more wall of fire.
All but exhausted, she sank down upon a great, hot rock to think. What had happened? The wind had shifted. This had brought the fire in from a new direction. Perhaps that boy in the crimson sweater had set fresh fires. Perhaps she was completely surrounded.
“Trapped,” she thought with a shudder.
“But I must keep my head,” she told herself. “There should be a way out. There must be. There—there just has to be.”
Strangely enough at that very moment her good friend, Captain Frey, was talking about that very question. He was speaking to a dozen of his boys. Among them were Mike and Tony.
“Boys,” he was saying, “a girl dodged past the guard and went back there where the fire is burning its fiercest. What she wanted I don’t know, but from what the guard tells me I’d say it was this big girl, Florence. You all know her.”
“Yea—yea—yea,” they all agreed.
“I’ll say we do!” Mike muttered.
“She’s the realest thing on the island!” the Captain exclaimed. “If we all were like her there’d be no more fire. I don’t know her reason for going in there but it’s bound to have been a good one.
“Thing is,” his tone was sober. “Wind’s shifted since she went in. If she loses her way—”
“And she will,” Mike broke in. “I know dat place. It’s bad.”
“Some of you boys must go in and bring her out,” the captain challenged abruptly. “Who’s it going to be?”
“Me and Tony, eh, Tony?” Mike volunteered.
“Sure t’ing,” Tony agreed.
The captain looked at them squarely. “Seems to me I heard that she ducked you two,” he said.
“Fergit it,” said Mike. “We had it comin’. Anyway, that was a long time ago. Leave us go after her. We’ll bring her out, Cap’n. Honest, we will.”
“Sure we will,” Tony seconded.
There was a strange new light in the Captain’s eye and a huskiness in his voice as he said, “All right, boys. In you go! And may you come back.”
Mike and Tony had been gone a half hour when Jeanne came up to the small dock next to the entrance to the trail. Plumdum was at her heels.
“Cap-Captain Frey!” she exclaimed as she met the fire fighter on the trail, “did my friend, Flor-Florence come this way?”
“I’m afraid she did.”
“Is she in danger?” Jeanne tried to read his face.
“I am afraid she is. However, two boys went in after her. They may find her.”
“But if they don’t?”
“It’s going to be bad.” He frowned. “The wind changed. She’s likely to be trapped.”
“Oh,” Jeanne stood first on one foot, then on the other. Whining low, Plumdum, sensing her troubles, brushed against her.
Of a sudden a bright idea took possession of the little French girl. “There’s a hydroplane tied up at the dock,” she exclaimed. “Where’s the pilot?”
“There are three of us that take a turn at it,” said the captain.
“Then—then,” she caught her breath. Jeanne had flown a great deal. She loved the air as a seaman loves the sea. “Why couldn’t we circle over them? We—we might find them a way out.”
“It’s an idea!” said the captain. “Come on!”
“What about Plumdum?” Jeanne asked.
“Take him along. We might want to throw him overboard just to let them know we’re interested,” the captain chuckled.
“No!” Jeanne was shocked.
“It’s an idea at that.” He was hurrying now. “Can he wriggle out of a harness?”
“Oh! Always!”
Jeanne was thinking, “What’s he got on his mind now?”
The captain said no more. A moment later opportunity for talk was gone, the motor was roaring. They were away.
Racing down the bay they rose in the air, circled over the tree tops, circled once again, then shot away above the smoke-whitened island.
Had it not been for the fear in Jeanne’s heart regarding the safety of her good pal, she would have enjoyed this to the full. Here they passed over the glorious blue of the bay and there the dark green of island forest. Here all was blotted out by billowing white clouds and there was dense black smoke, edged by flames that appeared to reach for them.
“How terrible to fall into a burning forest from the air,” she thought with a shudder.
Then she saw something that set her pulling at the pilot’s shoulder. “There!” she screamed. “There they are!” She pointed straight down.
Little room was left for doubt. In a field of dark green a white spot stood out plainly and beside it two dark ones. The white spot would be Florence in slacks and a white blouse, the other two Mike and Tony.
They circled low. Jeanne saw those below wave white handkerchiefs.
Once again the plane shot upward. Three times the pilot circled the spot. Three times Jeanne’s keen eyes sought for a possible way out and three times she failed. It seemed to her that her friends were completely encircled by flames, that the wall of fire from the west was closing in and that nothing could save them. Involuntarily she pressed Plumdum to her breast.
Three minutes later the plane was at rest on the beautifully quiet bay.
“The situation is difficult but not hopeless.” The Captain spoke rapidly. “There is not a minute to lose. There is a break in the fire up the ridge toward the north. It’s hidden from them by smoke. They can’t see it. If we had some way to tell them.”
“Can we land?” Jeanne was eager.
“In a hydroplane on dry earth and rocks?” he stared at her.
“A parachute,” she volunteered. “I—I’ve baled out. Three times.”
“No parachute,” the captain groaned. “If we had one I wouldn’t let you risk it. You’d get hung in a tree and be roasted to a turn.
“But say!” he exclaimed. “There is a parachute of a sort.” He began digging into a leather pocket. “Here it is, a dog parachute. Belongs to my dog over at camp. I’ve dropped him a score of times. He likes it.
“And there’s your dog,” his voice picked up. “I—I’ll just draw a crude map, showing where the gap is, write a note and tie it to the dog’s collar. Then he’ll make a parachute flight. If they don’t see him, he’s sure to wriggle out of the harness. We’ll put it on rather loosely. After he’s free he’ll circle and find them. Sure to. Any dog will do that. And he knows your big girl friend, doesn’t he?”
“Plumdum?” Jeanne could scarcely speak.
“Yes, your dog.”
“Yes—yes. Oh, yes, he knows Florence.”
“Then is it a go?”
“Yes, I—guess— Yes. Sure it is!”
“Poor Plumdum!” Jeanne was thinking, and then, “Poor Florence.”
Ten minutes later, as the hydroplane once again left the water to soar wide and high, Jeanne sensed rather than felt that the wind was picking up.
“We’ll have to hurry,” she shrilled in the pilot’s ear.
The pilot nodded as he put on a sudden burst of speed.
By this time you are wondering what had happened to Florence. She had paused to consider her own plight. She had lost all trace of the trail, was surrounded by smoke and flames and knew of no certain way of escape. The only answer to such a problem was retreat.
But which way? Up the ridge perhaps. She resolved to try this. The wall of rock was all but perpendicular. At times she was obliged to find a toe hold in a crack between rocks, then to grasp the root of a tree that, like herself, clung precariously, then drag herself up. Always there was the danger of a fall. A broken leg might mean a terrible death by fire.
The girl was strong and steady of nerve. No cigaret smoking, no fasting to attain a perfect figure had sapped her strength. All this stood her in good stead at this moment. It saved her from possible accident. It could not, however, change the course of the fire. To her further consternation she discovered as, all but exhausted, she threw herself upon the crest, that the fire was on its way up the opposite slope to meet her.
“Oh! Oh-a!” she breathed in dismay. How the fire roared and crackled! Already great waves of heat were wafted up to her.
Turning wearily she began letting herself back down the slope.
“I must not allow myself to grow desperate,” she told herself. “Imustnot.”
Forcing herself to unusual caution she held her nerves steady and step by step made her way down.
One other way of escape seemed to present itself—a narrow, dry swamp ran between two ridges. It was filled with smoke but there were no flames. It might still be open. Daring to hope, she went hurrying over its brush-entangled bed of leaves and moss. The smoke was stifling and all but blinding. At times she found herself fairly groping her way.