SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES
Black Treasure
Danger at Mormon Crossing
Stormy Voyage
Fire at Red Lake
Secret Mission to Alaska
Troubled Waters
Sandy Steele Adventures
_FIRE AT RED LAKE_
BY ROGER BARLOW
SIMON AND SCHUSTER
_New York, 1959_
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION
IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM
COPYRIGHT © 1959 BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
ROCKEFELLER CENTER, 630 FIFTH AVENUE
NEW YORK 20, N. Y.
FIRST PRINTING
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 59-13882
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY H. WOLFF BOOK MFG. CO., INC., NEW YORK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1 The Lodge on the Lake 7
2 Into the Woods 17
3 A Midnight Visitor 26
4 The Missing A-Bomb 34
5 Lightning Strikes 43
6 A Futile Search 51
7 A Birling Match 64
8 Fire! 76
9 Battling the Flames 88
10 A Temporary Victory 104
11 Last-Ditch Stand 115
12 Trapped on the Hill 128
13 An Unexpected Find 141
14 The Rains Came 152
15 End of the Trail 157
CHAPTER ONE
The Lodge on the Lake
The battered station wagon bumped and groaned over the rutted dirt road
at about ten miles per hour, churning up great clouds of dust. Sandy
Steele wiped the grime and grit from his face with his handkerchief and
bent forward to yell in the driver’s ear.
“How much further, Mr. McClintock?”
The wizened little old man tugged his dirty straw hat down tighter as
the front wheels lurched in and out of a hole with a jolt that sent all
four occupants of the car bouncing several inches off the seats.
“’Bout ’nother quarter of a mile is all,” the man finally replied.
Sandy grinned at his high-school friend Jerry James, seated beside him.
“Well, we’ve come twenty miles; I guess we’ll last another fifteen
hundred feet.”
The short, stout boy seated up front with the driver turned to face
them, his eyes owlish behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. “One thousand,
three hundred and twenty feet, to be precise,” he said solemnly. “That’s
a quarter of a mile exactly.”
Sandy and Jerry let out long-suffering groans. At fifteen, Clyde Benson
(Quiz) Taylor was the No. 1 student at Valley View High School in
central California where the three boys lived only houses apart. At the
age of ten, Quiz had been a winning contestant on a television quiz
program, which accounted for his nickname. Quiz could discuss Einstein’s
Theory of Relativity or the batting averages of the leading hitters in
the National and American Leagues with equal ease. His mind was a
bulging storehouse of facts and figures that his friends found very
valuable. But at times the superior manner in which he flaunted his
knowledge could be highly irritating.
“Why did you have to ask him along?” Jerry demanded wearily. “Living
with Quiz for a whole month is more than any human being can take.”
“That lets you out then, Jerry,” Quiz said, grinning.
“Okay, wise guy.” Jerry thrust his lantern jaw out indignantly. “Just
you wait till we’re camping out in the deep woods—hundreds of miles from
civilization, with no one around to hear your deathly screams.”
The driver interrupted this byplay, pointing to a patch of blue between
the trunks of the giant pines. “There, you can see the lake now,
fellers. Five minutes more, we’ll be at Mr. Steele’s camp.” He caught
Sandy’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “You’re Russ Steele’s nephew, ain’t
you?”
“Yes, sir.”
The driver nodded. “Great man, Russ Steele. My son was in his division
in Korea. Said General Steele was the best CO any outfit ever had. Used
to be real interested in his men. My boy said the dogfaces swore by
him.”
“Uncle Russ is a regular guy all right,” Sandy said.
“I’ll say,” Jerry put in. “How many big shots like him would spend their
summer vacations taking a bunch of teen-agers on a camping trip?”
The driver looked surprised. “Russ never talks about his work. Is he
really a big shot?”
“Mr. Steele is vice president in charge of research of World Dynamics
Corporation,” Quiz explained loftily. “That’s the firm that does all
that secret government work.”
The driver tipped back his straw hat. “Well, now, I never would’ve
guessed it. He sure don’t act it.”
At that moment, the station wagon rounded a curve, and the road broke
out of the trees on the lake shore. To the left and right, water
stretched away as far as the eye could see. Straight across, the far
shore was barely visible through the blue haze on the horizon.
Jerry whistled in wonder. “Wow! That’s a lake? It looks more like the
Pacific Ocean.”
“If I remember correctly,” Quiz said, “the Red Lake Indian Reservation
is somewhere around here, isn’t it?”
McClintock nodded. “Couple of miles west, on the lower lake. Actually,
there’s twin lakes, connected by sort of a gooseneck. Russ Steele’s
place is on the south shore of the upper lake. Here we are now.”
Set back in an acre of cleared land beyond the beach was a two-story,
rambling lodge with a wide front porch. The rough, pine log walls were
solidly chinked so that they could withstand the frigid north Minnesota
winters; Russell Steele, an avid hunter, used the place as often in
winter as he did in summer. A small dock ran out into the lake and
served as a mooring for three rowboats as well as a 16-foot cabin
cruiser.
As the station wagon drew up in front of the porch, a tall, powerful man
with broad shoulders came down the steps to greet them.
“Welcome to Red Lake.”
Sandy leaped out of the car and wrung his uncle’s hand vigorously.
“Uncle Russ! It’s great to be here.”
A lithe six-footer, Sandy seemed puny beside the older man. In his plaid
shirt and dungarees, Russell Steele looked more like a lumberjack than a
corporation executive. He shook hands with the other two boys.
“Glad the whole gang could make it,” Russ said, grinning.
“You’re a peach to invite us, Mr. Steele,” Jerry said.
Russell Steele walked over to the front window of the station wagon and
put one big hand on the driver’s shoulder. “How’s it going, John?”
John McClintock removed his straw hat and blew the dust off the crown.
“Not bad, Russ. But I could use some rain like everybody else around
here.”
Russ frowned. “It’s bad. Very bad. The ground is like cement and
everything is dry as parchment. I don’t mind telling you I’m worried,
John.”
The driver shrugged. “Like living in a tinder-box. I hear you’re takin’
these young fellers out into the deep woods. Better not go too far.
We’re just about due for a forest fire.”
“We’ll be careful,” Russ promised. He reached into his pocket and took
out a folded ten-dollar bill. “Thanks for bringing the boys out, John.
Here, let me take care of their taxi fare.”
John McClintock pushed the extended bill away firmly. “Not on your life,
Russ. This one’s on me. I owe you a favor after what you did for my
family last year.”
He looked up at Sandy. “Last winter when your uncle was up hunting
around my place, my youngest cut hisself bad on a band saw. Russ hiked
nine miles through a raging blizzard to fetch the doc.”
Russ laughed easily. “I needed the exercise, John. Now you take this
money—” But before he could finish, the old man had gunned the motor and
the station wagon leaped forward. It turned into the drive, backed
around in the road, then headed off in the direction of town.
Russ helped the boys carry their luggage into the lodge and upstairs to
their rooms. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. After you shower,
come down to the porch. I’ll have the cook fix you some lemonade and
sandwiches.”
Sandy was the first one finished. Russ Steele looked up and grinned as
his nephew appeared in the doorway, running a comb through his
unmanageable blond hair with dogged determination.
“Still having trouble with that cowlick, I see,” Russ said.
“One of these days I’m going to get a butch haircut like Jerry James’s.
Then all I’ll have to do is run a washrag across it.”
“Your mother will never buy that,” Russ laughed. “How are the folks?”
“They’re fine,” Sandy said. “Dad’s down in Mexico for two weeks.”
Russ took a long draw on his pipe. “On another one of those government
geological expeditions, I suppose. I envy John, getting to see so much
of the world.”
“He enjoys it, all right,” Sandy admitted. He looked up as a big,
sleek-haired dog came bounding out of the pines on one side of the
house. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Prince, the cook’s Doberman pinscher.” Russ whistled softly
through his teeth.
The dog’s sharp ears and muzzle thrust alertly into the air; then, with
the bounce of a recoiling spring, he came striding across the sunburned
lawn and cleared the front steps in a single leap, to squat in front of
Russ with his short stub of a tail wagging vigorously.
“Talk about jet propulsion!” Sandy exclaimed. “What do you feed him on?”
Russ laughed and leaned over to stroke the animal’s glossy black coat.
“Pound for pound the Doberman is the strongest canine bred. One of the
most intelligent, too. We use them as watchdogs at the plant. I brought
this fellow up as a Christmas present for the cook two years ago.
Prince, meet Sandy.”
Promptly, the dog turned to Sandy and raised his right paw.
“How do you do, Prince,” Sandy said solemnly, taking the paw and shaking
it. “Say, he is smart.”
Jerry and Quiz came out on the porch a few minutes later, and Russ
entertained the boys by putting Prince through some of his tricks. But
the dog was temporarily forgotten when a rangy, string bean of a man
arrived with a huge tray piled high with sandwiches and a pitcher of
lemonade.
“This is Lars Johannsen,” Russ introduced him to the boys. “He’s my cook
and caretaker. Lars used to cook in a lumber camp, so he’s used to chow
hounds. Dig in, fellows.”
Johannsen, who had lank blond hair bleached white by the sun, and a
drooping mustache, flashed a snaggle-toothed grin. “Ya, you eat all you
want,” he said with just a trace of a Scandinavian accent. “Plenty more
to eat in kitchen.”
“You don’t have to coax me,” Jerry said, grabbing a big, two-inch-thick
sandwich in each hand. “I’m famished.”
“Didn’t they feed you on the plane?” Russ asked.
“Sure,” Sandy told him. “We had a big breakfast just before we landed.
But Jerry is the hungriest man alive.”
“If he keeps it up, he won’t make the football team this year,” Quiz
said dryly. “He’ll be too fat to bend over to center the ball.”
“Look who’s calling who fat!” Jerry spluttered between mouthfuls. “The
original blob in person.”
Quiz sniffed. “My mother thinks I’m perfect just the way I am. When this
baby fat drops off, I’ll have a physique the likes of which you’ve never
seen.”
“_That_ I can believe!” Jerry said.
“Break it up, boys,” Russ laughed. “After a month in the woods, you’ll
both be slim as reeds and hard as rocks.”
“Will we really be camping out for the whole month?” Sandy asked
curiously.
“Well, we’ll always be on the move. Of course, there will be times when
we’ll stop over at ranger stations or lumber camps. But for the most
part, we’ll be roughing it in the best frontier tradition.”
“What time do we leave?” Jerry wanted to know.
“Tomorrow morning at six. Packs will be rolled before we hit the sack
tonight.”
“Packs?” Jerry asked.
Russell Steele nodded as he relit his pipe with a long wooden match. “A
conventional infantryman’s pack. Bedroll, shelter half, tent pegs, mess
kit, raincoat, socks, underwear, spare shirt and levis, canned goods,
K-rations, toothbrush, shaving kit, trenching tools, and, of course, a
canteen and cup on your belt. We’ll split up the larger utensils—pots
and frying pans.”
Jerry James jumped up, stood at attention and threw off a snappy salute.
“Yes, sir! Hut-two-three-four! We’re in the Army now. We march at dawn.”
Russ grinned appreciatively; then he said in his most authoritative,
military manner, “There’s just one thing, soldier. You don’t salute with
a boloney sandwich in your hand.”
CHAPTER TWO
Into the Woods
After a pre-dawn breakfast of sausage, eggs and flapjacks, Russell
Steele and the three boys strapped on their packs and walked down to the
dock where Lars Johannsen was warming up the cabin cruiser. Prince was
running back and forth on the pier, barking excitedly.
Jerry eased his thumbs under the pack straps where they cut into his
shoulders. “Boy, this stuff is heavy. You mean to say soldiers carry all
this weight for miles and miles?”
“More weight than that,” Russ told him. “Our packs don’t weigh more than
thirty or forty pounds. An infantryman may pack better than sixty
pounds. And that doesn’t include his cartridge belt and rifle.”
“Me for the Navy,” Quiz said emphatically.
Russ laughed. “After a few days you won’t even realize your pack is
there.”
The sun, a steaming red ball through the morning mist over the lake, was
just showing above the treetops as they climbed aboard the cruiser. Russ
cast off and the cook advanced the throttle slowly. With a roar of the
twin exhausts, the sleek craft shot away from the dock, her bow lifting
as it cleaved through the clear, blue water. Prince scrambled up on the
top deck and stood at the prow, leaning forward into the fine spray
whipping back across the cabin.
“He’s got a fine pair of sea legs,” Jerry said.
Sandy laughed. “Two pairs, you mean. He looks like a figurehead on one
of those old sailing ships, doesn’t he?”
Russ outlined the month’s itinerary: “Lars will drop us off at the
northeast corner of the lake, and we’ll strike out for Big Falls. From
Big Falls we’ll head south to Bow String Lake, and from Bow String west
back to the lodge. Actually, we’ll be traveling in a big triangle, about
one hundred and twenty miles altogether, I’d say.”
“This is a lumber region, isn’t it, Mr. Steele?” Quiz asked. “I’ve
always wanted to see lumberjacks at work.”
“You’ll have your chance, Quiz,” Russ promised him. “Although the lumber
industry in Minnesota is only a shadow of what it used to be. A little
more than a century ago, more than three quarters of the state was
forested. But ruthless cutting of timber without any thought of
conservation or restocking has all but wiped out the great pine forests
of the Lake States. The short-sighted men responsible never stopped to
consider how long it takes a tree to grow. Why, some of these big
fellows are mere babies after one hundred years.”
The little launch was fairly skimming across the mirror-like surface of
the lake now. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze, and although it was still
early morning, the sun burned down so intensely that they had to string
up an awning over the rear deck.
“Another scorcher,” Russ said grimly.
Lars grunted. “We better get rain soon, or we have pretty big trouble.
One spark in these woods and _poof_!” He threw up his hands.
Russ spoke seriously to the boys. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to
forgo the joys of the evening campfire. It would be much too dangerous.
I brought along a Coleman stove to cook on.”
Jerry was disappointed. “Heck, that’s half the fun of camping
out—shooting the breeze around the fire.”
“I feel bad about it myself,” Russ agreed. “But if you ever had had the
misfortune to see a forest fire at first hand, you’d understand that
it’s out of the question.”
“Have you ever seen one close?” Sandy asked him.
“Yes, I did. Down in Southern California a couple of years ago. It was
the most horrible experience of my life.” He seemed to go tense at the
recollection.
Jerry shivered and gazed intently at the approaching shoreline; the
foliage stretched away unbroken to the horizon like a roof over the
forest. “I’d hate to be somewhere in the middle of that if a fire did
break out.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, as long as we’re
careful,” Russ assured him. “And you don’t have to worry about the
natives; their livelihoods—and lives—depend on good fire-prevention
habits.”
“That’s all well and good, sir,” Quiz said somberly, “but what about
lightning?” He studied the cloudless sky arching all about them like a
pale-blue china bowl. “When this hot spell breaks, you can bet it will
break with a ripsnorting thunder-and-lightning storm.”
“You’re a cheerful sort,” Jerry grumbled.
Russ Steele’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s a good point, Quiz.
All we can do is hope that if lightning does ignite any small fires, a
good rain will follow soon enough to douse them.”
“Don’t they have fire spotters in these woods?” Sandy asked.
“Certainly. The U.S. Forest Service has rangers stationed in fire towers
throughout all critical areas on twenty-four-hour duty. But there’s an
awful lot of territory to cover. Many times a blaze will be out of
control before it’s detected.”
The conversation broke off as the shoreline loomed up rapidly now. Lars
steered the launch toward a rickety wooden dock before a small frame
bungalow set back about 100 feet from the water’s edge.
“An old army buddy of mine owns that camp,” Russ told them. “He won’t be
up until the hunting season.”
As Lars maneuvered the launch expertly alongside the dock, Russ leaped
out and gave the mooring line a few turns around a piling. He lent a
hand to each of the boys in turn as they stepped up on the gunwale and
hopped gingerly across to the wooden platform.
“These packs throw you off balance,” Quiz grumbled, heading gratefully
for solid land.
They all laughed as Prince, who was leaning far out over the bow
watching the fish dart about in the clear water, lost his footing and
went tumbling into the lake. He surfaced and went streaking for shore
like a seal. The big dog scrambled out of the lake a few feet away from
Quiz and shook himself vigorously, sending the spray flying in all
directions.
“Hey!” Quiz complained, stumbling backward. “Somebody turn off the
sprinkler system.”
“Now, you won’t have to take a bath tonight,” Jerry kidded him.
When he was through shaking, Prince sat down on the bank and watched
them with his head cocked to one side.
“I think he wants to go with us,” Sandy suggested.
“Take him along,” Lars said. “The exercise will do him good.”
“Good idea,” Russ agreed. “All right, boy, you can come with us if you
want to.”
Lars gunned the motor and waved. “Well, so long. Have a good time.”
Russell Steele cast off the mooring line. “We will, Lars. And I promise
to take good care of Prince.”
Lars laughed. “Prince take good care of you, I think. See you in couple
of weeks.”
The boys watched until the boat was just a speck in the distance. “What
a sweet outfit that is, Mr. Steele,” Jerry said admiringly. “I could
spend the whole summer just cruising around the lake like that.”
Russ took out his pipe and filled it from a plastic pouch. “Before you
go back to California, we’ll try and get some water skiing in.”
“Boy, that will be great.”
Russ led the way up the beach to the bungalow. “We’ll fill our canteens
with fresh water from the pump behind the house and be on our way.”
They struck out through a grove of pines with Russ leading the way. The
boles were thick around as a man and clean of limbs for about thirty
feet up. A dim, soothing green light filtered down through the
interlaced canopy of branches above them.
“It reminds me of a cathedral,” Sandy said.
The silence was eerie; their footsteps were almost soundless on the
spongy forest floor.
“It’s like walking on cotton,” Jerry said. “This must be the softest
ground in the world.”
“We’re really not walking on the ground,” Russ said. “The duff and humus
here must be a foot thick.”
“What’s duff and humus?” Jerry demanded.
“Decayed vegetable matter,” Quiz translated promptly. “Falling pine
needles, scraps of bark, dead plants and bushes.”
As they got farther away from the lake, the matter underfoot began to
rustle crisply. A pine cone fell, rattling through the dry boughs. Russ
glanced up and frowned.
“If only it would rain,” he sighed.
At the end of the first hour, he called a halt. “Ten-minute break.” The
boys protested that they weren’t tired yet, but he was adamant. “If you
walk until you’re tired, you won’t want to get up again. A ten-minute
break every hour helps prevent fatigue. And remove your packs. The idea
is to relax completely.”
Jerry sat down with his back to a tree and removed his left shoe and
sock to examine a red welt on his instep. “Gee, I think I’m getting a
blister.”
“Let’s see.” Russ came over and knelt down by him. “Hmmm, it looks that
way.” He went to his pack, got out a first-aid kit and found a Band-aid.
As he applied the little adhesive bandage to the blister, his eyes fell
on Jerry’s sock lying on the ground.
“Is that a cotton sock?” he asked sharply.
“Yes, sir,” Jerry answered.
“I told you fellows distinctly to wear wool socks, didn’t I?”
Jerry’s face reddened. “Yes, but it was so darned hot that I thought—”
“Jerry,” Russ said patiently, “I didn’t tell you to wear wool socks just
to make you uncomfortable. I wanted to save you a lot of agony. If you
keep on wearing those thin socks for a couple of days, we’ll have to
carry you back on a stretcher.”
Sandy and Quiz stood nearby curiously. “How’s that, Uncle Russ?” Sandy
asked.
“A good pair of heavy wool socks protects your feet; keeps them dry and
won’t bunch up in blister-making creases. Any soldier or woodsman,
anybody who does a lot of hiking, can tell you. In my old army outfit,
wearing cotton socks on a hike was a punishable offense.”
“Hear, hear!” Quiz said with relish. “I vote we assign Jerry to
permanent KP duty for fouling things up.”
Sandy grinned. “I second the motion.”
Jerry’s lantern jaw sagged. “Aw, fellers, have a heart! General Steele,
I appeal to you.”
Russ laughed. “I have to admit that sounds a trifle severe. Let’s
compromise. Jerry, you can consider yourself on special detail for one
night. All the mess kits and pans.”
Jerry relaxed against his tree. “Whew! That was close. I thought for a
while you were going to court-martial me.”
“I’m all for it,” Quiz said testily. “Personally speaking, I think you
ought to face a firing squad.” He ducked as Jerry let a pine cone fly at
his head.
Prince went running after the cone, retrieved it and dropped it in
Jerry’s lap. The boy scowled at the others as he scratched the big dog
behind the ears. “At least I have one friend in the crowd,” he said.
CHAPTER THREE
A Midnight Visitor
At noon they stopped in a small clearing for a quick K-ration lunch. The
boys were intrigued by the contents of the oblong, waxed-cardboard
boxes.
Jerry announced the articles as he removed them. “Biscuits, fig bar,
instant coffee, sugar, a can of cheese and bacon—say, who ever said the
army eats bad!”
Russell Steele placed a pot of water on the Coleman stove. “Nobody ever
said the army eats bad. Matter of fact, it eats darn good. There’s
nothing wrong with K-rations, except that a steady diet of them can get
monotonous.”
When they were finished eating, Sandy and Jerry scooped out a deep hole
in the forest floor with their shovels and buried the garbage.
“Ordinarily, I’d prefer to burn it,” Russ told them, “but a fire is out
of the question now.”
They resumed walking until about four-thirty, when Russ consulted the
walk-o-meter strapped to his leg. “Well, we made fifteen miles today.
That’s not bad,” he said. “Let’s call it a day.”
Quiz groaned as he dropped his pack to the ground. “I am so pooped, I
could crawl into my bedroll right this minute.”
“Without supper?” Jerry asked incredulously.
“Frankly, yes.”
Russ frowned. “None of that, Quiz. You’ve got to eat, even if you have
to force every mouthful down. If you don’t, you’ll be weak as a cat
tomorrow.”
Sandy looked around at the tall trees towering over them like giants
with their arms outstretched. A chill ran along his spine. “Have you
ever noticed how nature seems to work against you when you’re out in the
wilderness like this? It’s constantly playing tricks on you. Like Quiz
being too tired to eat, or people falling asleep in the snow and
freezing to death. All your instincts seem to be wrong. It’s scary, sort
of.”
Russell Steele nodded soberly. “The Indians used to say that the
wilderness spirits resented the intrusion of the white man because he
came to destroy the forests and the wild beasts. They attributed all
kinds of devilment to the spirits. Whenever a white man was lost in the
woods, mauled by a bear, injured by a falling tree or struck by
lightning, the tribal medicine men would nod their heads wisely.”
“Heathen superstition,” Quiz sniffed.
Jerry looked around nervously. “Not so loud, huh. Just in case.”
Sandy and his uncle laughed. “Okay,” Russ said. “That’s all the folklore
for one day. Let’s eat.”
They camped in a small clearing on the bank of a stream, which Russ said
had once been a raging torrent. Now, only a thin rivulet of water
trickled through the rocky bed. Russ scooped out a hollow where the
water flowed between two boulders, to form a small pool, so that they
were able to wash up and fill their canteens.
Supper consisted of canned beans, bacon and pan-fried biscuits. Everyone
ate heartily, with the exception of Prince, who turned up his nose at
the conglomeration of food they piled up on a tin plate for him and
stalked off into the woods.
“Probably off to catch himself a rabbit,” Russ said.
Jerry wrinkled up his nose distastefully. “And I thought he was a nice
dog. That’s cruel.”
“Don’t be a dope,” Sandy said. “Is it any more cruel than slaughtering
cows, pigs, sheep and little lambs to feed our faces?”
“Animals are nicer than people,” Quiz said. “They only kill each other
for food. It’s the beautiful balance of nature. The fish and birds eat
the insects; and they in turn provide food for the larger animals. Every
living thing has its place and purpose.”
“Even snakes?” Jerry asked, suddenly scanning the ground suspiciously.
“Even the snakes,” Quiz said.
Sandy laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Jerry. They won’t bother you
unless you bother them first. I read it in a book.”
“Yeah,” Jerry said. “But how do I know the snakes around here read the
same book?” He grinned as the other two boys moaned and rocked back and
forth with their heads in their hands. “It wasn’t _that_ bad, fellows.”
Russ put down his empty dish and began to fill his pipe. “I think a joke
like that rates KP for another night, at least.”
Sandy and Quiz helped Jerry clear up the mess kits, forks and pans and
carry them down to the pool.
“Hey,” Sandy remembered suddenly, “we didn’t bring any soap powder. How
can he wash these greasy things in cold water without a strong soap?”
“We could boil some water,” Quiz suggested.
Russ got up from where he was relaxing against a tree and joined them.
“What’s the matter with sand?” he asked.
“Sand!” the boys chorused together.
“Sure, it’s the best detergent there is. Mix up some of that fine sand
on the bank with a little water and you’ll get these utensils as
sparkling clean as your mothers’ best silverware.” He turned away,
shaking his head. “Fine lot of woodsmen we’d be, going camping with a
case of soap powder and steel wool.”
While Jerry was finishing up the dishes, Russell Steele showed Sandy and
Quiz how to erect the pup tents. “Each of us has a shelter half in his
bedroll,” he explained. “Half of a tent, to be exact, with enough wooden
pegs to anchor it to the ground. We also have one ridgepole apiece. When
we pair off, we have the makings for a complete tent; that’s how they do
it in the army.”
From the creek, Jerry yelled, “What happens if there’s one guy left
over?”
Russ laughed. “He stands first tour of guard duty.”
The sky was still light when they crawled into their bedrolls. Sandy and
his uncle shared one tent, and Quiz and Jerry the other.
Jerry sighed contentedly as he lay back. “I must be tired. This old
ground feels like a feather mattress to my weary bones.”
“Don’t forget,” Sandy called from the other tent, “you’re lying on a bed
of duff and pine needles.”
“You guys are crazy,” Quiz grumbled. “It’s okay if you lie flat, I
guess. But I can only sleep on my side. What are you supposed to do with
your hips?”
“That’s what you get for being so fat,” Jerry chortled gleefully.
“Try scooping out a hole for your hip to fit into,” Russ suggested.
Quiz unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up. Working with his fingers, he
shaped a small hollow in the soft duff, then settled down again. “Ahhh,
that’s better,” he said with satisfaction.
“You see,” Jerry gloated, “there are some things you can’t learn in
books.”
“Oh, shut up!” Quiz mumbled.
Before Sandy dropped off to sleep, he heard Prince return to camp. The
big Doberman took a long drink from the creek and then settled down in
front of the tent at Russell Steele’s feet. His presence there gave
Sandy a feeling of warm comfort.
It seemed to Sandy that he had just closed his eyes when the noise of
voices, barking and the pounding of his own heart jolted him out of a
deep sleep. For a moment he lay there, paralyzed by terror. He opened
his eyes, then shut them quickly as a blinding spot of light knifed
painfully into his optic nerves. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of his
uncle sitting up and clinging to Prince’s collar with one hand.
With the full return of consciousness, Sandy could make out a strange
voice talking earnestly and urgently to Russell Steele.
“... they’ve been on your trail since noon, General Steele. The Forest
Service has had every ranger in the district looking for you. I spotted
your dog from my fire tower about eight o’clock and started to follow
him. Of course, he lost me pretty quick, but I knew you had to be
somewhere in the vicinity.”
“Like finding a needle in a haystack,” Russell Steele said. “You must
know these woods, all right.”
“My fire tower is about five miles from here. I’ll take you there and we
can radio headquarters. They’ll hook you up direct with Washington.”
Shading his eyes against the light, Sandy sat up. “What’s up, Uncle
Russ?”
“Oh, Sandy, you’re awake. Good. We’ll have to break camp immediately.
The Pentagon has been trying to get in touch with me. Very urgent. This
is Dick Fellows, Sandy; he’s a U.S. Forest Ranger.”
“Hi,” Sandy said, squinting at the young man who was crouched in front
of their tent.
The ranger touched two fingers to his stiff-brimmed hat and grinned.
“Sorry to disturb your sleep. You guys must be plenty tired if this is
your first day on the trail.” He stretched out one hand toward Prince,
who was still growling suspiciously deep in his throat. “Your friend
here doesn’t trust midnight visitors.”
Russ released his grip on the dog’s collar and gave him a light smack on
the rump. “He’ll be all right, now that he knows you’re not an enemy. He
wouldn’t have attacked you, in any case, unless you pulled a knife or a
gun. Prince has been trained to hold his quarry at bay until help
arrives.”
Sandy climbed out of his bedroll. “I’d better go wake up the rest of the
gang.”
“The rest of the gang is already awake,” Jerry’s voice sang out from the
darkness, “lying here quivering with our blankets pulled over our
heads.”
Quiz Taylor crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees, fumbling in
his breast pocket for his eyeglass case. “This moron got it into his
thick head that we were being attacked by Indians from the reservation.”
Dick Fellows laughed. “He’s partly right at that, I guess. My grandpaw
was a pure-blood Dakota.”
Russell Steele struggled into his boots. “Well, suppose you escort us
back to your tepee, chief.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Missing A-Bomb
They reached the ranger fire station shortly after three in the morning.
It was a tower of tubular steel reaching over one hundred feet into the
air. Jerry craned his neck at the small cabin perched on top of it, a
boxlike silhouette against the brilliant starlit sky.
“You _live_ up there?” he asked the ranger.
“Certainly,” Dick said. “It’s very comfortable.”
He led the way up the flight of steel stairs that ran around the outside
of the tower. When they reached the platform at the top, Jerry looked
down and grabbed frantically at the guard railing.
“Yipes! I can’t even see the ground.”
The ranger pushed the door open, flicked on a wall switch, and a pale
amber light bulb flashed on in the middle of the ceiling. Sandy realized
that the one-roomed structure was larger than it had appeared from the
ground. There was a double-decker wooden bunk against one wall, a
comfortable-looking leather easy chair in the nearest corner, and three
straight-back wooden chairs. The wall opposite the bed was occupied by a
sprawling table; most of the table was taken up by a huge topographic
map, dotted with colored pins. A compass and a variety of other
instruments were scattered over the table. An impressive short-wave
radio rig sat in one corner. The other furnishings included a small
refrigerator, a foot locker and a bookcase. The four walls were solid
plate glass from waist-height to ceiling.
“This is all right,” Jerry said. “Boy, I’d give plenty to have a little
hideaway like this.”
Quiz walked across to the well-stocked bookcase and examined the titles.
“What a wonderful place to read and study,” he said enviously.
“It has its advantages,” the ranger admitted. “But it sure gets lonely
at times.”
It was the first time Sandy had got a good look at Dick Fellows. He was
a pleasant-faced young man with straight black hair, piercing eyes and
an aquiline nose. He wore the brown uniform of the Forest Service and
heavy storm boots.
Quiz walked to one of the big picture windows and peered out. “I can’t
see anything,” he complained.
“Light reflection,” the ranger explained, and flicked off the wall
switch, plunging the room into darkness. Immediately, the broad canopy
of the forest leaped into prominence, stretching away on all sides
beneath them.
“What a view!” Sandy breathed.
“Wait till you see it in the daylight,” Dick Fellows told him. He turned
the light on again and went across to the radio gear. “Have you ever
worked one of these things, General Steele?”
Russell Steele grinned. “I had one of the first ham licenses in this
country, young fellow.”
“Good; I’ll contact headquarters and turn it over to you.”
Russell Steele looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask
all of you to step outside until I find out what this is all about.”
“Certainly, sir,” the ranger said. “I’ll take the boys downstairs and
give them a lecture on forestry.” He flicked on the switch and picked up
the transmitting mike, twirling dials with his free hand.
“KYAT calling KVK.... Fire station KYAT calling headquarters.... Come
in, KVK....”
As soon as contact had been established, Russell Steele slipped into the
operator’s chair and put on the earphones.
The ranger and the boys made the long descent to the ground, where
Prince was waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. He wagged his
tail and rubbed against them when they patted him, but occasionally he
would whimper and glance up anxiously at the top of the tower.
“He’s wondering what happened to Uncle Russ,” Sandy said.
Jerry followed the dog’s gaze. “I’m kind of curious to know what gives
up there, myself.”
Dick Fellows held up his hand, motioning for silence. “Do you hear
that?” he asked.
The boys stopped talking and listened. Faintly from the northwest there
came a distant rumble of thunder.
“Maybe we’ll get some rain,” Sandy said hopefully.
“Let’s hope so,” the ranger said. “And pray that it isn’t just a
lightning storm.”
“Do you stay up all night looking for fires?” Quiz inquired. “In bad
seasons like this, I mean.”
“Sometimes I do, when there’s been a lot of lightning striking in my
sector. Most nights I set my alarm clock to wake me up every few hours
or so.”
“You live up here all year?” Jerry asked.
“No, we only man these watchtowers during the fire season.”
“How do you get food and water?” Sandy wanted to know.
“There’s a stream just a few hundred yards back, and I get my supplies
by packhorse from headquarters.” Dick Fellows went on to describe the
fascinating life of a forest ranger.
About twenty minutes later, Russ hailed them from the top of the tower.
“All clear. Come on up, boys.”
As soon as Sandy stepped into the observation room, he knew that
whatever had transpired between his uncle and the Pentagon had been very
serious. Russell Steele’s face was gray beneath its tan, and it was the
first time in Sandy’s memory that he had ever looked his age.
“Trouble, Uncle Russ?” he asked hesitantly.
Russ nodded. “Bad trouble. The very worst.”
“I don’t suppose you can tell us what it is, sir?” Dick Fellows said.
“Well—it is top secret—for as long as it’s possible to keep it that
way.” Russ Steele seemed to be struggling with a problem. “Still—I’m
going to need all the help I can get. And we’re so isolated here that
there’s not much chance of a leak, even if you were inclined to blab
about it. Which I know you wouldn’t be,” he added hastily.
“You have my word, sir,” the ranger said quietly.
“And ours,” the boys chorused soberly.
There was a glint of determination in the older man’s eyes. “Good. I
think you can help. You’re all familiar with the Strategic Air Command,
aren’t you?”
“SAC Never Sleeps!” Quiz recited the slogan of the famous Air Force arm.
“Their bombers are in the air twenty-four hours a day. If the United
States was ever attacked, SAC stratojet bombers armed with A-bombs would
be on their way to knock out vital targets in the enemy’s homeland
within seconds.”
Russ Steele nodded. “That’s pretty accurate, Quiz. The Strategic Air
Command is the watchdog of our borders. Now, for an outfit that is
literally flying twenty-four hours a day, their safety record is
amazing; statistics show that a man is safer riding in an SAC bomber
than he is driving in the family car.” The muscles tightened across his
prominent cheekbones. “But accidents do happen. And last night a B-52
stratofortress had a serious accident.”
“I heard about that on the radio,” Dick Fellows cut in. “It crashed
somewhere in Manitoba, Canada. All the crew were killed.”
“That’s only part of the story,” Russ went on. “The last radio report
from the bomber placed it over Lake Superior. There was a small fire
aboard, but the radio operator thought they had it under control.
Shortly after that their transmitter conked out. The Air Force never
heard from them again—ship blew up in the air just south of White Mouth
Lake on the Canadian border.”
Sandy and the others listened in shocked silence as he continued: “Most
of the wreckage has been recovered—and the bodies of the crew.” He
paused dramatically. “But there is absolutely no trace of the A-bomb
they were carrying.”
Dick Fellows let out a long whistle of astonishment. “What happened to
it?”
“Nobody knows. The most logical theory is that they jettisoned the bomb
when the fire began to get out of control. Over some desolate area. It
could have been dumped almost anywhere between Lake Superior and the
scene of the explosion. Search teams have been out scouring the most
populated areas since dawn yesterday; they’re the critical points. Not
that there’s any danger of the bomb detonating, but a thing like this
could cause a lot of hysteria. Then there’s the matter of secrecy.” He
grinned wryly. “It wouldn’t do for the wrong kind of people to find
it—the kind who would put up a tent around it and sell tickets.”
Quiz frowned. “If the bomb casing is cracked or otherwise mutilated,
wouldn’t there be some danger from radioactivity?”
Russ Steele regarded the boy solemnly. “I’d prefer not to discuss that
aspect right now, Quiz. We won’t be in any danger searching for it, I
can tell you that much. The Air Force is going to drop us a couple of
Geiger counters from a helicopter tomorrow morning. So we’ll have ample
warning if we approach an area contaminated by radioactivity.”
Quiz Taylor’s eyes were enormous behind his thick glasses. “_We’re_
going to look for it?”
“That’s what the call from the Pentagon was all about. They knew I was
up here and they want me to take charge of the search operation in this
area. We won’t have any help from the military until the more densely
populated areas have a clean bill of health, but we’ll do the best we
can in the meantime.”
He turned to Dick Fellows. “Ranger headquarters are advising all fire
stations within a forty-mile radius to clear the woods of campers,
fishermen and sight-seers.”
“You folks are the only party I’ve seen in my sector in weeks.”
“Good. And now I’d suggest that we all get to bed for what’s left of the
night. Tomorrow will be a rough day.” He glanced at their packs piled up
in the middle of the room. “There’s plenty of room for us to spread our
sleeping bags on the floor.”
“You can take my bunk, sir,” the ranger said quickly.
Russ smiled. “That’s mighty generous of you, Dick, but I wouldn’t hear
of it. I’ve imposed on you enough for one night.”
When his four guests were settled in their bedrolls, the ranger turned
out the lights and scanned the surrounding woods carefully from all four
windows.
“I guess it’ll keep till morning,” he said wearily, as he stretched out
on his bunk.
Just before he fell off to sleep, Sandy was aware of a tremendous
luminous flash in the sky to the northwest. “Heat lightning,” he heard
the ranger mumble, but he was too exhausted to worry about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lightning Strikes
The storm hit with the suddenness and impact of an earthquake at 6:00
A.M. An ear-splitting crash sent the five sleepers jerking up like
jack-in-the-boxes. On all sides of the tower the sky was alive with
jagged streaks of lightning. The thunder rolled through the air in
continuous waves, shaking the earth. The tower creaked and trembled
violently. Sandy saw a pair of binoculars on the table dance crazily
over the edge and crash to the floor.
Dick Fellows leaped out of his bunk in T-shirt and shorts and swept the
other instruments off the table. “A couple of you up here!” he shouted.
“The rest of you pile onto chairs or my bunk. Insulated glass legs. Save
your life if the tower’s hit. Keep your feet off the floor.”
Sandy kicked out of his bedroll and scrambled up on the table. Jerry and
Quiz dove headlong onto the bunk. In a more leisurely fashion, Russ
Steele and the ranger sat down on high stools.
They had just settled themselves when they were blinded by a tremendous
ball of blue fire that shimmered in mid-air just outside the north
window. An instant later, they were deafened by an explosion that
sounded like the end of the world. The tower bucked madly, and Sandy was
sure it was going to topple over or collapse. Gradually his vision
cleared to reveal the most terrifying sight that he had ever witnessed
in his entire life. The whole room was full of tiny blue sparks that
sizzled as they ran in chains across the icebox and stove and along the
metal strips of molding that trimmed the edges of the floor and ceiling.
Everything metal was encircled by a sparkling halo. He could scarcely
believe his eyes when he looked at the other people in the room. Quiz
Taylor’s long hair was standing up perfectly straight on his head like a
brush; the same was true of his uncle and Dick Fellows. His own scalp
tingled strangely, and he could feel it bristle. Only Jerry’s close
crew-cut was unaffected.
“Don’t be frightened,” the ranger said calmly. “There’s no danger as
long as you sit tight.”
“On the contrary,” Quiz said brightly. “I wouldn’t have missed this for
the world.” He grinned as he touched a hand to his hair. “A fascinating
phenomenon of static electricity. Those sparks, too; they’re harmless.”
“You and your education!” Jerry moaned. “I’m petrified. Say, how long do
these things last?”
The ranger shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe ten minutes; maybe an hour.”
His face was grave with concern. “And every minute it lasts increases
the chance of one of those bolts starting a fire. If only it would
rain!”
Sandy suddenly remembered the dog, who had remained below on the ground.
“Poor Prince. I wonder how he’s taking this?”
The ranger smiled. “Unless I miss my guess, he’s holed up under my
dynamo shack out back—along with an assortment of rabbits, squirrels and
chipmunks. There’s nothing like a little lightning to make buddies out
of natural enemies.”
“I wish I was with him,” Jerry said, “instead of sitting on top of this
giant lightning rod.”
Abruptly it began to rain, a driving downpour, and miraculously, it
seemed to Sandy, the lightning stopped. The boys began to cheer and
crowded against the windows, watching the drops pelt the treetops below.
But their elation didn’t last very long. In less than five minutes, the
rain ceased, as if a giant sprinkler had been turned off. Within a
quarter of an hour, the clouds disappeared and the sun beamed through.
Thin wisps of steam began to rise from the leaves, giving the illusion
that the entire forest was smoking.
Dick Fellows slouched despondently on his stool. “I knew it. Not even
enough to moisten the ground. And God knows what that lightning started.
A couple of good bolts hit trees; I could hear it.”
Sandy scanned the woods to the horizon on all sides. “I don’t see
anything to worry about. No fire, no smoke.”
“It’s not that simple,” the ranger told him. “A fire may be burning for
days before it’s even detected, particularly in stands of
conifers—pines, spruce, et cetera—where the duff is thick. For example,
suppose one of those lightning bolts struck a snag—a dead tree—all dry
and punky like those sticks the kids light fireworks with. Maybe there’s
a single spark smoldering deep down in the trunk, below the surface.
Maybe it’s as big around as a pea today; tomorrow it may be the size of
a penny. It’s got plenty of time—and lots of fuel. Slowly it will
spread, eating up through the duff until it reaches the surface. Now,
it’s really ready to go, once it hits the open air and has all that
lovely litter on the forest floor to feed on. If we’re lucky, we’ll spot
it now because of the smoke.” He stared out grimly across the trees.
“With everything so dry, we’d have to be real lucky to control it before
it blazes up in the brush and crowns.”
“Crowns?” Jerry said doubtfully.
“Burns through the top of the trees,” Quiz explained, “in the foliage.”
“That’s _real_ trouble,” the ranger said. He turned to Russ Steele.
“Gee, sir, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you out today. I’m going
to have to stay rooted up here for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Don’t apologize,” Russ said. “First things first. A forest fire at this
time could really complicate my problem.”
“Hey!” Sandy exclaimed. “What would happen if that missing A-bomb was
smack in the middle of a raging forest fire?”
Russ Steele looked vaguely troubled. “I don’t know for sure. Probably
nothing. It would depend on a great many factors. I’m not anxious to
find out, I can tell you.”
The drone of a plane motor suddenly drew their attention to the east
window. “It’s a helicopter!” Quiz said excitedly.
“Come on!” Russ said, heading for the door. “Let’s go downstairs.”
No sooner had they reached the ground than Prince came crawling out from
under a small shed at the edge of the clearing, barking happily and
leaping all over Russ Steele. Russ scratched his head, chuckling. “Dick
had you pegged dead to rights, you old coward.”
Jerry knelt down solemnly and held out his right hand to the dog.
“Shake, old buddy. Us cowards have to stick together.”
The boys waved as the big chopper began to circle the tower in
tightening circles, losing altitude until it was almost level with the
observation booth. Slowly it cut speed, until at last it seemed to be
hanging motionless in space, held aloft by the great whirling rotors. A
hatch opened in the bottom of the fuselage, and a crate was let down
carefully on the end of a cable. Before it could touch the ground, Russ
Steele rushed over and grabbed it, bringing the fragile package gently
to earth. Quickly, he unhooked the cable and waved up at the helicopter.
The cable was reeled in smoothly, then with a roar of its engines, the
copter leaped into the air. Minutes later it disappeared over the
treetops.
The boys watched with interest as Russ Steele unpacked the carton and
removed two oblong black Bakelite boxes from the packing. They had a
very unscientific, unprepossessing appearance.
“Is that all a Geiger counter is?” Jerry said with a trace of
disappointment. “The transformer on my old electric trains looks more
complicated.”
Russ smiled. “The Geiger counter is very simple, Jerry—especially when
you consider how delicate it is and what it can accomplish.”
“How does it work?” Sandy asked.
“We made one in the science lab once,” Quiz said eagerly. “It’s just two
electrodes, really. One of the electrodes is a thin metal cylinder; the
other is a metal wire enclosed in a glass tube filled with gas—like a
neon light. When the counter is brought near any radioactive substance,
the rays given off ionize the gas—so it can conduct electricity—allowing
the current to jump the gap and close the circuit, the same way it does
when you switch on a light—”