A DARING FEAT
As sunset turned the wind down canyon, all hands made a sally down the
mountain side in the hope of establishing a line of back-fire, but the
ground soon became too hot for them, while the air was filled chokingly
with ash and char-dust. They had to retreat to the ridge. It was a night
never to be forgotten.
When the wind turned at dawn,--with their line still intact,--the
exhausted party took turn and turn about, snatching a few hours' sleep,
wrapped in their blankets on the rocks, or making coffee.
Ace had forgotten all about his wireless message when, shortly after
noon, his own ship arrived. It had had a search for him, and had landed,
apparently, on the very ledge of basalt where the DeHaviland had picked
them up.
The beauty of the Spanish ship was that it was built to land on a space
no bigger than a house roof. It carried two propellers at the top. The
pilot had only to start these and it sucked itself straight up into the
air. Then he twirled the propeller on the front and sailed away, as
easily as you please.
He landed by reversing these operations. He could alight on a shed roof
if he had to, (provided, of course, that the roof was flat). The only
danger would be if the propellers should go on strike.
"I've been getting a wireless message," said the pilot. "There! Better
take it, Mr. King," to Ace.
Ace's eyes grew dark as he interpreted the frantic ticking that his
apparatus gave him. "Why--_Rosa's_ sending this!--She's marooned--there
at the Red Top fire-outlook!--'Fire on three sides, on fourth, rapids of
Kawa River Gorge. Send help--if you can,'" he translated, while the boys
waited, breathless. "Three men where first-fire started--silver
buttons--shining in the sun."
"That sounds like Mexicans!" said Pedro.
"Now what?" asked Norris. "Where's the Ranger, do you suppose?" But just
then he saw a flaming branch blown across their line. Like tinder the
dried firs burst into a shower of sparks, and with a call to the men, he
darted after it. Ace remained behind to wireless, and Ted to quench their
cook-fire, while Ace's pilot flung off his coat and ran after the fire
fighters.
Ace King did one thing supremely well. He knew his ship. He was born to
fly.
"Hey, Ted," he brought a certain line of reasoning to a head, "the Ranger
can't _land_ with that DeHaviland, if he does go after Rosa. You know the
layout on Red Top." (The boys had passed that way.)
"Yeh,--Caesar!--That's right. No place there half large enough for the
bombing-plane!--That poor kid!" He shuddered. "What's the answer?" for he
saw that Ace had some plan. "I'm with you!"
"Just this. We can't leave her there to be burned alive. Radcliffe can't
do any more than we can about it. Besides, he's got his hands full,
wherever he is. But a forest guard was _killed_ last year directing fire
fighters from a plane. Went into a tail spin and fell into the flames."
"I know. It's mighty dangerous flying over a fire. Isn't there anything
Rosa can do?"
"That's just what----" Ace hesitated, deep in thought.
"I've heard of people taking refuge in caves, but where would she find
the cave?--'N' I've heard of 'em going to a rock-slide and piling up a
barricade of stone and lying behind it while the fire swept that way. It
cuts off some of the heat and flying sparks----"
"Look here!" Ace vociferated with the suddenness of a machine gun. "I'm
going for her."
"What----!"
"Yes, sir! I can land there, anyway. Then if it queers the machine, I'll
take Rosa down to the rapids. I know a fellow that was in a big fire in
Montana. When it cut them off, each man soaked his blanket and got under
it in midstream while the fire jumped to the other bank. They made a sort
of tepee around their heads, got clear under water, and just came up for
an occasional breath. Gee! He says it roared like a thousand trains as
it swept over them. So that's what we'll do--that is, unless we can get
back in the ship."
Unconsciously he patted his machine, and Ted knew what it would mean to
him to lose it.
"Perhaps--perhaps you _can_ bring it back," he ventured.
"Sure thing!" Ace gave his spirits a toss. "Anyway, here goes!--Good-by."
"What's the idea?" yelled Ted aggrievedly. "Going to leave your side-kick
behind?" and he climbed into the observer's place.
"Coming!" Ace wirelessed the girl. "Be on meadow--we'll pick you up."
"If our propellers don't go on strike," he added to himself. Still he
knew he could slow to 80 miles an hour and pancake down. He would first
circle well away from the fire, with its super-heated air column, till
they came to the gorge of the Kawa. There would be a narrow zone, he
figured, of less destructive atmosphere, the air channel over the
2,000-foot canyon.
With a peek at castor oil and gasoline, they started, looping and curving
straight to 15,000 feet, then Westward, away from the fire zone. Though
the day was fair, the spiral of hot air rising above the flaming forest
kept them pitching and lurching in a short chop that made Ted look green,
and gave even Ace a cold feeling at the pit of his stomach.
The sea of snow-clad peaks slid by beneath them, the sun flashing from
the granite slopes. Rising and falling, rising and falling in the rough,
upper air, they felt as if they were in a swift elevator. A cloud to the
West looked like a fleecy carpet beneath them. The West wind kept
swinging the machine till Ace had continually to bring it back in line
with the rapids of the Kawa which was his objective point.
It took but instants, though it seemed ages to both boys. Now it was time
to race quivering down the gorge of canyon-cooled air. Would they make
it against the devastating breath of the flames!--Now they were looking
straight down into that picture of red and--black. Rosa, watching
frantically from the wee patch of green which was her mountain meadow,
looked like a dot with waving arms. The air became a stretch of dizzy
rapids. The combined roar of the flames and the river beneath nearly
drowned the nearer sound of the descending 'plane.
[Illustration: Raced quivering down the gorge of canyon-cooled air.]
With heart that fluttered near to bursting, Ace accomplished the quick
swoop, Ted snatched the girl aboard, and they were up again.
The miracle had been accomplished!--The mountains lay like a relief map
beneath them, greenest down the canyons that branches Westward from the
gleaming crest of the main divide, the snow-capped peaks gleaming silver
in the sunlight. The fire zone lay like a small inferno behind them.
Back at fire-fighting headquarters, Ace's nerves took toll of him in
trembling knees. He had been all steel. Now he literally dropped in his
tracks, and in ten minutes was fast asleep.
Rosa, now that the danger was all over, broke down and wept hysterically,
to Ted's infinite embarrassment.
Norris was just returning with the triumphant fire-fighters. They had
actually not missed them. When, four hours later, Ace awoke and responded
to Pedro's "Come and get it!" as he ladled out the ham and beans, he
found himself a hero, and Ted his press agent.
"This country would do well to emulate France," Norris was explaining.
"France offers a government subsidy to encourage commercial aviation. Our
Congress has thus far refused to realize the need of appropriations. For
it is by trade that aviation will develop.
"We need above all things more airplane fire patrols. We have the men,
trained aviators left from the war,--we have the equipment, and the men
could protect not only our National Forests, but at the same time keep a
watchful eye on the millions of acres of state lands and timber privately
owned, which lie adjacent to Government holdings.
"Do you fellows realize that in five years, areas have been burned that
would more than fill the state of Utah! At that rate how long will our
forests last? And think what a paper famine alone would mean!" He paused
for lack of breath to express the intensity of his feeling.
"Hundreds of men have given up their lives in the service,--fighting
fire."
"Yes," said Ace, "but Dad says there's a bigger fight to put up in
Congress for forestry appropriations."
"Your father is doing good work," stated Norris.
"He's trying to, you bet!"
"These fire-fighting 'planes can sail over the highest peaks in the
United States. They can travel 14 hours without a landing. They can
communicate with those below by radio. And they don't have to have smooth
landing places, merely ground that is free from stumps. We have over
twenty million acres of National Forests alone, (not counting those in
Alaska), and they are worth $220,000,000."
"Gee! And there's just as much risk as in dodging enemy 'planes," Ted
enthused, "flying over fires, and finding landing places when your motor
goes on strike." His eyes glowed across at Ace.
"Huh, you're safe enough above a thousand feet," minimized Ace, modestly.
"These accidents practically all happen below a thousand feet."
But by now supper was eaten, and it was time to get back to work. Norris,
acting on Radcliffe's suggestion, had been stationing the men at
intervals to back-fire as far down the ridge as they could stand the
heat. If anything, the fire seemed bigger than it had the night
before,--a maelstrom of the inferno.
They worked in pairs, Ace being his, Norris's, right hand man. He now
assorted the six miners along the slope, planning himself to take the
extreme Western post, where the ridge ran lowest and where the rocky
crest dwindled to a dangerous line of mountain pines.
Ted and Pedro he directed to the opposite end of the ridge, where, like
the tooth of a comb, it joined the main crest of the Sierra,--another
strategic point.
"If worst comes to worst," his final words were, "take refuge in some
cave. This is a limestone region,--as you may have noticed,--and it's
likely riddled with caves. Keep an eye out for indications of cave
mouths. I saw one yesterday, somewhere down there, when I didn't have
time to investigate."
"All right," acquiesced the boys, though inwardly scorning the
possibility.
Rosa remained at camp to have food ready for the men on their return.
She began by taking stock. There was flour and lard, but no bread. She
would have to bake for eleven hungry men. There were rice, beans, onions
and tomatoes, dried fruits and coffee, and fresh meat for one meal, and
for the next, erbwurst and pickles, macaroni to be baked with cheese, and
tea. She hoped--for more reasons than one--that the Ranger would bring
more supplies. She got out the Dutch oven and the gallon coffee pot, and
with the hatchet provided with the outfit, started getting in a supply of
down-wood.
As on the day of the rodeo, she was attired in trim khaki riding breeches
and high-heeled moccasin boots,--good on horseback but mighty hard to
walk in, where the ground was rough. Her bobbed curly hair, red silk
blouse and fringed sash added a touch of the Rosa that underlay her
gritty side. She would surprise Radcliffe with her ability to cook for a
fire crew.
The huge loaf safely ensconced in a Dutch oven buried in red coals, she
sallied forth on a little exploring expedition. She wished she might find
some fir sugar to cap the feast. She had, once, when camping in the
Thompson River Valley. She had found the delectable sweet on a Douglas
fir. Some of the dry white masses had been all of two inches long, though
most of it had been in the form of mere white drops at the tips of the
needles. There had also been a quantity of it in a semi-liquid condition
on the ground underneath the tree, where some rain had dissolved it from
the branches.
Just where should she search? The Indians had told her that time to look
on the dry Eastern slopes of the range, in open areas where the trees got
lots of sunlight, but where the ground has not dried out too quickly
after the spring rains, as moisture is necessary as well as
sunlight,--(so long as it does not rain and melt off this excess of the
tree's digested starch). She had a hunch that she could find some on the
desert side of the Sierras, that being, of course, unattainable--unless
Ace could take her over in his 'plane. It would do no harm to look on
this side.
Neither did it do any good. She returned to camp empty-handed save for
some cones of the sugar pine, which she proceeded to roast that the nuts
might fall out of the spiny masses.
She found the deserted camp over-run with chipmunks. The little striped
rascals had ravaged all the food supplies they could nibble into. She
watched a couple of them actually shoving on the tin lid that she had
left insecurely loose on the syrup can. Finally sending it clattering to
the stony ground,--as she watched from behind two trees that grew close
together,--the wee things sat up there on the edge of the can, dipping
out its contents with their hand-like paws and licking them. Then one
tried to reach down and drink it outright, at which he fell in, and Rosa
felt impelled to fish him out and launder him,--to his terror,--before
turning him loose, then put the syrup on the fire to sterilize.
Meantime what of the fire fighters? Ted and Pedro, with their pick and
shovel, had descended rapidly into that deathly silence of the doomed
forest slopes, deserted alike by song birds and chipmunks, the hum of
insects and sound of any living thing, save alone the never-ceasing roar
of the ravenous flames.
The fire had been eating slowly through a stretch of manzanita chaparral,
whose hard stems resisted them as the evergreens could not. Though the
wind still blew up-canyon, they approached the river gorge at right
angles, and were able to make their way to the lower levels in the
shelter of the East side of a dry creek bed, where the hot blast could
not reach them.
They were stooping to drink at a spring when the terrified neigh of a
horse sounded from a clump of saplings almost behind them. In the same
instant the stretch of seedling firs that clothed the creek bank,
showering into sparks at the far end, shot toward them sky rockets of
leaping flame. Turning in a panic to race out at right angles from this
unexpected peril, they thought to make time on horseback. The animal
was tied and hobbled with a rawhide lariat!
Frantically the hobbled horse jerked at the rawhide.
Pedro plucked Ted by the arm and tried to drag him on, for the fire was
snapping through the underbrush at the speed of an express train. Its
sound was that of many trains, and its wind hot as the breath of a blast
furnace.
But as Ted had stooped to cut the thongs, his parched nostrils had caught
a cooler breath. It seemed to issue from a cranny in the rocks behind the
clump of saplings. Then it was too late: The shooting tongues of red were
upon them. Dragging Pedro down beside him,--for the roar drowned his
voice,--he waited, reasoning that the two- or three-foot seedlings would
go like tinder, leaving a strip of ground hot, to be sure, but no longer
flaming.
If they could but endure its passing! He turned to press his scorched
face against the rock wall.
To his amazement, he fell into a cave mouth, tripping Pedro, who stumbled
after him. Quick as thought they dragged the horse in after them and held
him, trembling and snorting, his eyes rolling wildly, during that
blistering moment until the line of fire had passed them.
"We're safer now than before," declared Ted. "This made a fine back-fire,
didn't it?--Let's rest awhile." His nerves were taking toll of him.
"Ground's too _hot yet_ anyway."
For perhaps an hour they rested, flat on the floor of the cave,--after
having tied the horse to a bowlder just outside. He was a fine animal,
black as jet and as high-spirited as Spitfire himself. Ted appraised him
with longing eyes, for he loved horses as Ace loved his ship. But who
could he belong to, and how did he come to be there?
His bridle was embellished with silver. "Mexican handiwork, that!" Pedro
thought. But the mystery was no nearer solution.
The answer came sooner than they expected.