He half opened his mouth as though to call the attention of Suzanne to his thrilling discovery and then stopped short. She would find it out for herself quickly enough and if there was a bitter disappointment awaiting the brave girl, far be it from him to hasten the coming of her grief.
Now they had begun to circle the lake itself and once directly over the body of water, Jack could see it was indeed a real gem. A small but select sheet that, save for the presence of the hermit close by, had probably never been fished by a single white man. A perfect trout preserve, he told himself, in the ecstasy of a born fisherman.
It was what Perk would call a “reg’lar cinch.” There was not the slightest reason to hold back, for never an obstacle could Jack discover calculated to give them trouble in making contact with the water. Once safely floating on the surface of the mysterious lake, they could taxi over to a position close to the sloping beach where a landing might be effected in order to search for the hidden retreat of the lone settler.
Once, twice, three times did he make a complete turn around the circular pond and then having his plan laid out, he dove down until close to the shimmering surface when he suddenly leveled off and then gently continued the drop, to fall upon the bosom of the beautiful harbor almost as lightly as a wild duck would splash down from on high.
And then Suzanne discovered the half submerged ship, with its nose out of sight and its tail pointing up at the northern sky. It was a melancholy and ill-omened spectacle indeed, speaking as it surely did of some unfortunate airman’s swift plunge from lofty heights to strike the tiny lakelet. Indeed, it might even have been his intended target when the terrible drop was first begun. Suzanne gave a cry and held out her quivering hands toward the wrecked plane as though all doubts were now removed as to her Buddy having dipped down into this pool when his ship became unmanageable.
XXVII
THE END OF THE AIR TRAIL
The crisis for which they had been preparing during the entire aerial trip was now a reality. Before many more minutes had passed they would know that which they came to find out—whether Buddy had clung to life during the long, agonizing interval, or had “gone west,” as so many in his perilous calling had done before him in a blaze of sacrifice and glory.
They were now floating on the surface of the little mountain lake in the midst of the most wonderful surroundings the human mind could imagine. Here centuries ago had been the wide vent of an active volcano and at intervals from this same opening, now so quiet and peaceful, there had undoubtedly burst forth vast waves of molten lava accompanied by sulphurous smoke and thunderous sounds, as though nature had broken her chains and meant to reshape the whole western world.
Later on, when his mind was more at ease, Jack Ralston could in some measure paint the terrible picture and in his mind imagine he saw the bubbling lava, rolling down the side of the rocky mountain with frightful havoc all along its tortuous course.
Just then, however, but one matter engaged his entire attention. Where was the strange hermit of Crater Lake? Why did he not show himself when he surely must have watched their coming and successful descent? Had he been able to save the life of Buddy or would they be shown a mound of earth amidst the heaped-up rocks where the valiant young air-mail pilot lay in the sleep that knows no earthly awakening.