“Quite a bit,” Mr. Livingston replied. “We have two men on our hands—both badly hurt. We ought to get them to a hospital without delay.”
After the seaplane had been anchored so that a wayward wind would not dash it against rocks, the group went into serious conference.
The pilot, Dave Fallouby, was confident he could get his ship into the air again, if it was not too heavily loaded. However, he could safely carry only three passengers. It was decided that Walz, Hansart, and Mr. Livingston should make the return flight with him, and that the four Scouts with Craig Warner would go back to Elks Creek afoot by easy stages.
Accordingly, the two injured men were carried by stretcher and propped with blankets as comfortably as possible in the plane. Mr. Livingston was the last to climb aboard.
“We’ll rendezvous at the Elks Creek Hotel,” he said. “Take it easy, boys, on the trail.”
Nervously, the four Scouts and Craig Warner watched as the pilot stepped up the motors. The lake was small. If Dave failed to gather speed rapidly, he might crash into the rocks or willows.
With a mighty roar, the seaplane ploughed through the waves. Its pontoons lifted slightly, only to drop again into the water.
“Too heavily loaded!” Willie groaned.
“Dave will make it,” Warner said confidently.
A moment later the plane cleared the water. It skimmed along barely above the lake for a distance.