“Maybe I can if you’ll keep quiet for a few minutes.”
Ronnie rested his chin on his palm and braced his elbow on top of his leg. He stared into the blackness. There was some merit to Phil’s idea. Not fire, of course. That was too dangerous. But some kind of a signal that could be seen at a distance.
He thought over all the different ways of signaling he’d ever heard of. There were whistles and bells and horns. There were lights and radio beams, flags, hands, smoke.... The Indians had used smoke signals!
Ronnie stiffened, straightening up. He let out a little high-pitched sound of approval. “Ronnie?” Bill asked. “You all right, Ronnie?”
“Sure I’m all right! I just had an idea that might work. I guess I surprised myself with it!”
“You sounded like something bit you,” Phil grumbled.
“Let’s hear your idea, Ronnie,” Bill said.
“Well, remember right after Caldwell nailed the trap door shut I went up to test how strong it was? While I was there I saw a little metal door in the base of the fireplace. You know, a door to an ash box.”
“Sure, Ronnie, sure,” Bill said excitedly. “We’ve got one in our fireplace—down in the cellar.”
“Well, my idea is to build a real smoky fire in the box. It’ll travel up to the fireplace and then on up the chimney—I hope!”