“All the regular observers are on routine patrols,” replied Smith. “You will have to take one of the mechanics who can operate radio.”
“I’ll take Sergeant Breene, then,” said Bill.
“That’s all right. Go ahead,” agreed Smith. “Your patrol number will be five.”
“Get your flying togs,” said Bill Bruce to Breene. “We leave in five minutes.”
“What do we take in the plane?” asked Breene. “I have not made any of these trips yet.”
“You put the equipment in the plane every time that it goes out,” said Bill. “Why ask me that?”
“That was different,” replied Breene. “I didn’t have to go on any of those trips.”
“Two canteens filled with water, two emergency ration outfits, two revolvers and ammunition,” ordered Bill. “I will take care of the maps and pencils.”
In a few minutes they were on their way. For some time the low smoke cloud had made it necessary that they follow the Middle Fork of the Willamette River. The sky cleared materially by the time that they reached Diamond Peak, but did not allow them to get as much altitude as Bill would have liked. They picked up several small fires, which were sent in by radio after Bill gave Breene the data in code form. It was too much to expect that a mechanic could accurately report on forest fires while flying over absolutely strange country. Breene was now finding it just as hard to locate himself accurately as Bill did on his first trip.
All traces of the smoke had disappeared when they reached the Umpqua River and Bill climbed to the nine thousand foot level. The mountains to the south stood out distinctly in the sky. Directly in their path were Mount Thielsen, ninety-one hundred feet, and Mount Bailey, eighty-three hundred feet high. Mountains with their tops above the seven thousand foot level were numerous. To the east the visibility was almost unlimited and one range after another sloped off from the Oregon High Desert further to the east.