Grabbing up his bucket of gasoline he threw it over his pile of wood. Then he struck a match and tossed it toward the heap. There was a terrific burst of flames that shot fifty feet into the air. Then the oil-soaked pile of wood caught fire. The flames soared upward. The fire grew intense. The oily wood burned with terrific heat. The glare of the flames lighted the entire region. Even through the fog the flare of the fire could be seen for a long distance. It turned the mist into glowing clouds. It shone through rifts in the fog, like the electric beams of searchlights penetrating the openings between cloud masses.
Suddenly Johnnie thought he heard the drone of a motor. Then the sound faded away. The noise of the fire drowned out more distant sounds. The snap and crackle and hiss and roar of the burning heap shut out every trace of the hum of a propeller. For a moment Johnnie stood near his beacon, vainly straining his ears for some further trace of an airplane. Then he ran hastily off to one side. Again he heard the faint drone of a motor. Then the sound died away. But Johnnie felt sure he had not been deceived. Jimmy was going to make it. He was going to reach the field in safety.
Again Johnnie strained his ears, to catch another shred of sound. A puff of wind brought him what he was listening for, loudly, unmistakably. Once more the sound died away. But Johnnie knew he had not been mistaken. He had heard an airplane. Suddenly the sound came to him with startling distinctness. He strained both ears and eyes as he peered upward through the fog.
Suddenly there was a bright glow aloft. Johnnie’s heart stood still. He listened for an explosion. He was frozen with horror. The plane overhead—Jimmy’s plane—was afire. He gazed fearfully into the concealing fog to see where the plane was falling. He saw it coming down with a rush, flaming fiercely. The cloud of fog was all aglow with the brilliant light. It shone even brighter than Johnnie’s bonfire. Regardless of what might happen to him if the plane exploded, Johnnie rushed toward the spot where it was apparently going to crash. Johnnie reached the place. He paused, looking upward. He held his breath, waiting for the smash. Down came the glowing light to the earth. Johnnie let out a yell of relief. It was not the plane that had fallen, but a flare that Jimmy must have dropped.
Quickly Johnnie looked aloft again. He stared through the fog banks. Dimly he saw something glowing. He watched, breathless. Almost instantly the glow over his head became two luminous spots in the mist. They grew brighter fast. Now Johnnie was certain he knew what he was looking at. The luminous spots were the landing lights of a descending plane. They seemed to be jumping right at him. Johnnie knew the plane was coming straight toward him. It was almost upon him. He leaped to one side. He was not a moment too soon. The descending plane swished past him, seemed to rise lightly, then leveled off, hit the ground heavily, bounced, came to earth again, and went rolling and jolting straight across the landing field.
Johnnie raced after the ship. It came to rest. A figure stepped from the cabin. Johnnie raced toward the man.
“Hello!” he cried.
“Hello yourself,” came the answer. “Who are you?”
“This is Johnnie. Thank God you got down safe.”
They clasped hands and stood silent.