Before Randall could answer, Dick produced the letter he had received from the Indian messenger and handed it over.
“That will serve as my introduction. Read it.”
“Fine!” exclaimed the operator, glancing over the missive. “Yes, Cameron got his message through. The relief expedition is already on its way.”
“But I thought the government line was out of order, had been destroyed by the fire north of here.”
“So it was. Inspector Cameron’s s.o.s. was broadcast by radio from Mackenzie River and someone in Edmonton picked it up. The message was repeated again early this morning. It’s common property now all over the province. Every available airplane in Edmonton and Calgary is being sent up. A few of the planes ought to arrive any time. Also a special passenger train is scheduled to arrive tonight.”
“Can the airplanes go as far north as the Mackenzie?” Dick asked.
Randall replied in the affirmative. “The only difficulty is to carry enough gasoline.”
“In that case,” said Dick, a little crestfallen, “our services will no longer be required.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty to do,” laughed the operator.
“Your troubles have only commenced,” smiled Randall. “I’ll take you back and pick up your friends at Fort Vermilion, then we’ll pilot the other planes through to the Mackenzie. You’ll be a regular air-hawk before long.”