Sandy looked around frantically. “We’ve only got one chance. The hill. Maybe we can signal to the helicopter from the top.”
Jerry shook his head in despair. “They’ll never spot us through all this smoke.”
“Just the same,” Sandy insisted. “It’s our only chance. I heard one of the rangers say that forest fires often leave one side of a hill untouched.” Abruptly, his eyes fell on Prince, who was standing in the shallow water, whimpering and trembling. “Say, I’ve got an idea!” He rummaged in his pockets until he found the stub of a pencil. “You got anything I can write on, Jerry?”
“Here’s a piece of paper that’s blank on one side.” Jerry handed him a folded sheet on which Dick Fellows had scribbled a message the night before.
Sandy crouched down, and spreading the paper flat on his leg, he began printing in big block letters:
TRAPPED ON HILL. SEND HELP. SANDY
When he had finished the message, he sat down and began to unlace one boot.
“What the heck are you doing?” Jerry asked.
“I need the lace to fasten this note to Prince’s collar. The way he travels, he can make it out of here easily. If the note gets to Uncle Russ—or anybody for that matter—maybe they can notify the ’copter pilot that we’re on the hill. You’ve seen how they perform air rescues in the movies, haven’t you?”
Jerry’s voice wasn’t too hopeful. “Sure. They drop rope ladders or slings. But by the time they get this note—if they ever do—we’ll be fried to a crisp.”