“Maybe worse,” Parker said grimly. “Then the entire floor of the valley erupted into little fumaroles, or volcanic potholes, that spewed out molten sand. Thousands of them. That’s where they got the name Ten Thousand Smokes. Today there are only seven of them that are still active, but the valley is a desert wasteland.”
Sandy squinted through the windshield, imagining he could see a thin ribbon of smoke rising from one of the peaks. “What happened to old Mount Katmai? Is it still active?”
“Well, the experts think it’s still boiling way down inside. There’s a big lake in the crater now, but it never freezes. I’ve heard it’s warm enough to swim in.”
Jerry, who had come forward to listen to the story, was wonderstruck. “Why, I bet you could land a plane on the lake and find out,” he said.
“It’s a thought,” Parker agreed, not too enthusiastically. “Maybe some day I’ll try it.”
For the remainder of the trip, he captivated the boys with other tales about the big land, and almost before they knew it they were approaching Cordova. The traffic was light and the tower gave them immediate clearance to land.
A quarter of an hour after the plane touched down, they were on their way to town in the auto of a radio technician who was going off duty. Russ Parker remained at the field to give the Norseman a thorough inspection before the afternoon flight to Juneau. “We’ll take off about one, I guess,” he told them as they were leaving.
The considerate radio man dropped them off in front of the old-fashioned hotel where Dr. Steele had said they would be staying. The clerk at the desk informed them that the geologists were still registered, but that he had not seen them since the previous morning.
“Are you certain they didn’t come back when you were off duty?” Sandy asked him.
“Positive,” the clerk declared. “The chambermaid said their beds haven’t been slept in.”