SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES

Black Treasure
Danger at Mormon Crossing
Stormy Voyage
Fire at Red Lake
Secret Mission to Alaska
Troubled Waters

Sandy Steele Adventures
FIRE AT RED LAKE

BY ROGER BARLOW

SIMON AND SCHUSTER
New York, 1959

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION
IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM
COPYRIGHT © 1959 BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
ROCKEFELLER CENTER, 630 FIFTH AVENUE
NEW YORK 20, N. Y.

FIRST PRINTING

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 59-13882
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY H. WOLFF BOOK MFG. CO., INC., NEW YORK

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE 1 [The Lodge on the Lake] 7 2 [Into the Woods] 17 3 [A Midnight Visitor] 26 4 [The Missing A-Bomb] 34 5 [Lightning Strikes] 43 6 [A Futile Search] 51 7 [A Birling Match] 64 8 [Fire!] 76 9 [Battling the Flames] 88 10 [A Temporary Victory] 104 11 [Last-Ditch Stand] 115 12 [Trapped on the Hill] 128 13 [An Unexpected Find] 141 14 [The Rains Came] 152 15 [End of the Trail] 157

CHAPTER ONE
The Lodge on the Lake

The battered station wagon bumped and groaned over the rutted dirt road at about ten miles per hour, churning up great clouds of dust. Sandy Steele wiped the grime and grit from his face with his handkerchief and bent forward to yell in the driver’s ear.

“How much further, Mr. McClintock?”

The wizened little old man tugged his dirty straw hat down tighter as the front wheels lurched in and out of a hole with a jolt that sent all four occupants of the car bouncing several inches off the seats.

“’Bout ’nother quarter of a mile is all,” the man finally replied.

Sandy grinned at his high-school friend Jerry James, seated beside him. “Well, we’ve come twenty miles; I guess we’ll last another fifteen hundred feet.”

The short, stout boy seated up front with the driver turned to face them, his eyes owlish behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. “One thousand, three hundred and twenty feet, to be precise,” he said solemnly. “That’s a quarter of a mile exactly.”

Sandy and Jerry let out long-suffering groans. At fifteen, Clyde Benson (Quiz) Taylor was the No. 1 student at Valley View High School in central California where the three boys lived only houses apart. At the age of ten, Quiz had been a winning contestant on a television quiz program, which accounted for his nickname. Quiz could discuss Einstein’s Theory of Relativity or the batting averages of the leading hitters in the National and American Leagues with equal ease. His mind was a bulging storehouse of facts and figures that his friends found very valuable. But at times the superior manner in which he flaunted his knowledge could be highly irritating.

“Why did you have to ask him along?” Jerry demanded wearily. “Living with Quiz for a whole month is more than any human being can take.”

“That lets you out then, Jerry,” Quiz said, grinning.

“Okay, wise guy.” Jerry thrust his lantern jaw out indignantly. “Just you wait till we’re camping out in the deep woods—hundreds of miles from civilization, with no one around to hear your deathly screams.”

The driver interrupted this byplay, pointing to a patch of blue between the trunks of the giant pines. “There, you can see the lake now, fellers. Five minutes more, we’ll be at Mr. Steele’s camp.” He caught Sandy’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “You’re Russ Steele’s nephew, ain’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver nodded. “Great man, Russ Steele. My son was in his division in Korea. Said General Steele was the best CO any outfit ever had. Used to be real interested in his men. My boy said the dogfaces swore by him.”

“Uncle Russ is a regular guy all right,” Sandy said.

“I’ll say,” Jerry put in. “How many big shots like him would spend their summer vacations taking a bunch of teen-agers on a camping trip?”

The driver looked surprised. “Russ never talks about his work. Is he really a big shot?”

“Mr. Steele is vice president in charge of research of World Dynamics Corporation,” Quiz explained loftily. “That’s the firm that does all that secret government work.”

The driver tipped back his straw hat. “Well, now, I never would’ve guessed it. He sure don’t act it.”

At that moment, the station wagon rounded a curve, and the road broke out of the trees on the lake shore. To the left and right, water stretched away as far as the eye could see. Straight across, the far shore was barely visible through the blue haze on the horizon.

Jerry whistled in wonder. “Wow! That’s a lake? It looks more like the Pacific Ocean.”

“If I remember correctly,” Quiz said, “the Red Lake Indian Reservation is somewhere around here, isn’t it?”

McClintock nodded. “Couple of miles west, on the lower lake. Actually, there’s twin lakes, connected by sort of a gooseneck. Russ Steele’s place is on the south shore of the upper lake. Here we are now.”

Set back in an acre of cleared land beyond the beach was a two-story, rambling lodge with a wide front porch. The rough, pine log walls were solidly chinked so that they could withstand the frigid north Minnesota winters; Russell Steele, an avid hunter, used the place as often in winter as he did in summer. A small dock ran out into the lake and served as a mooring for three rowboats as well as a 16-foot cabin cruiser.

As the station wagon drew up in front of the porch, a tall, powerful man with broad shoulders came down the steps to greet them.

“Welcome to Red Lake.”

Sandy leaped out of the car and wrung his uncle’s hand vigorously. “Uncle Russ! It’s great to be here.”

A lithe six-footer, Sandy seemed puny beside the older man. In his plaid shirt and dungarees, Russell Steele looked more like a lumberjack than a corporation executive. He shook hands with the other two boys.

“Glad the whole gang could make it,” Russ said, grinning.

“You’re a peach to invite us, Mr. Steele,” Jerry said.

Russell Steele walked over to the front window of the station wagon and put one big hand on the driver’s shoulder. “How’s it going, John?”

John McClintock removed his straw hat and blew the dust off the crown. “Not bad, Russ. But I could use some rain like everybody else around here.”

Russ frowned. “It’s bad. Very bad. The ground is like cement and everything is dry as parchment. I don’t mind telling you I’m worried, John.”

The driver shrugged. “Like living in a tinder-box. I hear you’re takin’ these young fellers out into the deep woods. Better not go too far. We’re just about due for a forest fire.”

“We’ll be careful,” Russ promised. He reached into his pocket and took out a folded ten-dollar bill. “Thanks for bringing the boys out, John. Here, let me take care of their taxi fare.”

John McClintock pushed the extended bill away firmly. “Not on your life, Russ. This one’s on me. I owe you a favor after what you did for my family last year.”

He looked up at Sandy. “Last winter when your uncle was up hunting around my place, my youngest cut hisself bad on a band saw. Russ hiked nine miles through a raging blizzard to fetch the doc.”

Russ laughed easily. “I needed the exercise, John. Now you take this money—” But before he could finish, the old man had gunned the motor and the station wagon leaped forward. It turned into the drive, backed around in the road, then headed off in the direction of town.

Russ helped the boys carry their luggage into the lodge and upstairs to their rooms. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. After you shower, come down to the porch. I’ll have the cook fix you some lemonade and sandwiches.”

Sandy was the first one finished. Russ Steele looked up and grinned as his nephew appeared in the doorway, running a comb through his unmanageable blond hair with dogged determination.

“Still having trouble with that cowlick, I see,” Russ said.

“One of these days I’m going to get a butch haircut like Jerry James’s. Then all I’ll have to do is run a washrag across it.”

“Your mother will never buy that,” Russ laughed. “How are the folks?”

“They’re fine,” Sandy said. “Dad’s down in Mexico for two weeks.”

Russ took a long draw on his pipe. “On another one of those government geological expeditions, I suppose. I envy John, getting to see so much of the world.”

“He enjoys it, all right,” Sandy admitted. He looked up as a big, sleek-haired dog came bounding out of the pines on one side of the house. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Prince, the cook’s Doberman pinscher.” Russ whistled softly through his teeth.

The dog’s sharp ears and muzzle thrust alertly into the air; then, with the bounce of a recoiling spring, he came striding across the sunburned lawn and cleared the front steps in a single leap, to squat in front of Russ with his short stub of a tail wagging vigorously.

“Talk about jet propulsion!” Sandy exclaimed. “What do you feed him on?”

Russ laughed and leaned over to stroke the animal’s glossy black coat. “Pound for pound the Doberman is the strongest canine bred. One of the most intelligent, too. We use them as watchdogs at the plant. I brought this fellow up as a Christmas present for the cook two years ago. Prince, meet Sandy.”

Promptly, the dog turned to Sandy and raised his right paw.

“How do you do, Prince,” Sandy said solemnly, taking the paw and shaking it. “Say, he is smart.”

Jerry and Quiz came out on the porch a few minutes later, and Russ entertained the boys by putting Prince through some of his tricks. But the dog was temporarily forgotten when a rangy, string bean of a man arrived with a huge tray piled high with sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade.

“This is Lars Johannsen,” Russ introduced him to the boys. “He’s my cook and caretaker. Lars used to cook in a lumber camp, so he’s used to chow hounds. Dig in, fellows.”

Johannsen, who had lank blond hair bleached white by the sun, and a drooping mustache, flashed a snaggle-toothed grin. “Ya, you eat all you want,” he said with just a trace of a Scandinavian accent. “Plenty more to eat in kitchen.”

“You don’t have to coax me,” Jerry said, grabbing a big, two-inch-thick sandwich in each hand. “I’m famished.”

“Didn’t they feed you on the plane?” Russ asked.

“Sure,” Sandy told him. “We had a big breakfast just before we landed. But Jerry is the hungriest man alive.”

“If he keeps it up, he won’t make the football team this year,” Quiz said dryly. “He’ll be too fat to bend over to center the ball.”

“Look who’s calling who fat!” Jerry spluttered between mouthfuls. “The original blob in person.”

Quiz sniffed. “My mother thinks I’m perfect just the way I am. When this baby fat drops off, I’ll have a physique the likes of which you’ve never seen.”

“That I can believe!” Jerry said.

“Break it up, boys,” Russ laughed. “After a month in the woods, you’ll both be slim as reeds and hard as rocks.”

“Will we really be camping out for the whole month?” Sandy asked curiously.

“Well, we’ll always be on the move. Of course, there will be times when we’ll stop over at ranger stations or lumber camps. But for the most part, we’ll be roughing it in the best frontier tradition.”

“What time do we leave?” Jerry wanted to know.

“Tomorrow morning at six. Packs will be rolled before we hit the sack tonight.”

“Packs?” Jerry asked.

Russell Steele nodded as he relit his pipe with a long wooden match. “A conventional infantryman’s pack. Bedroll, shelter half, tent pegs, mess kit, raincoat, socks, underwear, spare shirt and levis, canned goods, K-rations, toothbrush, shaving kit, trenching tools, and, of course, a canteen and cup on your belt. We’ll split up the larger utensils—pots and frying pans.”

Jerry James jumped up, stood at attention and threw off a snappy salute. “Yes, sir! Hut-two-three-four! We’re in the Army now. We march at dawn.”

Russ grinned appreciatively; then he said in his most authoritative, military manner, “There’s just one thing, soldier. You don’t salute with a boloney sandwich in your hand.”

CHAPTER TWO
Into the Woods

After a pre-dawn breakfast of sausage, eggs and flapjacks, Russell Steele and the three boys strapped on their packs and walked down to the dock where Lars Johannsen was warming up the cabin cruiser. Prince was running back and forth on the pier, barking excitedly.

Jerry eased his thumbs under the pack straps where they cut into his shoulders. “Boy, this stuff is heavy. You mean to say soldiers carry all this weight for miles and miles?”

“More weight than that,” Russ told him. “Our packs don’t weigh more than thirty or forty pounds. An infantryman may pack better than sixty pounds. And that doesn’t include his cartridge belt and rifle.”

“Me for the Navy,” Quiz said emphatically.

Russ laughed. “After a few days you won’t even realize your pack is there.”

The sun, a steaming red ball through the morning mist over the lake, was just showing above the treetops as they climbed aboard the cruiser. Russ cast off and the cook advanced the throttle slowly. With a roar of the twin exhausts, the sleek craft shot away from the dock, her bow lifting as it cleaved through the clear, blue water. Prince scrambled up on the top deck and stood at the prow, leaning forward into the fine spray whipping back across the cabin.

“He’s got a fine pair of sea legs,” Jerry said.

Sandy laughed. “Two pairs, you mean. He looks like a figurehead on one of those old sailing ships, doesn’t he?”

Russ outlined the month’s itinerary: “Lars will drop us off at the northeast corner of the lake, and we’ll strike out for Big Falls. From Big Falls we’ll head south to Bow String Lake, and from Bow String west back to the lodge. Actually, we’ll be traveling in a big triangle, about one hundred and twenty miles altogether, I’d say.”

“This is a lumber region, isn’t it, Mr. Steele?” Quiz asked. “I’ve always wanted to see lumberjacks at work.”

“You’ll have your chance, Quiz,” Russ promised him. “Although the lumber industry in Minnesota is only a shadow of what it used to be. A little more than a century ago, more than three quarters of the state was forested. But ruthless cutting of timber without any thought of conservation or restocking has all but wiped out the great pine forests of the Lake States. The short-sighted men responsible never stopped to consider how long it takes a tree to grow. Why, some of these big fellows are mere babies after one hundred years.”

The little launch was fairly skimming across the mirror-like surface of the lake now. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze, and although it was still early morning, the sun burned down so intensely that they had to string up an awning over the rear deck.

“Another scorcher,” Russ said grimly.

Lars grunted. “We better get rain soon, or we have pretty big trouble. One spark in these woods and poof!” He threw up his hands.

Russ spoke seriously to the boys. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to forgo the joys of the evening campfire. It would be much too dangerous. I brought along a Coleman stove to cook on.”

Jerry was disappointed. “Heck, that’s half the fun of camping out—shooting the breeze around the fire.”

“I feel bad about it myself,” Russ agreed. “But if you ever had had the misfortune to see a forest fire at first hand, you’d understand that it’s out of the question.”

“Have you ever seen one close?” Sandy asked him.

“Yes, I did. Down in Southern California a couple of years ago. It was the most horrible experience of my life.” He seemed to go tense at the recollection.

Jerry shivered and gazed intently at the approaching shoreline; the foliage stretched away unbroken to the horizon like a roof over the forest. “I’d hate to be somewhere in the middle of that if a fire did break out.”

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, as long as we’re careful,” Russ assured him. “And you don’t have to worry about the natives; their livelihoods—and lives—depend on good fire-prevention habits.”

“That’s all well and good, sir,” Quiz said somberly, “but what about lightning?” He studied the cloudless sky arching all about them like a pale-blue china bowl. “When this hot spell breaks, you can bet it will break with a ripsnorting thunder-and-lightning storm.”

“You’re a cheerful sort,” Jerry grumbled.

Russ Steele’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s a good point, Quiz. All we can do is hope that if lightning does ignite any small fires, a good rain will follow soon enough to douse them.”

“Don’t they have fire spotters in these woods?” Sandy asked.

“Certainly. The U.S. Forest Service has rangers stationed in fire towers throughout all critical areas on twenty-four-hour duty. But there’s an awful lot of territory to cover. Many times a blaze will be out of control before it’s detected.”

The conversation broke off as the shoreline loomed up rapidly now. Lars steered the launch toward a rickety wooden dock before a small frame bungalow set back about 100 feet from the water’s edge.

“An old army buddy of mine owns that camp,” Russ told them. “He won’t be up until the hunting season.”

As Lars maneuvered the launch expertly alongside the dock, Russ leaped out and gave the mooring line a few turns around a piling. He lent a hand to each of the boys in turn as they stepped up on the gunwale and hopped gingerly across to the wooden platform.

“These packs throw you off balance,” Quiz grumbled, heading gratefully for solid land.

They all laughed as Prince, who was leaning far out over the bow watching the fish dart about in the clear water, lost his footing and went tumbling into the lake. He surfaced and went streaking for shore like a seal. The big dog scrambled out of the lake a few feet away from Quiz and shook himself vigorously, sending the spray flying in all directions.

“Hey!” Quiz complained, stumbling backward. “Somebody turn off the sprinkler system.”

“Now, you won’t have to take a bath tonight,” Jerry kidded him.

When he was through shaking, Prince sat down on the bank and watched them with his head cocked to one side.

“I think he wants to go with us,” Sandy suggested.

“Take him along,” Lars said. “The exercise will do him good.”

“Good idea,” Russ agreed. “All right, boy, you can come with us if you want to.”

Lars gunned the motor and waved. “Well, so long. Have a good time.”

Russell Steele cast off the mooring line. “We will, Lars. And I promise to take good care of Prince.”

Lars laughed. “Prince take good care of you, I think. See you in couple of weeks.”

The boys watched until the boat was just a speck in the distance. “What a sweet outfit that is, Mr. Steele,” Jerry said admiringly. “I could spend the whole summer just cruising around the lake like that.”

Russ took out his pipe and filled it from a plastic pouch. “Before you go back to California, we’ll try and get some water skiing in.”

“Boy, that will be great.”

Russ led the way up the beach to the bungalow. “We’ll fill our canteens with fresh water from the pump behind the house and be on our way.”

They struck out through a grove of pines with Russ leading the way. The boles were thick around as a man and clean of limbs for about thirty feet up. A dim, soothing green light filtered down through the interlaced canopy of branches above them.

“It reminds me of a cathedral,” Sandy said.

The silence was eerie; their footsteps were almost soundless on the spongy forest floor.

“It’s like walking on cotton,” Jerry said. “This must be the softest ground in the world.”

“We’re really not walking on the ground,” Russ said. “The duff and humus here must be a foot thick.”

“What’s duff and humus?” Jerry demanded.

“Decayed vegetable matter,” Quiz translated promptly. “Falling pine needles, scraps of bark, dead plants and bushes.”

As they got farther away from the lake, the matter underfoot began to rustle crisply. A pine cone fell, rattling through the dry boughs. Russ glanced up and frowned.

“If only it would rain,” he sighed.

At the end of the first hour, he called a halt. “Ten-minute break.” The boys protested that they weren’t tired yet, but he was adamant. “If you walk until you’re tired, you won’t want to get up again. A ten-minute break every hour helps prevent fatigue. And remove your packs. The idea is to relax completely.”

Jerry sat down with his back to a tree and removed his left shoe and sock to examine a red welt on his instep. “Gee, I think I’m getting a blister.”

“Let’s see.” Russ came over and knelt down by him. “Hmmm, it looks that way.” He went to his pack, got out a first-aid kit and found a Band-aid.

As he applied the little adhesive bandage to the blister, his eyes fell on Jerry’s sock lying on the ground.

“Is that a cotton sock?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir,” Jerry answered.

“I told you fellows distinctly to wear wool socks, didn’t I?”

Jerry’s face reddened. “Yes, but it was so darned hot that I thought—”

“Jerry,” Russ said patiently, “I didn’t tell you to wear wool socks just to make you uncomfortable. I wanted to save you a lot of agony. If you keep on wearing those thin socks for a couple of days, we’ll have to carry you back on a stretcher.”

Sandy and Quiz stood nearby curiously. “How’s that, Uncle Russ?” Sandy asked.

“A good pair of heavy wool socks protects your feet; keeps them dry and won’t bunch up in blister-making creases. Any soldier or woodsman, anybody who does a lot of hiking, can tell you. In my old army outfit, wearing cotton socks on a hike was a punishable offense.”

“Hear, hear!” Quiz said with relish. “I vote we assign Jerry to permanent KP duty for fouling things up.”

Sandy grinned. “I second the motion.”

Jerry’s lantern jaw sagged. “Aw, fellers, have a heart! General Steele, I appeal to you.”

Russ laughed. “I have to admit that sounds a trifle severe. Let’s compromise. Jerry, you can consider yourself on special detail for one night. All the mess kits and pans.”

Jerry relaxed against his tree. “Whew! That was close. I thought for a while you were going to court-martial me.”

“I’m all for it,” Quiz said testily. “Personally speaking, I think you ought to face a firing squad.” He ducked as Jerry let a pine cone fly at his head.

Prince went running after the cone, retrieved it and dropped it in Jerry’s lap. The boy scowled at the others as he scratched the big dog behind the ears. “At least I have one friend in the crowd,” he said.

CHAPTER THREE
A Midnight Visitor

At noon they stopped in a small clearing for a quick K-ration lunch. The boys were intrigued by the contents of the oblong, waxed-cardboard boxes.

Jerry announced the articles as he removed them. “Biscuits, fig bar, instant coffee, sugar, a can of cheese and bacon—say, who ever said the army eats bad!”

Russell Steele placed a pot of water on the Coleman stove. “Nobody ever said the army eats bad. Matter of fact, it eats darn good. There’s nothing wrong with K-rations, except that a steady diet of them can get monotonous.”

When they were finished eating, Sandy and Jerry scooped out a deep hole in the forest floor with their shovels and buried the garbage.

“Ordinarily, I’d prefer to burn it,” Russ told them, “but a fire is out of the question now.”

They resumed walking until about four-thirty, when Russ consulted the walk-o-meter strapped to his leg. “Well, we made fifteen miles today. That’s not bad,” he said. “Let’s call it a day.”

Quiz groaned as he dropped his pack to the ground. “I am so pooped, I could crawl into my bedroll right this minute.”

“Without supper?” Jerry asked incredulously.

“Frankly, yes.”

Russ frowned. “None of that, Quiz. You’ve got to eat, even if you have to force every mouthful down. If you don’t, you’ll be weak as a cat tomorrow.”

Sandy looked around at the tall trees towering over them like giants with their arms outstretched. A chill ran along his spine. “Have you ever noticed how nature seems to work against you when you’re out in the wilderness like this? It’s constantly playing tricks on you. Like Quiz being too tired to eat, or people falling asleep in the snow and freezing to death. All your instincts seem to be wrong. It’s scary, sort of.”

Russell Steele nodded soberly. “The Indians used to say that the wilderness spirits resented the intrusion of the white man because he came to destroy the forests and the wild beasts. They attributed all kinds of devilment to the spirits. Whenever a white man was lost in the woods, mauled by a bear, injured by a falling tree or struck by lightning, the tribal medicine men would nod their heads wisely.”

“Heathen superstition,” Quiz sniffed.

Jerry looked around nervously. “Not so loud, huh. Just in case.”

Sandy and his uncle laughed. “Okay,” Russ said. “That’s all the folklore for one day. Let’s eat.”

They camped in a small clearing on the bank of a stream, which Russ said had once been a raging torrent. Now, only a thin rivulet of water trickled through the rocky bed. Russ scooped out a hollow where the water flowed between two boulders, to form a small pool, so that they were able to wash up and fill their canteens.

Supper consisted of canned beans, bacon and pan-fried biscuits. Everyone ate heartily, with the exception of Prince, who turned up his nose at the conglomeration of food they piled up on a tin plate for him and stalked off into the woods.

“Probably off to catch himself a rabbit,” Russ said.

Jerry wrinkled up his nose distastefully. “And I thought he was a nice dog. That’s cruel.”

“Don’t be a dope,” Sandy said. “Is it any more cruel than slaughtering cows, pigs, sheep and little lambs to feed our faces?”

“Animals are nicer than people,” Quiz said. “They only kill each other for food. It’s the beautiful balance of nature. The fish and birds eat the insects; and they in turn provide food for the larger animals. Every living thing has its place and purpose.”

“Even snakes?” Jerry asked, suddenly scanning the ground suspiciously.

“Even the snakes,” Quiz said.

Sandy laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Jerry. They won’t bother you unless you bother them first. I read it in a book.”

“Yeah,” Jerry said. “But how do I know the snakes around here read the same book?” He grinned as the other two boys moaned and rocked back and forth with their heads in their hands. “It wasn’t that bad, fellows.”

Russ put down his empty dish and began to fill his pipe. “I think a joke like that rates KP for another night, at least.”

Sandy and Quiz helped Jerry clear up the mess kits, forks and pans and carry them down to the pool.

“Hey,” Sandy remembered suddenly, “we didn’t bring any soap powder. How can he wash these greasy things in cold water without a strong soap?”

“We could boil some water,” Quiz suggested.

Russ got up from where he was relaxing against a tree and joined them. “What’s the matter with sand?” he asked.

“Sand!” the boys chorused together.

“Sure, it’s the best detergent there is. Mix up some of that fine sand on the bank with a little water and you’ll get these utensils as sparkling clean as your mothers’ best silverware.” He turned away, shaking his head. “Fine lot of woodsmen we’d be, going camping with a case of soap powder and steel wool.”

While Jerry was finishing up the dishes, Russell Steele showed Sandy and Quiz how to erect the pup tents. “Each of us has a shelter half in his bedroll,” he explained. “Half of a tent, to be exact, with enough wooden pegs to anchor it to the ground. We also have one ridgepole apiece. When we pair off, we have the makings for a complete tent; that’s how they do it in the army.”

From the creek, Jerry yelled, “What happens if there’s one guy left over?”

Russ laughed. “He stands first tour of guard duty.”

The sky was still light when they crawled into their bedrolls. Sandy and his uncle shared one tent, and Quiz and Jerry the other.

Jerry sighed contentedly as he lay back. “I must be tired. This old ground feels like a feather mattress to my weary bones.”

“Don’t forget,” Sandy called from the other tent, “you’re lying on a bed of duff and pine needles.”

“You guys are crazy,” Quiz grumbled. “It’s okay if you lie flat, I guess. But I can only sleep on my side. What are you supposed to do with your hips?”

“That’s what you get for being so fat,” Jerry chortled gleefully.

“Try scooping out a hole for your hip to fit into,” Russ suggested.

Quiz unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up. Working with his fingers, he shaped a small hollow in the soft duff, then settled down again. “Ahhh, that’s better,” he said with satisfaction.

“You see,” Jerry gloated, “there are some things you can’t learn in books.”

“Oh, shut up!” Quiz mumbled.

Before Sandy dropped off to sleep, he heard Prince return to camp. The big Doberman took a long drink from the creek and then settled down in front of the tent at Russell Steele’s feet. His presence there gave Sandy a feeling of warm comfort.

It seemed to Sandy that he had just closed his eyes when the noise of voices, barking and the pounding of his own heart jolted him out of a deep sleep. For a moment he lay there, paralyzed by terror. He opened his eyes, then shut them quickly as a blinding spot of light knifed painfully into his optic nerves. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of his uncle sitting up and clinging to Prince’s collar with one hand.

With the full return of consciousness, Sandy could make out a strange voice talking earnestly and urgently to Russell Steele.

“... they’ve been on your trail since noon, General Steele. The Forest Service has had every ranger in the district looking for you. I spotted your dog from my fire tower about eight o’clock and started to follow him. Of course, he lost me pretty quick, but I knew you had to be somewhere in the vicinity.”

“Like finding a needle in a haystack,” Russell Steele said. “You must know these woods, all right.”

“My fire tower is about five miles from here. I’ll take you there and we can radio headquarters. They’ll hook you up direct with Washington.”

Shading his eyes against the light, Sandy sat up. “What’s up, Uncle Russ?”

“Oh, Sandy, you’re awake. Good. We’ll have to break camp immediately. The Pentagon has been trying to get in touch with me. Very urgent. This is Dick Fellows, Sandy; he’s a U.S. Forest Ranger.”

“Hi,” Sandy said, squinting at the young man who was crouched in front of their tent.

The ranger touched two fingers to his stiff-brimmed hat and grinned. “Sorry to disturb your sleep. You guys must be plenty tired if this is your first day on the trail.” He stretched out one hand toward Prince, who was still growling suspiciously deep in his throat. “Your friend here doesn’t trust midnight visitors.”

Russ released his grip on the dog’s collar and gave him a light smack on the rump. “He’ll be all right, now that he knows you’re not an enemy. He wouldn’t have attacked you, in any case, unless you pulled a knife or a gun. Prince has been trained to hold his quarry at bay until help arrives.”

Sandy climbed out of his bedroll. “I’d better go wake up the rest of the gang.”

“The rest of the gang is already awake,” Jerry’s voice sang out from the darkness, “lying here quivering with our blankets pulled over our heads.”

Quiz Taylor crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees, fumbling in his breast pocket for his eyeglass case. “This moron got it into his thick head that we were being attacked by Indians from the reservation.”

Dick Fellows laughed. “He’s partly right at that, I guess. My grandpaw was a pure-blood Dakota.”

Russell Steele struggled into his boots. “Well, suppose you escort us back to your tepee, chief.”

CHAPTER FOUR
The Missing A-Bomb

They reached the ranger fire station shortly after three in the morning. It was a tower of tubular steel reaching over one hundred feet into the air. Jerry craned his neck at the small cabin perched on top of it, a boxlike silhouette against the brilliant starlit sky.

“You live up there?” he asked the ranger.

“Certainly,” Dick said. “It’s very comfortable.”

He led the way up the flight of steel stairs that ran around the outside of the tower. When they reached the platform at the top, Jerry looked down and grabbed frantically at the guard railing.

“Yipes! I can’t even see the ground.”

The ranger pushed the door open, flicked on a wall switch, and a pale amber light bulb flashed on in the middle of the ceiling. Sandy realized that the one-roomed structure was larger than it had appeared from the ground. There was a double-decker wooden bunk against one wall, a comfortable-looking leather easy chair in the nearest corner, and three straight-back wooden chairs. The wall opposite the bed was occupied by a sprawling table; most of the table was taken up by a huge topographic map, dotted with colored pins. A compass and a variety of other instruments were scattered over the table. An impressive short-wave radio rig sat in one corner. The other furnishings included a small refrigerator, a foot locker and a bookcase. The four walls were solid plate glass from waist-height to ceiling.

“This is all right,” Jerry said. “Boy, I’d give plenty to have a little hideaway like this.”

Quiz walked across to the well-stocked bookcase and examined the titles. “What a wonderful place to read and study,” he said enviously.

“It has its advantages,” the ranger admitted. “But it sure gets lonely at times.”

It was the first time Sandy had got a good look at Dick Fellows. He was a pleasant-faced young man with straight black hair, piercing eyes and an aquiline nose. He wore the brown uniform of the Forest Service and heavy storm boots.

Quiz walked to one of the big picture windows and peered out. “I can’t see anything,” he complained.

“Light reflection,” the ranger explained, and flicked off the wall switch, plunging the room into darkness. Immediately, the broad canopy of the forest leaped into prominence, stretching away on all sides beneath them.

“What a view!” Sandy breathed.

“Wait till you see it in the daylight,” Dick Fellows told him. He turned the light on again and went across to the radio gear. “Have you ever worked one of these things, General Steele?”

Russell Steele grinned. “I had one of the first ham licenses in this country, young fellow.”

“Good; I’ll contact headquarters and turn it over to you.”

Russell Steele looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask all of you to step outside until I find out what this is all about.”

“Certainly, sir,” the ranger said. “I’ll take the boys downstairs and give them a lecture on forestry.” He flicked on the switch and picked up the transmitting mike, twirling dials with his free hand.

“KYAT calling KVK.... Fire station KYAT calling headquarters.... Come in, KVK....”

As soon as contact had been established, Russell Steele slipped into the operator’s chair and put on the earphones.

The ranger and the boys made the long descent to the ground, where Prince was waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. He wagged his tail and rubbed against them when they patted him, but occasionally he would whimper and glance up anxiously at the top of the tower.

“He’s wondering what happened to Uncle Russ,” Sandy said.

Jerry followed the dog’s gaze. “I’m kind of curious to know what gives up there, myself.”

Dick Fellows held up his hand, motioning for silence. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

The boys stopped talking and listened. Faintly from the northwest there came a distant rumble of thunder.

“Maybe we’ll get some rain,” Sandy said hopefully.

“Let’s hope so,” the ranger said. “And pray that it isn’t just a lightning storm.”

“Do you stay up all night looking for fires?” Quiz inquired. “In bad seasons like this, I mean.”

“Sometimes I do, when there’s been a lot of lightning striking in my sector. Most nights I set my alarm clock to wake me up every few hours or so.”

“You live up here all year?” Jerry asked.

“No, we only man these watchtowers during the fire season.”

“How do you get food and water?” Sandy wanted to know.

“There’s a stream just a few hundred yards back, and I get my supplies by packhorse from headquarters.” Dick Fellows went on to describe the fascinating life of a forest ranger.

About twenty minutes later, Russ hailed them from the top of the tower. “All clear. Come on up, boys.”

As soon as Sandy stepped into the observation room, he knew that whatever had transpired between his uncle and the Pentagon had been very serious. Russell Steele’s face was gray beneath its tan, and it was the first time in Sandy’s memory that he had ever looked his age.

“Trouble, Uncle Russ?” he asked hesitantly.

Russ nodded. “Bad trouble. The very worst.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell us what it is, sir?” Dick Fellows said.

“Well—it is top secret—for as long as it’s possible to keep it that way.” Russ Steele seemed to be struggling with a problem. “Still—I’m going to need all the help I can get. And we’re so isolated here that there’s not much chance of a leak, even if you were inclined to blab about it. Which I know you wouldn’t be,” he added hastily.

“You have my word, sir,” the ranger said quietly.

“And ours,” the boys chorused soberly.

There was a glint of determination in the older man’s eyes. “Good. I think you can help. You’re all familiar with the Strategic Air Command, aren’t you?”

“SAC Never Sleeps!” Quiz recited the slogan of the famous Air Force arm. “Their bombers are in the air twenty-four hours a day. If the United States was ever attacked, SAC stratojet bombers armed with A-bombs would be on their way to knock out vital targets in the enemy’s homeland within seconds.”

Russ Steele nodded. “That’s pretty accurate, Quiz. The Strategic Air Command is the watchdog of our borders. Now, for an outfit that is literally flying twenty-four hours a day, their safety record is amazing; statistics show that a man is safer riding in an SAC bomber than he is driving in the family car.” The muscles tightened across his prominent cheekbones. “But accidents do happen. And last night a B-52 stratofortress had a serious accident.”

“I heard about that on the radio,” Dick Fellows cut in. “It crashed somewhere in Manitoba, Canada. All the crew were killed.”

“That’s only part of the story,” Russ went on. “The last radio report from the bomber placed it over Lake Superior. There was a small fire aboard, but the radio operator thought they had it under control. Shortly after that their transmitter conked out. The Air Force never heard from them again—ship blew up in the air just south of White Mouth Lake on the Canadian border.”

Sandy and the others listened in shocked silence as he continued: “Most of the wreckage has been recovered—and the bodies of the crew.” He paused dramatically. “But there is absolutely no trace of the A-bomb they were carrying.”

Dick Fellows let out a long whistle of astonishment. “What happened to it?”

“Nobody knows. The most logical theory is that they jettisoned the bomb when the fire began to get out of control. Over some desolate area. It could have been dumped almost anywhere between Lake Superior and the scene of the explosion. Search teams have been out scouring the most populated areas since dawn yesterday; they’re the critical points. Not that there’s any danger of the bomb detonating, but a thing like this could cause a lot of hysteria. Then there’s the matter of secrecy.” He grinned wryly. “It wouldn’t do for the wrong kind of people to find it—the kind who would put up a tent around it and sell tickets.”

Quiz frowned. “If the bomb casing is cracked or otherwise mutilated, wouldn’t there be some danger from radioactivity?”

Russ Steele regarded the boy solemnly. “I’d prefer not to discuss that aspect right now, Quiz. We won’t be in any danger searching for it, I can tell you that much. The Air Force is going to drop us a couple of Geiger counters from a helicopter tomorrow morning. So we’ll have ample warning if we approach an area contaminated by radioactivity.”

Quiz Taylor’s eyes were enormous behind his thick glasses. “We’re going to look for it?”

“That’s what the call from the Pentagon was all about. They knew I was up here and they want me to take charge of the search operation in this area. We won’t have any help from the military until the more densely populated areas have a clean bill of health, but we’ll do the best we can in the meantime.”

He turned to Dick Fellows. “Ranger headquarters are advising all fire stations within a forty-mile radius to clear the woods of campers, fishermen and sight-seers.”

“You folks are the only party I’ve seen in my sector in weeks.”

“Good. And now I’d suggest that we all get to bed for what’s left of the night. Tomorrow will be a rough day.” He glanced at their packs piled up in the middle of the room. “There’s plenty of room for us to spread our sleeping bags on the floor.”

“You can take my bunk, sir,” the ranger said quickly.

Russ smiled. “That’s mighty generous of you, Dick, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ve imposed on you enough for one night.”

When his four guests were settled in their bedrolls, the ranger turned out the lights and scanned the surrounding woods carefully from all four windows.

“I guess it’ll keep till morning,” he said wearily, as he stretched out on his bunk.

Just before he fell off to sleep, Sandy was aware of a tremendous luminous flash in the sky to the northwest. “Heat lightning,” he heard the ranger mumble, but he was too exhausted to worry about it.

CHAPTER FIVE
Lightning Strikes

The storm hit with the suddenness and impact of an earthquake at 6:00 A.M. An ear-splitting crash sent the five sleepers jerking up like jack-in-the-boxes. On all sides of the tower the sky was alive with jagged streaks of lightning. The thunder rolled through the air in continuous waves, shaking the earth. The tower creaked and trembled violently. Sandy saw a pair of binoculars on the table dance crazily over the edge and crash to the floor.

Dick Fellows leaped out of his bunk in T-shirt and shorts and swept the other instruments off the table. “A couple of you up here!” he shouted. “The rest of you pile onto chairs or my bunk. Insulated glass legs. Save your life if the tower’s hit. Keep your feet off the floor.”

Sandy kicked out of his bedroll and scrambled up on the table. Jerry and Quiz dove headlong onto the bunk. In a more leisurely fashion, Russ Steele and the ranger sat down on high stools.

They had just settled themselves when they were blinded by a tremendous ball of blue fire that shimmered in mid-air just outside the north window. An instant later, they were deafened by an explosion that sounded like the end of the world. The tower bucked madly, and Sandy was sure it was going to topple over or collapse. Gradually his vision cleared to reveal the most terrifying sight that he had ever witnessed in his entire life. The whole room was full of tiny blue sparks that sizzled as they ran in chains across the icebox and stove and along the metal strips of molding that trimmed the edges of the floor and ceiling. Everything metal was encircled by a sparkling halo. He could scarcely believe his eyes when he looked at the other people in the room. Quiz Taylor’s long hair was standing up perfectly straight on his head like a brush; the same was true of his uncle and Dick Fellows. His own scalp tingled strangely, and he could feel it bristle. Only Jerry’s close crew-cut was unaffected.

“Don’t be frightened,” the ranger said calmly. “There’s no danger as long as you sit tight.”

“On the contrary,” Quiz said brightly. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He grinned as he touched a hand to his hair. “A fascinating phenomenon of static electricity. Those sparks, too; they’re harmless.”

“You and your education!” Jerry moaned. “I’m petrified. Say, how long do these things last?”

The ranger shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe ten minutes; maybe an hour.” His face was grave with concern. “And every minute it lasts increases the chance of one of those bolts starting a fire. If only it would rain!”

Sandy suddenly remembered the dog, who had remained below on the ground. “Poor Prince. I wonder how he’s taking this?”

The ranger smiled. “Unless I miss my guess, he’s holed up under my dynamo shack out back—along with an assortment of rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks. There’s nothing like a little lightning to make buddies out of natural enemies.”

“I wish I was with him,” Jerry said, “instead of sitting on top of this giant lightning rod.”

Abruptly it began to rain, a driving downpour, and miraculously, it seemed to Sandy, the lightning stopped. The boys began to cheer and crowded against the windows, watching the drops pelt the treetops below. But their elation didn’t last very long. In less than five minutes, the rain ceased, as if a giant sprinkler had been turned off. Within a quarter of an hour, the clouds disappeared and the sun beamed through. Thin wisps of steam began to rise from the leaves, giving the illusion that the entire forest was smoking.

Dick Fellows slouched despondently on his stool. “I knew it. Not even enough to moisten the ground. And God knows what that lightning started. A couple of good bolts hit trees; I could hear it.”

Sandy scanned the woods to the horizon on all sides. “I don’t see anything to worry about. No fire, no smoke.”

“It’s not that simple,” the ranger told him. “A fire may be burning for days before it’s even detected, particularly in stands of conifers—pines, spruce, et cetera—where the duff is thick. For example, suppose one of those lightning bolts struck a snag—a dead tree—all dry and punky like those sticks the kids light fireworks with. Maybe there’s a single spark smoldering deep down in the trunk, below the surface. Maybe it’s as big around as a pea today; tomorrow it may be the size of a penny. It’s got plenty of time—and lots of fuel. Slowly it will spread, eating up through the duff until it reaches the surface. Now, it’s really ready to go, once it hits the open air and has all that lovely litter on the forest floor to feed on. If we’re lucky, we’ll spot it now because of the smoke.” He stared out grimly across the trees. “With everything so dry, we’d have to be real lucky to control it before it blazes up in the brush and crowns.”

“Crowns?” Jerry said doubtfully.

“Burns through the top of the trees,” Quiz explained, “in the foliage.”

“That’s real trouble,” the ranger said. He turned to Russ Steele. “Gee, sir, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you out today. I’m going to have to stay rooted up here for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Don’t apologize,” Russ said. “First things first. A forest fire at this time could really complicate my problem.”

“Hey!” Sandy exclaimed. “What would happen if that missing A-bomb was smack in the middle of a raging forest fire?”

Russ Steele looked vaguely troubled. “I don’t know for sure. Probably nothing. It would depend on a great many factors. I’m not anxious to find out, I can tell you.”

The drone of a plane motor suddenly drew their attention to the east window. “It’s a helicopter!” Quiz said excitedly.