“I’ll have to take that chance. I don’t think there’s that much danger, though. I think if I start this minute I can catch up with him before he gets into that logging road.”
He was out the back door of the laboratory in six long strides. In spite of his plumpness, he could move rapidly when he wanted to, and he leaped into his car and was backing out of the driveway while Danny was still shouting after him, “Professor Bullfinch! Wait a minute!”
“Gosh,” said Irene. “What’ll we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Danny said. “I wish we could follow him.”
“What good would that do?”
Danny beat his fist into his palm. “None, I guess. But I wish we could anyway. If only my mother was home, she could drive us after him in her car. But she went shopping after she finished her ironing, and she isn’t back yet.”
“I’ll tell you what we can do,” said Irene. “We can go over to my house and listen to the reports of the fire on my radio. Maybe we’ll hear that everything’s okay, now. Maybe they’ve stopped it from spreading.”
Danny followed her next door. Her radio was still on, and as they entered her room they heard a voice, crackling with static, saying, “Al? This is Winston. The wind has died down, anyway. That’s one good thing.”
“That’s one of the firemen in a truck with a radio,” Irene said. “They keep reporting back to the fire chief.”
Another voice said, “We’re getting it under control in Sector Four.”
Still a third voice, which must have been that of the chief, said, “Good work. Winston, this is Al again. Is she still spreading down toward Rose Hill?”
“Yeah—If we could just get up in there and start a backfire we could keep it from coming across the hills.”
“What does he mean?” Irene asked.
“Oh, a backfire is when they start a fire themselves and burn off a strip of ground,” Danny explained. “Then the forest fire comes up to the burned strip and can’t cross it, and that way they can keep it from spreading. But the wind has to be just right and you have to be able to control the backfire, see? That’s what they mean when they say you can fight fire with fire. Since the wind has died down now, they’re thinking of trying it. Shh! I want to listen.”
“—chance of getting over the summit of Sugarloaf?” the chief was saying.
“There’s no way of going around by the south,” Winston replied. “Maybe you could send some guys down from Sector Four to climb Sugarloaf.”
They heard some confused noises, and then the chief said, “—think we’ll try. Wait a sec. What? Winston, there’s a State trooper here who says he thinks two cars went up toward the logging road. They’d be cut off in there, by now. Did any of your men try that?”
“Not my men,” Winston said. “Maybe Gus and his crew—”
Danny gripped Irene’s wrist so hard that she winced. “It’s Professor Bullfinch,” he said. “And Mr. Pippit. I’ll bet you anything you like.”
Irene bit her lip. “What can we do?” she said. “There must be something—”
Danny snapped his fingers. “Fight fire with fire!” he cried. “I’ve got an idea. It’s a long shot, but maybe it’s worth trying.”
Danny snatched up a pencil and one of the sheets of paper that were scattered about Irene’s workbench. He began to draw a rough map.
“Now, the fire must have started up in the north, around U.S. 1,” he said. “It began to move south, toward us, toward the Midston Hills. They were talking about trying to set a backfire somewhere on the other side of Rose Hill. The Professor and Mr. Pippit must be up at the logging camp by now. They’re cut off. But if I could get up over the summit of Sugarloaf, the way the chief was saying the firemen might go, and if I could start a backfire that would hold off the big fire, they’d be safe, wouldn’t they?”
“Oh, Danny, how can you talk like that?” Irene said, wringing her hands. “If the firemen can’t get there, how could you? And how could you possibly get there quickly enough?”
“I’ll show you,” he answered. “I’ve got to make a phone call. If only he’s in—”
“He? Who?”
“Mr. Matthews!” And Danny darted into the hall, where the upstairs phone was kept.
Mr. Matthews fortunately was home. He had just made himself comfortable with a book and a cup of tea, and Mrs. Matthews said, “Is it important, Dan? He’s very tired.”
“It’s a matter of life and death,” Danny said, as urgently as he could.
Mr. Matthews came to the phone. “Hi, Dan,” he said. “More problems about how a plane flies?”
“No, sir. You’ve got to help me, you’ve just got to.”
“Help you? Sure. What do you want to know?”
“It’s nothing like that. The Professor—he’s in danger.”
“Huh?” Mr. Matthews was silent for a second, and then he said, “Now, listen, Danny, maybe you’d better—”
“No, you listen. He drove off to get Mr. Pippit, who left town a while ago. They’re both up in the hills. They’ve been trapped by the forest fire.”
“The forest fire? How do you know?”
“We’ve been listening to the reports on short wave. Now if we could get up above Sugarloaf, near where the old logging camp is—you know the spot I mean, don’t you?—and start a backfire, we could keep the main fire from spreading so that he and Mr. Pippit would have a chance to escape.”
There was another pause, a longer one. Then Mr. Matthews said, “Get up above Sugarloaf? I don’t see how—”
“You could fly me up there,” said Danny.
“Fly? You’re off your rocker, son. Even if I did fly you there, we couldn’t land. Not in the hills, not with a fire raging.”
“You wouldn’t have to land. I could start a backfire from the plane, with the laser.”
“You could start a backfire from the plane with the laser. Sure, I see,” Mr. Matthews repeated. “WHAT? What’s a laser?”
“Oh, I forgot, you don’t know about it. It’s a heat ray.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Matthews. “It sounded just like you said heat ray.”
“I did say heat ray. That’s what it is. The Professor developed it. That’s one of the reasons Mr. Pippit came to Midston. It’s—it’s one of the reasons he left, too. It’s a beam that can start a fire at a distance.”
He could hear Mr. Matthews mumbling, “Oh, boy! Now I’ve heard everything. I’ve flipped my wig, that’s what’s happened. I must be crazy to be listening to this. You want me to fly you up over Sugarloaf, near where the forest fire is burning, so that you can start a backfire with a magical heat ray. Is that it?”
“Mr. Matthews,” said Danny, as earnestly as he could, “you’ve got to believe me. I know this is a risk. I know it’s a big chance to take. But I’m sure it will work. I can’t go to the police or the fire department, because they wouldn’t listen to a boy. But you know me, and you know the Professor. The laser really exists, and it isn’t magical. It’s a scientific invention. If anything happened to the Professor, and you found out later that I was right and that you hadn’t done anything about it, just think how you’d feel.”
When Mr. Matthews spoke again, it was in an altered voice. “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. Look, is your mother there?”
“No. I don’t know where she is. She went shopping, but—”
“She’s probably out with half the rest of the town, looking at the smoke. Have you got that laser, or whatever it is, there now?”
“Yes.”
“All right, get it out on the sidewalk in front of your house. I’ll drive over and I’ll pick you up in five minutes. I’m leaving now!”
CHAPTER 13
A Message in the Rock
The little red Piper Colt bobbed and bumped in the currents of hot air caused by the fire, as if it were a small car on a bad dirt road. The whole sky was a dirty gray; the sun was hidden in a haze of smoke so that it looked like a pale yellow ball. Around
the horizon in a great crescent that stretched from the northwest to the southeast was a line of thick smoke in which, here and there, orange flames licked up, clearly visible against the dark ground and the dark cloud. The air was full of the smell of burning wood, and flakes of ash drifted past the windshield of the airplane. They were flying toward Sugarloaf, so low that they could plainly see the scraggly blueberry bushes on its stony summit. Beyond it, across the valley, was Rose Hill. And there, where the gray line of a dusty road ran, the trees and bushes were burning with a sound like the crumpling of an immense sheet of cellophane, or the popping and snapping of a giant bowl of breakfast cereal. That part of the fire was still a good distance off, to the east and south, but they could see that the road vanished into it so that no one could pass that way.
“Wow!” Danny breathed. “Some fire.”
“How do I get myself into these things?” Mr. Matthews pretended to groan, and shook his head. “Oh, well, at least we have a good view. I’m going to fly over Sugarloaf and turn a bit north to spot the old logging camp.”
“Okay. And I’ll keep an eye out for the Professor,” said Danny.
Sugarloaf passed beneath them; then they were over a wide valley, thickly wooded.
“I can see the track of the logging road,” Danny said.
“You’re going to have trouble spotting those two men down there among the trees,” said Mr. Matthews.
“I know,” Danny answered. “But I’m hoping if they’re stuck somewhere, they’ll come out in the open when they hear the plane and try to signal to us. Look! There’s the logging camp.”
The woods had opened out, and in a clearing below appeared a light gray oblong—the roof of a weathered shed which had once been a sawmill. Danny and Mr. Matthews peered down until their eyes watered from the effort, but there was no sign of the two men or their cars.
“What now?” said Mr. Matthews.
Danny had been certain he would see them, and he could barely hide his disappointment. But he had planned out the next move in advance.
“The other side of Rose Hill is grassy,” he said. “There are very few trees—mostly blueberry and bayberry bushes, and some wild roses. I’m sure that’s what the fire chief was talking about when he mentioned setting a backfire. If you can swing around and fly along that slope, I’ll get the laser ready.”
The airplane droned in a sweeping half-circle, over the clearing. Mr. Matthews flew east a little way until they were approaching the smooth flanks of Rose Hill. It was not as high as Sugarloaf, but a good deal longer. They were closer to the edge of the fire here; it came crackling down from the north through the woods, sending up greenish-white and dark gray billows through which they glimpsed the burned-out patches beyond. On the southern side, where the hill dropped away, there was a thin line of smoke that cut across the far end of the logging road. But closer at hand, the fire still had half a mile or so to go before it reached the slopes.
Danny had wrestled the laser into his lap, its cable stretching over his shoulder to the portable power source, which had been stored behind his seat. He slid open the window on his side, and propped the laser up so that its nozzle rested on the sill.
“I think we’ve got a good chance,” he yelled over the noise of the motors and the air whistling past his face. “Look at the smoke. There’s a wind now—and it’s blowing away from the hill, toward the main fire.”
He snapped the switch. The red beam, almost invisible in the daylight, stabbed downward. Danny held his breath.
Suddenly a bright spot flared out far below, on the hillside. Flames shot up from the dry grass. As the plane flew along above the slope it seemed to be drawing a line with a tremendously long thin pencil, a line of bright fire.
Danny shut off the laser. Almost at the same moment, the ground seemed to fall away from him and he had the sensation of spinning around and standing on his ear. It only lasted for a minute; then things returned to normal.
“Sorry if I startled you,” Mr. Matthews said. “I had to pull up and away. We were getting too close to the fire down at the southern end of the hills.”
He had swung the plane around again. The line of flame they had started, helped by the breeze, had swept down the whole side of Rose Hill. A broad black band showed where it had burned away the grass.
“That ought to make a good firebreak,” Danny said, closing his window. “Anyway, everything on this side of Rose Hill should be safe, now. The fire can’t jump that burned-out strip.”
“Good work,” said Mr. Matthews. “Say, isn’t that the famous Rolls Royce?”
Danny looked down. They were flying back over the logging road again, somewhat higher this time. And there, its creamy leather upholstery and shiny blue sides making it stand out, was Mr. Pippit’s automobile. It had been left in an open space off the road. After a moment, Danny could make out the darker shape of the Professor’s old sedan close by.
“They must have parked the cars and set out on foot when they saw they were cut off,” said Mr. Matthews. “Question is, where are they now?”
“They certainly didn’t go up Rose Hill,” said Danny. “I’ll bet Mr. Pippit drove up the road and found it ended at the logging camp. Then the Professor caught up with him. They came back here and saw they couldn’t drive through. They must have started to climb the foothills, hoping to get up on Sugarloaf.”
“Mmhmm.” Mr. Matthews shook his head, sadly. “I hope I have enough gas left to search the whole territory. Otherwise, we may have to climb Sugarloaf ourselves.”
He guided the airplane in a wide loop over the whole mass of hills. As he came back up from the south once more, the plane bumped violently. The fire had crept into the rocky foothills of Sugarloaf, leaping from one tree to another. They could see the tall, dark trunks wrapped in flame, and here and there glowing pockets among the rocks where bushes were burning.
Then they both saw it at the same time—a small white patch waving back and forth. Danny grabbed Mr. Matthews’ arm.
“Don’t do that, friend,” said Mr. Matthews. “Not while I’m flying this crate.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s the Professor. See? He’s on that rocky shelf. He’s waving his handkerchief, or something, tied to a stick like a flag.”
“I see him. There’s Pippit, too. Sit tight. I’ll bank and make a pass in front of them so we can see what they’re up to.”
The two men were standing on a broad ledge to which they must have climbed to escape the fire. Behind them rose a wall of solid limestone, smooth and bulging. On one side, the ledge, rounding a corner, dropped away in a mass of gravel into a wooded gorge from which flames were rising in places. On the other side, the shelf narrowed and vanished in a haze of smoke.
Danny and Mr. Matthews took all this in as the plane sped past.
“They’re boxed in,” said Mr. Matthews.
But Danny’s eyes were sharper. “Not altogether,” he said. “It probably looks that way to them, but on the left, where the ledge narrows, there’s a trail among the rocks. It leads up toward the summit and then branches down on the other side of the hill. I know this neighborhood. I’ve climbed around Sugarloaf for years.”
“But there was smoke over that whole section of the ledge,” Mr. Matthews protested.
“No, that’s the way it looked, but there are only a few bushes burning there. They could run past and be in the clear. Then they could climb up and get away safely. If we could only tell them—”
“That’s just peachy,” said Mr. Matthews. “What’ll we do—send them a letter?”
“If I could yell to them to go to the left,” Danny said, “do you think they’d hear me?”
“Not over the noise of the engine. Isn’t there some other way of signaling?”
“Have you got a flashlight in here?”
“No. I ought to have, but I keep forgetting it. Anyway, how would you signal? With Morse code? I’ll bet the Professor doesn’t know any more Morse than I do. Most people don’t.”
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br /> “I guess you’re right,” Danny said, glumly. “But gosh, we can’t just leave them there. When that rock gets hot—”
“I’ll fly back and try to contact the fire department,” said Mr. Matthews decisively. “They can lower a rope from the cliffs above, perhaps.”
“Wait a second.” Danny’s eyes were sparkling. “We can signal to them. It’ll be tricky, but I think we can do it.”
“How?”
“With the laser. I thought of it just now when I said that the rock would get hot.”
“You mean blink it on and off at them? But we just agreed that Morse code wouldn’t be of any use.”
“Not that kind of message. I’ll use it to make a big arrow in the rock, pointing the way they should go.”
“Hmm. That’s an interesting idea, son.” Mr. Matthews scratched his chin. “We’ll have to be careful you don’t miss or you’ll burn your arrow right into their shirt fronts.”
“That rock wall is pretty high—”
“Yes, and the air is pretty bumpy. Look, I’ll fly past as close as I can get to the ledge. You just make sure your seat belt is good and tight so that you don’t go sailing out the window, laser and all. Okay. Ready? Here we go!”
He swung the plane away from the ledge and out in a wide swoop. Danny pushed back the window and readied the laser.
Mr. Matthews’ jaw was set firmly. He flew straight along the face of the limestone wall. The engine seemed to roar more loudly. He came so close that it seemed his wing-tip would brush the stone and the plane would go crashing down to ruin.
Danny gripped the laser. He saw the pale limestone flash by, and the faces of Professor Bullfinch and Mr. Pippit, their mouths wide open, before they threw themselves down upon the ledge in fright. But he kept his head. He snapped on the machine and kept it steadily focused on the rock, and then he snapped it off in time. Chips flew, where the beam touched.
When the plane had flown out and around in its second sweep, they could both see, standing out sharply, a long, dark line cut in the limestone, pocked and pitted in places and looking as though a hot iron had been scraped along the wall.
Danny Dunn and Heat Ray Page 7
