The Mystery of Rainbow Gulch

by Norvin Pallas

  “I wonder if his engine really did conk out?” Nelson speculated. “If it did, he may have been ready for the crash. But if he was just flying too low and suddenly couldn’t pull up, he wouldn’t have had much chance to escape. Shouldn’t we be doing something? I can just imagine him dangling from a tree, caught by his parachute,”

  “Well, let’s be sure we know what we’re doing before we try,” said Bob, reasonably. “The location of the plane is the most important thing. I think I’ve got a pretty good line on it from here. That plane has to be on the northwest slope of Sandy Hill, or a reasonably short distance beyond it. I don’t see any sign of smoke, do you?”

  The others agreed with him that they didn’t. If there was no fire, that was an encouraging sign, and offered greater hope for the safety of the pilot.

  “Are we going there on horseback?” Nelson wanted to know.

  “Whoa, there, Nel. There’s no chance of getting there on horses. It’s farther than it looks, and there are several deep gulches in the way. We couldn’t make it before midnight, if we got through at all. The best bet is to drive around by road, and take the rest of it on shank’s mare. And before we do that, we ought to notify the authorities. They might have better facilities for a search than we do.”

  The boys swung into their saddles, and raced back toward the farm, Bob in the lead and the others following as fast as they dared. When Ted and Nelson reached the house, Bob was already inside. They dismounted, and a farm hand took charge of their horses. Hurrying inside, they found that Bob had already made some hasty explanations to his parents, and after cranking up their party-line phone, asked the operator to reach the Civil Aeronautics Patrol. The call went through in due course, and Bob held the receiver a little way from his ear so that his friends could hear, too.

  “My name is Bob Fontaine,” he announced. “I want to report the possible crash of a plane in the Sandy Hill region.”

  “A crash! Was it a large transport?” asked the man with alarm.

  “No, this appeared to be a one-engine private plane.”

  “Are you sure it went down?”

  Bob looked at his friends. Of course they hadn’t actually seen the plane hit the ground, though it seemed hardly likely the plane could have escaped. On the other hand, he had admitted to them the bare possibility that the pilot had managed to reach the road and landed safely.

  “Well, no, it disappeared beyond Sandy Hill, and when it failed to reappear, we decided it must have crashed. It would have been quite some distance from the nearest road, and there isn’t much in the way of clearings up there. Anyway, I thought it best to make a report on it.”

  “Yes, you did the right thing. However, I don’t have any report on flights in that area tonight. Did you see where the plane came from?”

  “From the southeast, I think, and then it circled over Sandy Hill.”

  “Did it show any signs of distress?”

  “We couldn’t tell for sure. It was too far away.”

  “No sign of fire or explosion?”

  “Not that we saw.”

  “Well, I’ll check into this right away. If there was a crash, I’ll call you back. We may need your help in locating it. Where can I reach you?”

  “Through the Valley Junction exchange, ring two, pause, ring two.”

  “Oh, one of those things.” The man sounded as though he would have been amused at another time. “Well, you’ll very likely be hearing from me soon. Good-bye,” and he rang off.

  The boys returned to the living room, where the rest of the family were sitting. Tony had been in bed, but not asleep, and she was allowed to curl up in the big easy chair. If there was something exciting going on, she didn’t want to be left out.

  “I wonder if it could have been one of the forest rangers’ planes,” Mr. Fontaine asked.

  “I don’t think so, Dad. It didn’t look like one of their models.”

  “Then I can’t think who else it could be. None of the farmers around here has an airplane. It was probably a stranger—which doesn’t make it any better, of course.”

  “Whoever he is, I hope he wasn’t hurt,” said Mrs. Fontaine sympathetically.

  “Did the man in the airplane get killed?” asked Tony.

  “We hope not,” said Bob quietly. “That’s what we’re going to try to find out.”

  “I hope he didn’t either,” Tony agreed quickly.

  “Are you boys still sure that the plane crashed?” asked Mr. Fontaine. “It seems to me that there’s a big flaw in your story. You’ve more or less assumed that his engine had stopped. What if he started up again after he was out of your hearing? He might have disappeared behind the hill, hedgehopping on a line directly away from you, so that he never came back into view again.”

  “Golly, Dad, why would he do something like that?”

  “I can’t answer that, Bob, any more than I can answer what he was doing circling over Sandy Hill at that time of the evening.”

  “Gosh, Dad, maybe you’re right. I hope so, but I’m going to be a laughingstock, if I raised all this fuss about a plane that didn’t crash.”

  “I think you boys handled everything just right,” his mother interposed.

  “What makes airplanes crash?” Tony wanted to know. “Does the air sometimes get tired of holding the airplane up there?”

  “Well, no,” said Bob, “I don’t think that ever happens. Sometimes there’s a storm and the wind is too strong for the plane. Or sometimes a part on the airplane breaks. Or sometimes the pilot does something wrong. But most of the time it’s perfectly safe. You’ll see if you go for a ride sometime.”

  The telephone jangled then—two short, pause, two short—and Bob left the room to answer. They heard him say, “Bob Fontaine speaking,” then a little later said with a note of urgency, “Listen, everybody, please hang up. This is long distance, and I can hardly hear. I’ll call you back later to tell you what it’s about.” Apparently his neighbors on the line complied, for the conversation continued.

  “Maybe this business of listening in on the line doesn’t sound right to you,” Mr. Fontaine explained to the visitors, “but we find it a good kind of insurance. Out in a lonely region like this, we have to depend on each other a good deal, and if one of our neighbors is in trouble we want to know about it fast.”

  “And it’s a kind of newspaper, too, Ted,” said Mrs. Fontaine with a smile. “It’s probably not as good as the Town Crier, but it’s the best we have.”

  “How many parties are on your line?” asked Ted.

  “Ten, on our line. But if something important enough turns up, someone will call a neighbor on a different circuit, and the whole thing gets around pretty fast. It’s kind of reassuring to know it.”

  “That was Mr. MacCafferty again,” Bob reported when he came back. “It’s dark already, and he doesn’t think they can do much by air, but he wants to make an attempt to reach the wreck on foot, just in case the pilot needs help.”

  “Then he really does think there was a crash, Bob?” his father inquired.

  “Yes, he does, Dad. There was a private flight scheduled between Starburg and Mayorstown, and the plane is overdue. Of course a plane on that route has no business being anywhere near Sandy Hill, but he said something about the pilot’s being a student who may have lost his way. Anyway, he’s coming over here with a rescue truck, and wants me to go with him. I told him about Ted and Nelson, and they’re welcome, too, if they want to come.”

  “Just try to keep us out,” said Nelson.

  While his mother called back the neighbors as he had promised, Bob took his visitors out to the stables to attend to the horses. Even though there were hired hands available, he liked to do everything for Starlight himself. Ted and Nelson were glad to give a hand, too, after he had explained to them what there was to do. They wanted to have something to do because they could not quite shake off the shock of the tragedy they had witnessed, or thought they had witnessed, worries which might soon be con
firmed if they were able to find the plane on Sandy Hill.

  Within an hour Mr. MacCafferty arrived, and hearing the car and seeing the gleam of headlights turning up the drive, the boys left the stable. Although he was driving a rescue truck, Mr. MacCafferty was alone.

  “I felt we’d have enough with you boys,” he pointed out, “and I didn’t want to waste time rounding up any more workers. We did have the forest rangers send a flight out over Sandy Hill, and I got the report on my radio on the way out. They weren’t able to pick up anything.”

  Introductions were performed, and then he suggested stopping in the house for a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Fontaine before the group set out. In the living room, further introductions were made. Then Mr. MacCafferty said:

  “My truck is supplied with lanterns, first-aid equipment, and almost everything else we can expect to need. I’ve studied a map, but it doesn’t tell too much about the terrain. What kind of going will it be?”

  “It’s pretty rough country,” said Bob slowly, “especially after dark. But I think we can make it.”

  “According to the map, the road comes within three miles or so of Sandy Hill. Is that about how you’d figure it?”

  “I think we can do better than that. There was some lumbering going on there about a year ago, and I believe there are probably some lumber roads that your map doesn’t show. They should bring us even closer.”

  “Good, that may help.”

  “You said it was a student pilot at the controls?” asked Mr. Fontaine.

  “When I said student, I meant a novice pilot. As a matter of fact he is middle-aged, which in my books makes his offenses all the worse.”

  “Offenses?” Ted questioned.

  “Well, he may have been stunting, or something like that, and I don’t think his plane was properly lighted and equipped for night flying. Furthermore, there is something peculiar about this whole flight. We know what time he left Starburg, and it just wasn’t possible that he would have enough gasoline left to be buzzing Sandy Hill at twilight. Let’s be generous and say he lost his way, or that his transmitting equipment broke down and he was unable to notify the airport of a change in flight plans, or even that an emergency forced him down at some place remote from a telephone.

  “Now what? This spot must have had some gasoline, must have had facilities for him to repair whatever it was that went wrong. Then what business did he have taking off just before twilight, if he was as badly oriented as the evidence would show? Even if he were seriously confused as to where he was, what did he hope to accomplish by circling over Sandy Hill? All this makes a strange type of emergency. Such a series of unusual happenings seems to stretch the long arm of coincidence too far.” He concluded grimly, “If Mr. Leonard is still alive, he’d better come up with some pretty good explanations.”

  “Then you know the name of the pilot?” asked Mr. Fontaine.

  “Yes, it’s Jeff Leonard. Have any of you ever heard of him?” The Fontaines all shook their heads. “He is a strange sort of person, too. He is constantly bringing himself to the attention of the police, without actually committing any sort of crime that he can be convicted of. He seems to be living better than his known source of income permits, which is always a suspicious circumstance. He is suspected of getting mixed up with unscrupulous persons. This isn’t to disparage him, but when a person endangers the lives of others, when there is property loss involved and a great many people are put to the worry and expense of helping him, then we are within our rights in asking some pretty searching questions.”

  “What do you think happened?” Ted inquired.

  “At this stage it can only be a theory, but my opinion is that he was never lost at all, that he knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. I think he made an unauthorized stop somewhere, for a purpose which we do not know, and about which he did not care to be questioned. I’ve no doubt that if he had not crashed, he would have called in soon after his flight over Sandy Hill and had some story all ready about an emergency stop which we probably would have accepted in the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Unfortunately for him we know about his flight over Sandy Hill, and that would probably have knocked the props out from under whatever story he had planned. Any explanations he has to make now would probably have to bear at least some resemblance to the truth. My job is going to be a good deal easier if he is still alive and can give me a few clues about what he was up to. Otherwise, I may have to do a lot of unprofitable guessing.”

  “Was there a search out for this plane before I called?” asked Bob.

  “There was an alert between Starburg and Mayorstown. Any planes in that area were asked to keep a watch out for the overdue plane. In the case of large transports we inaugurate a search whenever we know that the plane has run out of fuel. Private flights are less controlled than that, and we don’t start a search until we have something more to go on. We just don’t have the facilities to do more.”

  “Then there’s no question about the identity of this plane we saw?” asked Ted.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” said Mr. MacCafferty with a frown. “Your description, such as it is, corresponds with the missing plane, and if it isn’t Leonard’s plane, I have no idea whose it could be. We shall probably know soon.”

  Unless the plane had hedgehopped away to safety, Ted thought, and saw by a glance from Bob that he was thinking the same thing. In that case there would be no proof whether it was Leonard’s plane or not.

  CHAPTER 3.

  THE SEARCH AT SANDY HILL

  Cougar had decided to be friendly, and gave Mr. Mac-Cafferty no more than a sniff as the group left the house and piled into the truck. Though Mr. MacCafferty paused to pat him on the head, he was too preoccupied to give the dog any further attention.

  “Should we turn left or right to get on the main road?” he asked as they came to the end of the drive.

  “Left,” replied Bob, “and we’ll join the main road about two miles down.”

  He was sitting next to Mr. MacCafferty, and at his suggestion reached for a map of the district, which he studied with the aid of a pencil flashlight.

  “It would certainly help me, boys, if you could tell just about where you think that plane crashed.”

  Ted and Nelson were riding behind them, and looked over his shoulder as Bob tried to figure out exactly where they had been standing at the moment the plane disappeared, and where they had last seen it.

  “I think it was just about here that it went out of sight,” he decided finally, and consulted the others. “Don’t you think so?”

  “You’ve lost me already,” said Nelson firmly, and Ted, too, had to admit that he was too uncertain of the area to supply any accurate guess.

  “How much farther do you think it might have gone before it crashed?”

  “It was losing altitude rapidly. I don’t think it would have flown much farther. Maybe right about in here.”

  Bob drew a little circle on the map, representing his best judgment, though his friends were aware of his doubts. Maybe the plane didn’t crash, and this was a wild-goose chase. With so many queer things about this flight, who could say that there wasn’t one more?

  “Are the forest rangers doing anything more, or are we searching alone?” asked Ted.

  “They’re on stand-by alert, and I may call on them later, depending on what we find or fail to find. If you boys are right, we may be able to walk right up to the wreck. If we don’t spot it, I’ll notify the rangers and see what they want to do. Even if we do find it, we may run into difficulties and need their help on the ground. Anyway it’s good to know they’re within reach if we should need them.”

  The truck was on the main highway now, and on each side of them the black woods flitted by. Their emergency lights flashed warningly, but there was no need to use the siren, so lightly traveled was the road. Mr. MacCafferty referred to the map Bob had folded on his lap.

  “Now where is this lumber road you were speaking of? I don’
t care much for traveling cross-country in the dark, and if you can save us part of the distance, so much the better.”

  Bob considered. “I think it starts somewhere right along here. I’ve never been on it myself, but someone told me it takes a big half circle through the woods before hitting the main road again several miles farther out.”

  “Well, then, if we take this road and follow it out for say a mile, we’ll be as close to the wreck as we can get, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir, I think so—but it makes me feel funny to think that you’re depending so much on what I tell you. I may be way off base.”

  “We’ll meet that difficulty when we come to it. I have an idea that you people are going to prove more reliable than most witnesses. Every time a plane flies over a little low, especially one of the big transports, we get calls that it crashed, or was in distress. Some of the reports would be laughable if they weren’t so serious, because naturally we have to investigate them all.”

  This did not serve to reassure Bob much. He had tried to be as careful as he could, but if it turned out there hadn’t been a crash, he was going to feel mighty embarrassed—not only because of Mr. MacCafferty but because the story was undoubtedly all over the county by now.

  Mr. MacCafferty slowed down and kept his spotlight shining on the line of trees opposite, so as not to miss the lumber road. He found it presently and turned down, and from there on their ride became much slower and bumpier. When the truck stopped, they all piled out.

  Ted and Nelson were each to carry one of the powerful lanterns, while Bob took the first-aid kit and other supplies, and Mr. MacCafferty the map and compass, from which he took a careful bearing. “It won’t help to have us lost, too,” he explained. Bob and Mr. MacCafferty also carried hand flashlights, for the other lights were too strong and glaring to pick out their immediate path.

  The ground led away from the road on an easy but steady rise, and Mr. MacCafferty inquired whether they were already on Sandy Hill.