The Mystery of Rainbow Gulch

by Norvin Pallas

  “If we’re scouts,” said Tony, “are we supposed to report everything we see?”

  “That’s right,” Ted assured her, “everything that has anything to do with the fire.”

  “If we saw an airplane, are we supposed to report that?”

  “I think we should.” He was startled. “Where do you see an airplane?”

  “Over there.” She pointed with her finger through the trees.

  The smoke was heavy, but in a moment the plane had emerged, and the boys were able to spot it. It was one of the rangers’ scouting planes. They felt slightly relieved. It was nice to know that the rangers had spotted the fire so soon and were out in force, even if there wasn’t much they could do.

  “There’s another one,” Bob said, as another plane came into view from over the valley. “Those are rangers. They’re scouting the fire.”

  “If they’re scouting from up there, do we have to scout, too? Can’t they see better than we can?”

  “Not always, Tony. They can see farther, but they’re too high and too far away to see everything. They’ll scout the fire from the air, and we’ll scout from the ground.”

  A third plane also appeared, and soon it seemed that they were flying one after the other in a large circle, with the cabin in the gulch as the center. That could mean only one thing: the planes were looking for them. But presently, not finding them, the planes began to move over to the west, apparently believing that it was likely they had gone off in that direction. The boys watched despairingly.

  But suddenly there was a shift, and the planes came back to the opposite side of the gulch. To the boys it meant that the hermit had gotten through with his message.

  “That means Starlight must have made it,” Bob murmured. “Good girl!”

  Though the planes were now circling directly overhead, it was not certain that they were going to find them. The haze from the smoke was too heavy, and the occasional trees obscured the view. Unless they were spotted soon, the pilots would probably shift northward to the unburned but heavily wooded section, where Bob had not wanted to take them except as a last resort. If there were only some way they could let the planes know where they were; if it were only possible to amplify their voices, so that they could shout, “Look! We’re down here!” and a pilot could hear them.

  “A signal—that’s what we need,” said Bob, patting his pockets.

  Not a smoke signal, surely. There was already so much smoke that it would go unnoticed. “Got anything shiny?” asked Ted.

  All this time Tony had carried her purse in a strap about her neck. Bob noticed it now, and asked, “What have you got in there, Tony?”

  “My dolly’s things.”

  “Open it up and let me see.”

  She unfastened the clasp, and took out objects one by one. Among the articles she produced was the doll’s mirror Nelson had given her.

  “I think that will do, Tony. Let me try it.”

  Bob managed to hold the mirror in such a way that it caught the rays of the sun, then attempted to reflect them back through the trees upon one of the planes. He was almost successful the first time, the rays catching the body of the plane amidship, but the plane continued on its way into the haze. He then concentrated on the plane which followed, aiming at the nose of the plane, trying to get the rays in the pilot’s eyes. He must have succeeded, for a moment later the pilot swung out of line and the plane began to arch over in their direction.

  Tony asked with a tremor in her voice, “Are the planes going to land now?”

  “We don’t know yet, Tony,” Ted answered. “Watch, and we’ll see.” But he knew that these planes couldn’t land. A helicopter might do it, but Bob had said he was pretty sure the rangers didn’t have a helicopter at this station, and even a helicopter would have trouble among the trees. But Tony was looking more cheerful. The rangers had come. Wouldn’t they soon be going home?

  “This is an awfully long game, isn’t it, Bob? When is it going to be over?”

  “Pretty soon, I hope, Tony,” he answered, his voice suddenly dull and hopeless. The rangers had found them; they were now so close and still so far away.

  The only hope Ted could see was that the rangers drop a large body of fire fighters in by parachute and attempt to block the progress of the fire. But he knew in his heart that all such efforts would be futile. And he knew that it wasn’t fair to expect the rangers—for all their bravery—to drop dozens of men into such a dangerous area on the slight chance of rescuing three.

  The plane had definitely sighted them. It was flying as low as was safe, in a large circle about them, occasionally dipping its wings as though to encourage them. The other planes had left, apparently to scout the fire farther up the line. The haze was growing heavier, and it would be hard to keep them in view. Holding Tony’s hands, they began to walk slowly toward the edge of the gulch, hoping to get a little clear of the trees, though some continued up to the very rim.

  The plane was keeping them carefully in sight, with the help of occasional flashes from Bob’s signal mirror, adapting its circle to their slow progress. It was on the farthest side of its arc, away from the fire and across the gulch, when suddenly a black speck was seen to leave the plane. Moments later a huge, white, billowing nylon shot out and caught the breeze, and began drifting slowly down.

  CHAPTER 15.

  ANOTHER FIRE

  After Bob and Ted had departed, Nelson returned to the house. Mrs. Fontaine had started the party line on its neighborly work, and then Nelson took over, answering a number of calls that came in. He learned that not a man or older boy anywhere in the district had refused the summons, regardless of the pressure of his own work. How many eventually came Nelson never knew—somewhere between one and two hundred—for they were never assembled in one group.

  Some of the neighbor women arrived to stay with Mrs. Fontaine, and then Nelson took off to join the searching parties. It was because of this search that the fire was discovered earlier than might otherwise have happened, even before the forest rangers themselves had spotted it. An alarm was turned in, and an expert team of fire fighters was dispatched to the scene. Even so, the fire had already had a good start.

  Discovery of the fire made an immediate difference in the plans for the search. It was decided the best thing was to advance to the fire and see what they could do about combating it. If in this way they happened to pass Tony by, well and good, they could find her later; but if by chance she was already on the other side of the flames—well, that was something they didn’t like to think about.

  “She must be all right, Rob,” one of the men remarked to Mr. Fontaine, when he had been located and finally arrived at the scene. “She couldn’t have wandered off this far.”

  Certainly the fire was quite some distance from the farm, and Mr. Fontaine seemed reassured. He had no reason to doubt that Tony had merely wandered off, for he knew of nothing to connect the hermit with her.

  Earlier, Nelson had informed one of the rangers of the possibility that Tony was at the cabin in the gulch, and he had transmitted this information to the searching planes. Should he give the same information to Mr. Fontaine? He was at the point of doing so several times, but something always seemed to intervene, so he kept putting it off. There didn’t seem to be much to be gained.

  But Mr. Fontaine remembered the hermit, and mentioned him.

  “Poor devil!” said one of the farmers. “If he’s trapped up there at Rainbow Gulch, I’m afraid it’s too late to save him.”

  “Maybe he isn’t there,” argued another. “He might have left before this.”

  “I don’t know,” said Mr. Fontaine. “The boys said he looked as though he’d been holed up there for a long time.”

  Barring a sudden shift in wind, it appeared that the farms were safe. This was good news for Mr. Kirstead, whose farm lay close to the woods, with the Fontaine farm just beyond. The other farms should be protected by the road. With the arrival of the ranger fighting unit, efforts
became better organized, and the men did what they could to beat back the flames. Jake Pastor, having come out in someone’s car, was among the fighters, in deadly earnest and telling no stories now.

  Although a protective strip was being plowed up to contain them, the flames showed little tendency to cut back toward the farms. It was on the other side, where the wind was fanning the flames and sending them racing toward the plateau, that the real danger lay. About this the rangers could do nothing.

  Where were Bob and Ted? This was the worry that weighed on Nelson’s mind. Had they got through to the hermit and was Tony there? If everything had gone smoothly they might have gotten out of the danger area before they were trapped. Perhaps they were safe even now, having come back by another route.

  When the newly arrived ranger group heard about the hermit, they shook their heads dubiously. They hoped he wasn’t trapped up in the gulch, but if he was there didn’t seem any hope of reaching him. The flames were altogether too heavy and the smoke too thick to allow hope that a rescue party could break through.

  The leader of the fighting group had hardly finished this pessimistic review when a shout went up from the men. The smoke seemed to open, and a man on horseback was seen to emerge from the burning woods. Mr. Fontaine didn’t recognize the rider, but he would have recognized the horse half a mile off.

  “Starlight!” he exclaimed, and then a chill seemed to go through him.

  As though guided by some instinct—or perhaps it was Starlight’s instinct—the rider advanced directly toward Mr. Fontaine. He had made it through the fire, but not without marks. His tangled white beard hung awry, and his face was smudged with black. His shirt had been singed, and the burns beneath must have been painful. Starlight was sweated and nervous, but seemed otherwise uninjured. She drew up in front of Mr. Fontaine with a shiver and a shaking neigh, and the rider slipped to the ground.

  “This is Bob’s horse,” exclaimed Mr. Fontaine, grasping the bridle. “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

  The hermit leaned against the saddle for support. “The boys . . . and the little girl . . .” he was breathless and gasping, and had to stop to gather strength to continue. “They’re at Rainbow Gulch, near the head. They’ll stay there as long as they can, then head directly eastward. I had . . . to get through to tell you. . . .”

  The ranger lieutenant—the one whom Nelson had talked to earlier—was close to Mr. Fontaine’s side, and the other men gathered around. At the hermit’s words a hush spread over the group. Rainbow Gulch—they had all heard it correctly—and someone who ought to know had just said there was no way to reach Tony, Bob, and Ted.

  Mr. Fontaine straightened up. As well as any of them he was aware of the great danger which threatened the three. But the least he could do was to show as much courage, faith, and dignity as possible. He turned to the hermit.

  “I’m afraid you’re not well, sir. I’ll drive you in to the hospital.”

  “The others . . .” the hermit gasped.

  “Everything that can be done for them will be done,” said Mr. Fontaine quietly, “and I have an obligation to the man who tried to save them.”

  He turned back toward the lieutenant. “Is there any hope for them?”

  “Oh, there’s a good chance,” the lieutenant responded. “We’ve got a helicopter on the way. If we’re able to find them, we’ll pick them up.”

  “Then you’ll let me know at the hospital?”

  “The very first chance I get.”

  “I’ll drive you, Mr. Fontaine,” Nelson offered. If Mr. Fontaine had been generous, so could he, and the farmer might need help with the injured hermit. Besides, Nelson could not avoid feeling that perhaps he should not have hidden things from Mr. Fontaine, even with the best of intentions.

  The lieutenant barked out his orders.

  “Contact the planes on the mobile unit and tell them what the man said about looking to the east of the gulch.” The man he indicated was off on the run.

  But as Mr. Fontaine helped the hermit into the car, the lieutenant shook his head slightly. “Poor guy,” Nelson heard him mutter, “I didn’t have the heart to tell him the helicopter is still almost two hours away.”

  On the long drive to the city, the hermit had nothing to say. He seemed to be exhausted, and Mr. Fontaine did not press him, while Nelson tended strictly to the driving. Yet Nelson felt that matters had reached a climax, and that soon they would know all about Tony—the things that had happened leading up to her arrival at the Fontaine farm, what had taken her off with the hermit to Rainbow Gulch, and the explanation of all the other strange events.

  At the hospital the hermit was admitted to the receiving room, and Mr. Fontaine was told it might be an hour before he could see him. So they paced the corridors, and put through two calls to the Valley Junction exchange, but there was no news.

  The nurse had just told them that they might see the hermit when suddenly Mrs. Manners rushed into the hall, her hair streaming wildly.

  “Where is he?” she exclaimed.

  “Where is who, Mrs. Manners?”

  “That man, that hermit—who was living up at Rainbow Gulch.”

  “This is his room, but please—”

  She brushed past Mr. Fontaine and Nelson and into the room. The hermit, though lying very quiet, turned his head as she entered.

  “Where is my husband, Mr. Franton? You’ve got to tell me.

  The hermit answered in a weak voice, “Are you Mrs. Manners? I’m sorry but your husband is dead. He was badly injured in the airplane crash. I found him in the wreck and carried him away to my cabin. I did the best I could to take care of him, brought him fresh meat and milk, but his injuries were too serious. He died, and I buried him at the mouth of the gulch.”

  Mrs. Manners broke out into sobs, but as Mr. Fontaine tried to comfort her, she said, “It’s all right. I suppose I knew he was dead, when I didn’t hear from him after the airplane crash. It was just the shock of knowing for sure—”

  The raised voices had attracted a nurse, who brought a doctor into the room.

  “I’m sorry,” said the doctor, “but you people will have to leave. The patient is becoming too excited.”

  Mr. Fontaine took Mrs. Manners’ arm and led her from the room, but turned a moment to speak to the doctor.

  “Do you think he will be all right, doctor?”

  The doctor shook his head slowly. “The burns, though serious, are only one thing. There seems to be something else. I’m very sorry, but I can’t promise you anything at all.”

  Out on a bench in the corridor, Mrs. Manners had partially regained her self-control.

  “I want to tell you all about it,” she said, as Mr. Fontaine seated himself at her side, and motioned to Nelson to stay. “With my husband dead there’s no longer any reason that I shouldn’t, and it will relieve a heavy burden on my conscience.”

  And so, between renewed sobs, and many repetitions and broken sentences, Mrs. Manners told her strange tale.

  Mr. Manners had come from a rather poor family, but his parents had struggled to give him every advantage that they could. By dint of hard scraping, they had managed to provide him with a good education. Going to an exclusive school where all the other boys came from wealthy families only served to arouse his resentment. He became very jealous that other boys should have things he couldn’t have, and he determined to make up for it if he ever could.

  From a relative he had inherited the farm near Hopalong, and had come there to live with his bride. Mrs. Manners thought her husband had great ability, if only she could help him to bring out the best that was within himself. It was her intention that they should develop the farm and enter into the life of the community, but her husband didn’t want this kind of life. He was determined to build up a fortune in the quickest, easiest way, and as a result lost most of their funds through foolish speculations. Mrs. Manners had little sympathy for her husband’s intense ambitions, but he was adamant, and there was not
hing she could do to change him.

  One of Mr. Manners’ beliefs was that oil existed somewhere in the neighborhood. To test this theory he went east, made an intensive study of all the literature on the subject, and hired a geologist to help him with his maps. This geologist was Mr. Franton.

  By the time the study was completed, both men had arrived at the conclusion that Sandy Hill might have oil. But at this point the men disagreed. Mr. Manners claimed that since he had hired Mr. Franton to work for him, all the discoveries they had made belonged to him. Mr. Franton, on the contrary, insisted he had worked on the Sandy Hill portion of the project on his free time, that Mr. Manners had never mentioned oil to him, and that he was the rightful owner.

  This was a difficult legal matter to decide. Mr. Manners was certainly entitled to the work of his employee. But Mr. Franton had unquestionably worked on the Sandy Hill project independently. Mr. Manners claimed that Mr. Franton had relied on information supplied by him, and Mr. Franton denied it. This was the point in dispute.

  It would have taken a long court battle to decide the matter, but neither man dared to go to court. They both realized that the big oil companies could easily beat them out for the leases they needed. Mr. Franton suggested that they compromise and form a partnership, but Mr. Manners refused. Not only did he want everything for himself, but he believed that Mr. Franton was trying to cheat him.

  Mr. Franton, having run through a long streak of bad luck, decided to move west with his family, where he might study the Sandy Hill project on the spot. But the family’s troubles were far from ended. On the way their daughter Marilyn contracted measles. This was a real predicament, for they were nearly penniless, and to stay at an expensive hotel until she was well would eat up their capital and leave them stranded. Marilyn’s attack did not appear to be at all severe, and so they decided to go ahead anyway. Upon arriving at the farm they kept Marilyn hidden for several days. Mr. Franton was afraid of trouble with the health authorities for having brought a child with a contagious disease, and didn’t intend to tell anyone about her until all signs of the measles had disappeared. That was the reason no one had known about Marilyn.