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                 THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS




[Illustration: A blue streak crackled between the terminal and the
bear’s nose.]




                       THE RADIO BOYS SERIES
                       (Trademark Registered)

               THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS

                                 OR

                 THE GREAT FIRE ON SPRUCE MOUNTAIN

                                 BY
                           ALLEN CHAPMAN

                             AUTHOR OF

                 THE RADIO BOYS’ FIRST WIRELESS
                 THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE
                 RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE
                 RALPH ON THE MIDNIGHT FLYER, ETC.

                    WITH FOREWORD BY JACK BINNS

                            ILLUSTRATED

                              NEW YORK
                          GROSSET & DUNLAP
                             PUBLISHERS

                Made in the United States of America




                           BOOKS FOR BOYS
                          By Allen Chapman

                     12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

                       THE RADIO BOYS SERIES
                       (Trademark Registered)

              THE RADIO BOYS’ FIRST WIRELESS
                  Or Winning the Ferberton Prize

              THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT
                  Or The Message that Saved the Ship

              THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION
                  Or Making Good in the Wireless Room

              THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS
                  Or The Midnight Call for Assistance

              THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE
                  Or Solving a Wireless Mystery

              THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS
                  Or The Great Fire on Spruce Mountain

                        THE RAILROAD SERIES

         RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE
             Or Bound to Become a Railroad Man

         RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER
             Or Clearing the Track

         RALPH ON THE ENGINE
             Or The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail

         RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
             Or The Trials and Triumphs of a Young Engineer

         RALPH THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
             Or The Mystery of the Pay Car

         RALPH ON THE ARMY TRAIN
             Or The Young Railroader’s Most Daring Exploit

         RALPH ON THE MIDNIGHT FLYER
             Or The Wreck at Shadow Valley

               GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York




                        Copyright, 1923, by
                          GROSSET & DUNLAP

               The Radio Boys with the Forest Rangers




                              FOREWORD
                           By Jack Binns

There are two aspects of radio as a vital factor in saving life and
property which are very vividly brought out in this interesting
volume of the Radio Boys Series—namely its use in connection with
the patrol work in detecting forest fires, and the regular
international ice patrol in the dangerous waters of the north
Atlantic. So splendidly have these two functions of radio been
developed, that they have become accepted as commonplace in our
lives, and it is only by such stories as “The Radio Boys with the
Forest Rangers” that we are awakened to their importance.

Another interesting account in this volume is the detailing of the
experimental work recently carried out at the Schenectady
broadcasting station, when the voice which was radiated through the
ether was actually reproduced from an ordinary moving picture film.

Just think of the marvel of this. _The words of the speaker were
photographed_ on a film, and held in storage for several weeks,
before the streaks of light were re-converted into electric
impulses, and then transferred into faithful reproduction of speech
in a million homes. How great are the possibilities thus unfolded to
the immediate future. Here we have a record that is better than that
of the phonograph, because there will be no scratchiness from a
needle in its reproduction to mar the original tones.

The period over which the Radio Boys Series has been produced has
seen the most remarkable all-around development of radio in history.
Now upon the publication of the latest volume in the series there
comes the announcement that a Hungarian scientist has been
successful in transmitting an actual picture of a current event as
it is occurring.

We are upon the very threshold of TELEVISION—the system which
converts the etheric vibrations that correspond to vision, and
translates them into impulses of electric energy which can be
radiated through space, and picked up by specially designed radio
receivers. The system of course can also be applied to telegraph and
telephone wires.

The development of this promising invention means that in the near
future we will be able to see the person to whom we are speaking,
whether we use the ordinary telephone or the wireless telephone as a
means of communication. This truly is an age of radio wonders!

                                                          Jack Binns




                                CONTENTS

                      I. A Sudden Alarm
                     II. Almost a Tragedy
                    III. Quick Work
                     IV. Radio, the Fire-Conqueror
                      V. The Wonderful Science
                     VI. Thrashing a Bully
                    VII. Good Riddance
                   VIII. At Risk of Life
                     IX. Off for Spruce Mountain
                      X. The Falling Bowlder
                     XI. Forest Radio
                    XII. The Ice Patrol
                   XIII. Winning Their Spurs
                    XIV. The Crouching Wildcat
                     XV. An Underground Mystery
                    XVI. Swallowed up by the Darkness
                   XVII. An Old Enemy
                  XVIII. Pinned Down
                    XIX. Fire
                     XX. A Terrible Battle
                    XXI. Plunged in the Lake
                   XXII. Fighting Off the Bears
                  XXIII. A Desperate Chance
                   XXIV. The Blessed Rain
                    XXV. Snatched from Death




               THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS




                             CHAPTER I

                           A SUDDEN ALARM


“Say, fellows!” exclaimed Bob Layton, as he bounded down the school
steps, three steps at a time, his books slung by a strap over his
shoulder, “what do you think——”

“We never think,” interrupted Herb Fennington. “At least that’s what
Prof. Preston told our class the other day.”

“Speak for yourself,” broke in Joe Atwood. “As for me, thinking is
the best thing I do. I’ve got Plato, Shakespeare and the rest of
those high-brows beaten to a frazzle.”

“Sure thing,” mocked Jimmy Plummer. “But don’t think because you
have notions in your head that you’re a whole department store.”

Bob surveyed his comrades with a withering glare.

“When you funny fellows get through with your per-per-persiflage——”
he began.

“Did you get that, fellows?” cried Jimmy. “Persiflage! Great! What
is it, Bob? A new kind of breakfast food?”

“I notice it almost choked him to get it out,” remarked Joe, with a
grin.

“Words of only one syllable would be the proper size for you
fellows,” retorted Bob. “But what I was going to say was that I just
heard from Mr. Bentley. You know the man I mean, the one that we saw
at my house some time ago and who gave us all that dope about forest
fires.”

“Oh, you mean the forest ranger!” broke in Joe eagerly. “Sure, I
remember him. He was one of the most interesting fellows I ever
met.”

“I’ll never forget what he told us about radio being used to get the
best of forest fires,” said Herb. “I could have listened to him all
night when once he got going.”

“He’s a regular fellow, all right,” was Jimmy’s comment. “But what
about him? When did you see him?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” explained Bob. “Dad got a letter from him
yesterday. You know dad and he are old friends. Mr. Bentley asked
dad to remember him to all the radio boys, and said to tell us that
he was going to give a talk on radio and forest fires from the
Newark broadcasting station before long and wanted us to be sure to
listen in.”

“Will we?” returned Joe enthusiastically. “You bet we will! But
when’s the talk coming off?”

“Mr. Bentley said that the exact date hadn’t been settled yet,”
replied Bob. “But it will be some time within the next week or ten
days. He promised to let us know in plenty of time.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for a farm,” chimed in Jimmy. “But if it’s great
to hear about it, what must it be to be right in the thick of the
work as he is? Some fellows have all the luck.”

“Perhaps there are times when he doesn’t think it luck,” laughed
Bob. “Half a dozen times he’s just escaped death by the skin of his
teeth. But look, fellows, who’s coming.”

The others followed the direction of Bob’s glance and saw a group of
three boys coming toward them. One, who seemed to be the leader, was
a big hulking fellow with a pasty complexion and eyes that were set
too close together. At his right was a boy slightly younger and on
the outside another, younger yet, with a furtive and shifty look.

“Buck Looker, Carl Lutz and Terry Mooney!” exclaimed Bob. “I haven’t
come across them since we got back from the woods.”

“Guess they’ve kept out of our way on purpose,” remarked Joe. “You
can bet they’ve felt mighty cheap over the way you put it over on
them in the matter of those letters.”

“‘There were three crows sat on a tree,’” chanted Jimmy.

“‘And they were black as crows could be,’” finished Herb.

The objects of these unflattering remarks had caught sight of the
four boys, and as at the moment they were at a corner, they
hesitated slightly, as though they were minded to turn down the side
street. But after conferring for a moment, they kept on, their
leader assuming a swaggering air. And whereas before the three had
been simply conversing as they came along, they now began a
boisterous skylarking, snatching each other’s caps and knocking each
other about.

Just as they came abreast of the other group, Buck gave Lutz a
violent shove and sent him with full force against Joe, who was
nearest. The latter was taken unawares and almost knocked off his
feet.

Joe had a quick temper, and the malicious wantonness of the act made
his blood boil. He rushed toward Buck, who backed away from him, his
face gradually losing the grin it wore.

“What did you mean by that?” demanded Joe, clenching his fist.

“Aw, what’s the matter with you?” growled Buck. “How did I know he’d
knock against you? It was just an accident. Why didn’t you get out
of the way?”

“Accident nothing,” replied Joe. “You’re the same sneak that you
always were, Buck Looker. You planned that thing when you stopped
and talked together. And now something’s going to happen to you, and
it won’t be an accident, either!”

He advanced upon Buck, who hurriedly retreated to the middle of the
street and looked about him for a stone.

“You keep away from me, Joe Atwood, or I’ll let you have this,” he
half snarled, half whined, stooping as he spoke and picking up a
stone as big as his fist.

“You coward!” snapped Joe, still advancing. “Don’t think that’s
going to save you from a licking.”

Just then a sharp warning came from Bob.

“Stop, Joe!” he cried. “Here comes Dr. Dale.”

A look of chagrin came into Joe’s face and a look of relief into
Buck’s, as they saw the pastor of the Old First Church turning a
corner and coming in their direction. Fighting now was out of the
question.

“Lucky for you that he turned up just now,” blustered Buck, his old
swagger returning as he felt himself safe. “I was just going to give
you the licking of your life.”

Joe laughed sarcastically, and before the biting contempt in that
laugh Buck flushed uncomfortably.

“Stones seem to be your best friends,” said Joe. “I remember how you
used them in the snowballs when you smashed that plate-glass window.
And I remember too how you tried to fib out of it, but had to pay
for the window just the same.”

By this time Dr. Dale was within earshot, and Buck and his
companions slunk away, while Joe picked up his books and rejoined
his comrades.

The doctor’s keen eyes had seen that hostilities were threatening
but now that they had been averted he had too much tact and good
sense to ask any questions.

“How are you, boys?” he greeted them, with the genial smile that
made him a general favorite. “Working hard at your studies, I
suppose.”

“More or less hard,” answered Bob. “Though probably not nearly as
hard as we ought to,” he added.

The doctor’s eyes twinkled.

“Very few of us are in danger of dying from overwork, I imagine,” he
said. “But I’ve known you chaps to work mighty hard at radio.”

“That isn’t work!” exclaimed Joe. “That’s fun.”

“Sure thing,” echoed Herb.

“I’ll tell the world it is,” added Jimmy.

“We can’t wait for a chance to get at it,” affirmed Bob.

“Seems to be unanimous,” laughed the doctor. “I feel the same way
myself. I never get tired of it, and I suppose the reason is that
something new is turning up all the time. One magical thing treads
close on the heels of another so that there’s no such thing as
monotony. There isn’t a week that passes, scarcely a day in fact,
that something doesn’t spring up that makes you gasp with
astonishment. Your mind is kept on the alert all the time, and
that’s one thing among many others that makes the charm of radio.”

“I see that they’re using it everywhere in the Government
departments,” remarked Bob.

“Every single one of them,” replied the doctor. The President
himself has had a set installed and uses it constantly. The head of
the army talks over it to every fort and garrison and camp in the
United States. The Secretary of the Navy communicates by it with
every ship and naval station in the Atlantic and Pacific as far away
as Honolulu and the Philippines. The Secretary of Agriculture sends
out information broadcast to every farmer in the United States who
happens to have a radio receiving set. And so with every other
branch of the Government.

“That reminds me,” he went on, warming to his subject, as he always
did when he got on his favorite theme, “of a talk I had the other
day on the train with a man in the Government Air Mail Service. He
was a man, too, who knew what he was talking about, for he was the
first man to fly the mail successfully both ways between New York
and Washington on the initial air mail run.

“He told me that plans are now on foot to fly mail across the
continent, daily, both ways, in something like twenty-four hours.
Just think of that! From coast to coast in twenty-four hours! That’s
five times as fast as an express train does it, and a hundred times
as fast as the old pioneers with their prairie schooners could do
it.

“But in order to do this, a gap of about a thousand miles must be
flown at night. And here is where the radio comes in. In order to be
able to find his way in the dark, the flier uses his ears instead of
his eyes. He wears a radio-telephone helmet that excludes the noise
of the motor. A coil of wire is wound on his plane and is connected
to a radio receiving set on board. Along his route at stated
intervals are transmission stations whose signals come up to the
aviator. When the pilot’s direction finder is pointed toward these
stations that mark out his path the signals are loudest. The minute
he begins to get off his path, either on one side or the other, the
signals begin to get weaker.

“Now, you see, all that the pilot has to do is to keep along the
line where the signals are loudest. If he goes a little to the right
and finds the signals getting weaker, he knows he must shift a
little back to the left again until he gets on the loudest sound
line. The same process has to be followed if he gets off to the
left. You see, it’s just as if the plane were running along a
trolley line miles below it. Only in this case the trolley line
instead of being made of wire is made of sound. That loudest sound
line will stretch right across the continent, and all the flier has
to do is to run along it. If he does this, he’ll get to his
destination just as certainly as does the train running along the
rails that lead to the station.”

“It’s wonderful!” exclaimed Bob.

“Sounds like witchcraft,” commented Joe.

“You see how easy that makes it for the aviator,” resumed the
doctor. “It may be as black as Egypt, but that makes no difference
to him. He may be shrouded in fog, but that can’t bewilder him or
shunt him off his course. He can shut his eyes and get along just as
well. All he’s got to do is not to go to sleep. And when the dawn
breaks he finds himself a thousand miles or so nearer to his
destination.”

“Suppose he gets to his landing field in the night time or in a
heavy fog,” said Joe thoughtfully. “How’s he going to know where to
come down?”

“Radio attends to that too,” replied the doctor. “At each landing
place there will be a peculiar kind of radio transmission aerial,
which transmits vertically in the form of a cone that gains diameter
as it goes higher. At a height of about three thousand feet above
the field, such a cone will have a diameter of nearly half a mile.
In other words this sound cone will be like a horn of plenty with
the tip on the ground and its wide opening up in the air. The pilot
will sail right into this wide mouth of the horn which he will
recognize by its peculiar signal. Then he will spiral down on the
inside of the cone, or horn, until he reaches the tip on the ground.
This will be right in the middle of the landing field, and there he
is safe and sound.

“But here I am at my corner,” Dr. Dale concluded. “And perhaps it’s
just as well, for when I get to talking on radio I never know when
to stop.”

He said good-by with a wave of his hand while the four boys looked
after him with respect and admiration.

“He’s all to the good, isn’t he?” said Bob.

“You bet he is!” agreed Joe emphatically.

“He’s—Hello! what’s the matter?”

A sudden commotion was evident up the street. People were running
excitedly and shouting in consternation.

The boys broke into a run in the direction followed by the crowd.

“What’s happened?” Bob asked, as he came abreast of a panting
runner.

“There’s been an explosion up at Layton’s drug store,” the man
replied. “They say an ammonia tank burst and everybody up there was
killed.”

Bob’s face grew ashen.

“My father!” he cried, and ran toward the store in an agony of grief
and fear.




                             CHAPTER II

                          ALMOST A TRAGEDY


With his heart beating like a triphammer and his lungs strained
almost to bursting, Bob ran on as he had never run before. And yet
it seemed to him as though he were terribly slow and that his limbs
were dragging as though he were in a nightmare.

Joe, Herb and Jimmy were close behind him as he rushed along,
elbowing his way through the throng that grew denser as he neared
the building in which his father’s store was located. The alarm had
spread with almost lightning rapidity, and it seemed as if half the
people of the town were on their way to render whatever help might
be possible.

In what seemed to be an age, but was in reality less than two
minutes, the boys had reached the store. What they saw was not
calculated to relieve their fears. Choking fumes of what seemed to
be ammonia were pouring out into the streets through the store
windows that had been shattered by the explosion. People who had
come within twenty feet of the place were already choking and
staggering, and one man who had approached too near had fallen prone
on the sidewalk and was being dragged by others out of the danger
zone.

Bob plunged headforemost through the crowd and was making for the
door when cries of warning rose and many hands grasped him and
pulled him back.

“Let me go!” he shouted frantically. “My father is in there! Perhaps
he is dying! Let me go!”

But despite his frantic appeals, his captors held him until he
unbuttoned his jacket and, wriggling out of it like an eel, again
made a dash for the door. The fumes struck him full in the face, and
he staggered as under a blow. Before he could recover and make
another attempt, strong arms were around him and this time held him
fast.

“No use, Bob, my boy,” said the firm but kindly voice of Mr. Talley,
a warm friend both of Bob and his father. “It’s simply suicide to go
in there until the fumes thin out some. Here comes the fire engine
now. The firemen have smoke helmets that will protect them against
the fumes, and if your father is in there, they’ll have him out
quickly.”

Up the street, with a great clangor of bells, came tearing the
engine. The crowd made way for it, while the firemen leaped from the
running board before it came to a stop.

“I’ve got to do something!” gasped Bob. “Let me go!”

“No use, my boy,” said Mr. Talley.

Just then Joe had an inspiration.

“Bob,” he shouted, “there’s that passageway from the old factory
that leads right to the back of the store. Perhaps we can get in
from that. What do you say?”

In a flash, Bob remembered. He tore himself loose from Mr. Talley’s
grasp and was off after Joe, running like a deer.

And while the boys are frantically seizing this chance of rescue, it
may be well for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding
volumes of this series to tell briefly who the Radio Boys were and
what had been their adventures up to the time this story opens.

Bob Layton, who at this time was about sixteen years old, had been
born and brought up in Clintonia, a wide-awake, thriving town with a
population of over ten thousand. It was pleasantly located on a
little stream called the Shagary River, less than a hundred miles
from New York City. Bob’s father was a leading citizen of the town
and a prosperous druggist and chemist. No one in the town was more
highly respected, and although not rich, he had achieved a
comfortable competence.

Bob was a general favorite with the people of the town because of
his sunny temperament and his straightforward, manly character. He
was tall, sinewy, of dark complexion and a leader among the young
fellows of his own age in all athletic sports, especially in
baseball and football. On the school nine and eleven he was a pillar
of strength, cool, resourceful and determined. His courage was often
tested and never failed to meet the test. He never looked for
trouble, but never dodged it when it came.

His closest friend was Joe Atwood, whose father was a prominent
physician of Clintonia. Joe was of fair complexion, with merry blue
eyes that were usually full of laughter. They could flash ominously
on occasion, however, for Joe’s temper was of the hair-trigger
variety and sometimes got him into trouble. He seldom needed a spur,
but more than once a brake was applied by Bob, who had much more
coolness and self-control. The pair got on excellently together and
were almost inseparable.

Closely allied to this pair of friends were two other boys, slightly
younger but near enough to their ages to make congenial comrades.
One of these was Herb Fennington, whose father kept the largest
general store in town. Herb was a jolly likeable young fellow, none
too fond of hard work, but full of jokes and conundrums that he was
always ready to spring on the slightest encouragement and often
without any encouragement at all.

The fourth member of the group was Jimmy Plummer, whose father was a
carpenter and contractor. Nature never intended Jimmy for an
athlete, for he was chunky and fat and especially fond of the good
things of life; so much so in fact that he went by the nickname of
“Doughnuts” because of his liking for that delectable product. He
was rollicking and good-natured, and the other boys were strongly
attached to him.

They would have been warm friends under any circumstances, but they
were drawn still more closely together because of their common
interest in the science of radio. The enthusiasm that swept the
country when the marvels of the new science became known caught them
in its grip and made them the most ardent of radio “fans.” They
absorbed anything they could hear or read on the subject, and almost
all their spare time was spent in delving into the mysteries of this
miracle of modern days.

While the Radio Boys, as they soon began to be called, were popular
with and friendly to almost all the other Clintonia boys, there was
one group in the town with whom they were almost constantly at odds.
Buck Looker and two of his cronies, Carl Lutz and Terry Mooney, were
the special enemies of the Radio Boys and never lost an opportunity,
if it were possible to bring it about, of doing them mischief in a
mean and underhand way.

Buck’s father was one of the richest men in the town, and this
enabled Buck to lord it over Lutz, slightly younger than he, and
Mooney, younger yet, both of them sneaks and trouble-makers, who
cringed to Buck because of his father’s wealth.

The boys might not have made such rapid progress with their radio
had it not been for the help and inspiration given them by Dr. Dale,
the pastor of the Old First Church, who was himself keenly
interested and very proficient in the science. He understood boys,
liked them and was always ready to help them out when they were
perplexed in any phase of their sending or receiving. They in turn
liked him thoroughly, a liking that was increased by their knowledge
that he had been a star athlete in his college days.

Another thing that stimulated their interest in radio was the offer
of prizes by Mr. Ferberton, the member of Congress for their
district, for the best radio sets turned out by the boys themselves.
Herb was a bit lazy and kept out of the contest, but Bob, Joe and
Jimmy entered into the competition with zest.

An unexpected happening just about this time led the boys into a
whole train of adventures. A visitor in town, a Miss Nellie Berwick,
lost control of the automobile she was driving and the machine
dashed through the windows of a store. A fire ensued and the girl
might have lost her life had it not been for the courage of the
Radio Boys who rescued her from her shattered car.

How the boys learned of the orphan girl’s story; how by the use of
the radio they got on the track of the fellow who had defrauded her,
how Buck Looker and his gang attempted to ruin their chances in the
radio competition, can be read in the first volume of this series,
entitled: “The Radio Boys’ First Wireless; Or, Winning the Ferberton
Prize.”

Summer had come by that time and the Radio Boys went with their
parents to a little bungalow colony on the seashore. They carried
their radio sets with them, though they had no inkling of what an
important and thrilling part those sets were to play. What advances
they made in the practical knowledge of the science; how in a
terrible storm they were able to send out radio messages that
brought help to the steamer on which their own people were voyaging;
all these adventures are told in the second book of the series,
entitled: “The Radio Boys at Ocean Point; Or, the Message that Saved
the Ship.”

Several weeks still remained of the vacation season, and the boys
had an opportunity of saving the occupants of a rowboat that had
been heartlessly run down by thieves in a stolen motor-boat. Two of
the rescued people were Larry Bartlett and a friend who were
vaudeville actors, between whom and the boys a warm friendship
sprang up. How they exonerated Larry from a false charge of theft
brought by Buck Looker; how when an accident crippled Larry they
obtained for him a chance to use his talents in a broadcasting
station; how this led eventually to themselves being placed on the
program can be seen in the third volume of the series, entitled:
“The Radio Boys at the Sending Station; Or, Making Good in the
Wireless Room.”

The boys reluctantly bade farewell to the beach and returned to
Clintonia for the fall term of high school. But their studies had
not continued for many weeks before an epidemic in the town made it
necessary to close the school for a time. This proved a blessing in
disguise, for it gave the Radio Boys an opportunity to make a visit
to Mountain Pass, a popular resort in the hills. Here they made the
acquaintance of a Wall Street man to whom they were able to render a
great service by thwarting a gang of plotters who were working for
his undoing. By the use of radio they were able to summon help and
save a life when all the passes were blocked with snow. They trapped
Buck Looker and his gang in a clever way just when it seemed that
the latter’s plots were going through, and had a host of other
adventures, all narrated in the fourth volume of the series,
entitled: “The Radio Boys at Mountain Pass; Or, the Midnight Call
for Assistance.”

Shortly after the boys had returned to Clintonia, they were startled
to learn that the criminal Dan Cassey, with two other desperate
characters, had escaped from jail. A series of mysterious messages
over the radio put them on the trail of the convicts. How well the
boys played their part in this thrilling and dangerous work is told
in the fifth volume of the series, entitled: “The Radio Boys
Trailing a Voice: Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery.”

And now to return to Bob and Joe, as, panting with their exertions
and followed by their comrades, they rushed toward the old factory
from which they hoped to reach the rear of Mr. Layton’s store.

The place had formerly been used by a chemical concern with which
Mr. Layton was connected in an advisory capacity. He was skilled in
his profession and his services had been highly appreciated. An
amalgamation of several similar concerns had now been effected, and
for purposes of economy the headquarters of the company had been
removed to another city and the old factory had been abandoned.

While it had been in operation it had been connected with the rear
of Mr. Layton’s store by an underground tunnel that was just large
enough to permit easy access from one place to the other. A large
door closed it at the factory end, while at the rear of the store a
flight of steps led up to a large, square trapdoor set in the floor.

Bob’s mind was in a tumult of emotions as he ran along. It was a
long time since he had been in the factory, and in the confusion of
his thoughts he could not remember whether the great door was locked
or not. And even if he succeeded in gaining access there, the
possibility remained that the trapdoor at the other end might prove
to be bolted. In either case, it would be impossible to get into the
store until it was too late to be of any use. And at this very
moment his father might be gasping out his life in those terrible
fumes!

He reached the factory, flung himself through the open outer door
and made for the door leading into the passageway. He pulled
frantically at the knob, but it resisted his efforts. Was it locked,
after all? The answer was supplied the next moment when Joe added
his strength to Bob’s, and yielding to their united efforts the
heavy door, groaning and creaking on its rusted hinges, swung
outward. Jimmy and Herb had been outdistanced and were nowhere to be
seen.

With an inward prayer of gratitude Bob plunged into the dusty
passage that had been unused for years. Fortunately it ran in a
straight line, and although he had no light he had little difficulty
in finding his way, despite the fact that he abraded his hands and
shins against the sides, owing to the rate at which he was going.
But in his excitement the youth did not even feel the bruises.

In a moment he had reached the foot of the steps, bounded up them
and was pushing with all his might at the trapdoor at the head. It
yielded under his efforts enough to show that it was not bolted. For
a moment though, it seemed as though it might as well have been, for
some heavy object or objects lying on it defied his strength. By
this time Joe was at his side, and together they strained at the
door, while the veins stood out in ridges along their arms and
shoulders. Had they not been strung up to such a pitch, they could
never have succeeded, but sheer desperation gave them strength far
beyond the normal, and gradually they forced the trap upward and
rolled over to one side what had been holding it down.

In a twinkling both the boys were up in the store. The fumes had
thinned out somewhat, but were still thick enough to make them gasp
and choke. Whatever they had to do must be done quickly.




                            CHAPTER III

                             QUICK WORK


The room into which the boys had leaped was a small laboratory
fitted up in the rear of the store. As Bob’s eyes ranged about, they
fell on two bodies lying at the side of the trapdoor. These were
what had been holding the trapdoor down. A glance sufficed to show
Bob that one was the body of his father and the other that of
Thompson, one of the clerks of the store.

In a moment Bob was on his knees at his father’s side.

“Dad!” he cried. “Dad! Are you alive? Speak to me!”

But no answer came from the motionless lips.

Bob put his hand on his father’s heart. It was still beating, though
slowly and fitfully.

“Quick, Joe,” shouted Bob. “Help me get him out of this.”

Joe responded instantly, but at this moment the firemen, who had
been groping about in the blinding fumes, stumbled into the room.
Willing hands grasped the bodies of Mr. Layton and the clerk and
carried them out to the sidewalk. Here a cordon was quickly formed
to keep the crowd back.

The telephone had been busy while these events were happening, and
all the physicians in the town had been summoned. Oxygen tanks and
pulmotors had also been requisitioned from the hospital and the
ambulance containing them arrived just as the rescues were being
effected. Dr. Atwood, Joe’s father, and Dr. Ellis were already on
the scene, and the former took charge of Mr. Layton, while Dr. Ellis
devoted himself to the clerk.

Then followed moments full of heartbreaks for Bob, while he waited
for the doctor’s verdict. Both the physicians worked with skill and
quickness, but it was some time before their efforts were rewarded.

Joe placed his arm affectionately about his friend’s shoulder, while
Herb and Jimmy also added words of encouragement. Bob tried to be
brave, but his heart was rent with anguish while he waited for the
words that would mean life or death.

Finally, after what seemed an age, Dr. Atwood rose to his feet with
relief and satisfaction in his eyes.

“He will live,” he said, and with the words Bob felt as though the
weight of a thousand tons had been lifted from his heart. “For a
while it was a case of touch or go, but you got him out just in
time. Two minutes more and it would have been too late. All he needs
now is rest and good nursing, and he’ll be as well as ever in a
couple of weeks.”

At the same moment Mr. Layton opened his eyes and looked around. His
gaze was vague and uncertain at first, but as his eyes fell upon Bob
they lighted up with a smile of recognition, and he tried to reach
out his hand to him. But he was too weak, and the hand fell
helplessly at his side. In a moment Bob was kneeling beside him and
patting his hand.

“Dad, Dad,” he cried. “Thank God!” And then because his heart was
too full he could say no more.

Dr. Ellis also announced that Thompson was out of danger, and the
patients were lifted into the ambulance and conveyed to their
respective homes.

The week that followed was a trying one for Bob and his mother. The
latter was assiduous at the bedside of her husband, who, although
steadily recovering, mended slowly. Bob, apart from his anxiety over
his father’s condition, found a great deal of responsibility placed
on his shoulders. The store had to be repaired and put in order for
carrying on the business. Insurance also had to be attended to, and
a host of other details forced themselves upon his attention.
Fortunately the head clerk, a Mr. Trent, who had been absent at the
time of the accident, was an expert pharmacist and a good manager;
so that, after the first few days, business had been resumed and was
going on as usual. Still, Bob was heavily taxed with matters that
were comparatively new to him. He rose to the occasion, however, in
a way that made his father proud of him.

“You’re my right hand, Bob,” his father said to him one day, as he
sat by his bedside. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve
carried on affairs as though you were an old hand at the business.
It’s too bad that all this had to be shoved on you so suddenly, but
you’ve stood the test nobly.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Bob, making light of the matter,
though his father’s praise was sweet to him. “All you’ve got to do
is to get well and nothing else matters.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how the thing happened,” mused his
father, “but to save my life I can’t understand it. All I was
conscious of was a terrific noise and a shock as though I had been
hit on the head by a triphammer. Then everything went black and I
knew nothing more until I saw you standing beside me on the
sidewalk.”

“Don’t excite yourself by trying to remember,” replied Bob
soothingly. “The important thing is that you’re alive. All the rest
is nothing.”

Bob’s chums had also felt an anxiety only second to his own. They
were full of sympathy and showed it by doing everything they could
to help him and lighten the load that he was carrying. All the spare
time they had they spent with him at his home or at the store. The
calamity had served to cement the ties that bound the friends
together.

By the time a week had passed, matters took an upward turn. Mr.
Layton began to progress rapidly, and Dr. Atwood prophesied that in
a few days he could begin to attend to business, although at first
he could devote only a few hours a day to it, lengthening the time
as his strength came back. Affairs in the Layton household resumed
their normal course and Bob had time to catch up with his studies
that had been temporarily neglected and devote himself once more to
his beloved radio.

His interest in the latter was further heightened by the receipt of
a letter that came one morning to his father, and whose contents Bob
proceeded at once to share with his comrades.

“That talk by Mr. Bentley over the radio is fixed for to-morrow
night, fellows,” he told them eagerly, as they started off for
school. “Don’t make any other engagement and be sure to be on hand.
Suppose you come round to my house to listen in. I’ve been tinkering
on my set this last day or two, and I’ve got it tuned to the queen’s
taste. And if it’s as cool to-morrow as it is to-day, old static
won’t be butting in to any extent.”

“Let’s hope not,” replied Joe. “I don’t want to miss a single word.”

“Same here,” echoed Herb. “That Bentley has something to say and he
sure knows how to say it.”

“It’s always worth while listening when a he-man talks,” commented
Jimmy, whose imagination had been captured by the breezy personality
of the bronzed forest ranger.




                             CHAPTER IV

                      RADIO THE FIRE-CONQUEROR


Promptly at eight o’clock on the following night the Radio Boys
gathered at Bob’s house to listen to Mr. Bentley’s talk over the
radio on radio and forest fires. Even Jimmy, who as a rule lingered
long at the supper table and could usually be depended on to be at
the tail end of any procession, had made an exception on this
occasion, and appeared before the clock struck, although slightly
out of breath.

“You’re puffing like a grampus,” remarked Herb, as he surveyed his
rotund friend critically.

“I don’t know what a grampus is,” returned Jimmy; “but I wouldn’t
blame him for puffing if he’d hurried through his supper the way I
did. Had some fresh doughnuts, too, for dessert, but I cut short on
them.”

“Cut short!” snorted Herb, in frank disbelief. “How many did you
eat?”

“Only seven,” returned Jimmy, unabashed. “I’m usually good for ten.”

“What’s making your pockets bulge so?” asked Joe suspiciously.

“Those are the other three doughnuts,” explained Jimmy placidly, as
he took one out and began to munch on it. “I’ve got to keep up my
strength, you know.”

“Well, here’s where you grow weaker,” declared Joe, as he made a
dive for Jimmy’s pocket and snatched out one of the remaining
doughnuts and began to devour it.

Jimmy made a wild dive for it, which gave Herb a chance to pull the
last one from his pocket, a chance of which he availed himself with
neatness and dispatch.

They dodged about the room while Jimmy tried in vain to regain his
treasures, which, however, soon vanished to the last crumb.

“This joint ought to be pinched,” Jimmy said, in pronounced disgust,
when all hope had gone. “I didn’t think that I was coming into a
nest of crooks.”

“Never mind, Jimmy,” Bob laughed. “There’s a delicious apple pie in
the pantry that mother has laid aside for us, and I’ll see that your
slice is twice as big as those of these two highbinders.”

Jimmy brightened up visibly at this, and further hostilities were
averted.

In deference to Mr. Layton’s condition, the loud speaker was not
used that night, and the boys adjusted their respective earphones
and prepared to listen in to the entertainment furnished by WJZ, the
signal letters of the Newark broadcasting station.

Mr. Bentley’s talk was scheduled on the program to take place at
nine, and the boys were so impatient for this to begin that they did
not pay as much attention as usual to the other features that
preceded it. Not but what they were well worth listening to. There
was a glorious violin solo played by a celebrated master, the rich
notes rising and falling in wonderful bursts of melody. Then there
was a talk by a star third baseman of national reputation, telling
how he played the “difficult corner” and narrating some ludicrous
happenings in the great game. Following this was a jazz rendition of
the “Old Alabama Moon,” and then came one of Sousa’s band pieces
that set feet to jigging in time with the music. WJZ was surely
putting on a most interesting program.

At last came the announcement for which the Radio Boys were waiting,
and they straightened up in an attitude of intent listening.

“Mr. Payne Bentley, of the United States Forest Service,” stated the
announcer, “will tell us of the work done by radio in the prevention
and extinction of fires in the national forests. Mr. Bentley has
spent many years in this important and hazardous work, both as
aviator and radio operator, and speaks with authority.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then came the clear strong voice
that the boys had been waiting for and which they recognized at
once.

“There’s the old boy, sure enough,” murmured Jimmy delightedly.

“S-sh,” came from the others, as they settled down to listen.

“I am not a practiced orator,” Mr. Bentley began after the customary
salutation to his invisible audience, “and if my talk shall prove of
any interest to you, it will be due not to the way in which I
express myself but to the importance of my subject.”

After this modest opening he plunged into his theme, and for a space
of perhaps twenty minutes presented an array of facts and incidents
that riveted the closest attention of his great audience. At least,
that was the way it affected the Radio Boys, and they had no doubt
that thousands of others were listening with the same fascinated
interest. Nor was this due simply to the personal attraction the
speaker had for the boys. Had they not known him at all, the subject
matter of his talk would have been sufficient to hold them
enchained.

With a few broad strokes the speaker sketched the awakening of the
national Government to the value of its forest riches and the
necessity of conserving them. Uncle Sam, he said, had been in the
position of a prodigal father, so rich that he believed his wealth
would never be used up, therefore perfectly willing that his sons
should scatter it broadcast. Why worry, when there were millions and
millions of acres teeming with trees that could scarcely be
numbered? So he had shut his eyes to the denuding of the forests.

But suddenly he had awakened with a shock. For he had realized after
all that his wealth was not limitless. Great tracts had been
stripped of their trees to such an extent that the watercourses in
their vicinity had dried up or greatly diminished in volume. After
the great trunks had been borne away, tons of branches had been left
to dry until they became like tinder needing only a spark to fan
them into a holocaust of flame that swept over thousands of acres,
leaving only blasted and charred skeletons of what had been living
trees. Hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of valuable timber had
literally vanished in smoke.

Fortunately the Government had not aroused itself too late. It was
not a case of locking the stable door after all the horses had been
stolen. There was still enough left, with careful husbanding, to
provide against national disaster. But the waste must stop right
here. Reforesting must keep pace with deforesting. For every tree
taken away, another must be grown to take its place. And above all,
the fires that had been taking such fearful toll of our forest
wealth must be prevented as far as possible. And where prevention
was unavailing, the best and most improved methods of getting the
fires under control and extinguishing them must be adopted and
applied.

So the United States Forestry Service had come into being, and the
fire loss had been immeasurably reduced. Stations had been
established in great tracts of woodland from the Atlantic to the
Pacific. Men with special qualities had been picked for the hard and
dangerous work of forest rangers. They were the policemen of the
woods, authorized to take action against many grades of human
malefactors, but cautioned to be on their guard especially against
the great archdemon—Fire!

In the woods as in the cities, the speaker pointed out, time is the
greatest element in the curbing of fire. That is why the great
engines go thundering down city streets at such tremendous speed.
The loss of one minute of time may mean the loss of millions of
dollars. Time to a city fireman is measured not in minutes but in
seconds, and sometimes even in tenths of a second.

The same thing was true in forest fires. The alarm must be given
instantly. It must be flashed to scores of villages and settlements
lying in the threatened area. It must call hordes of settlers and
woodmen to join in the work of getting the fire under control. How
could this most effectively be done? The answer was in one word.
Radio!

For Uncle Sam had come to realize that in this wonderful agency he
had found the solution of his problem. He had tried many others.
There had been lofty stations that had wig-wagged signals from one
height to another, but this method had only a limited range and was
ineffective under conditions of cloud and fog and darkness.
Telegraph and telephone lines had been strung through the woods
between stations, but in many cases the trees to which they had been
strung and the wires themselves had been burned in the very fire
that the operators had been trying to control.

But radio had none of these handicaps. It could work by night as
well as by day. There were no wires to be melted. It worked in the
valleys as easily as in the hills. The tiniest glint of fire, the
smallest thread of smoke—and instantly the message was flung out
into the ether, reaching every camp, every settlement, every party
in the woods who carried their radio receiving sets with them,
telling them just where the fire was starting and summoning them to
help.

And it did more than that. As soon as the fire was located, aviators
whose planes were equipped with radio hovered above the line of
flame and gave directions by wireless to the workers below. Those on
the ground, blistered and blinded by the flame and smoke against
which they were waging war, could not see where the fire was
spreading nor the best means to combat it. But the aviator from his
lofty perch surveyed the whole scene, could call the fire fighters
to the point where they were most needed, could point out the place
where ditches should be cut or backfires started, and in general
direct the whole campaign.

It was not to be supposed, the speaker said, that the value of radio
for this purpose was instantaneously recognized. Large bodies move
slowly, and the national Government was very conservative and, like
the man from Missouri, wanted to be “shown.” Objections were raised
that the cost of carrying and setting up the radio apparatus in the
wilderness would be prohibitive. But there were men of vision who
knew better and they kept pounding away until their plans were put
into execution. In the end the advocates of radio won. And what that
wonderful radio has saved to the United States Government has run up
already into the hundreds of millions.

Many incidents, some amusing, others thrilling, connected with the
Forest Service were narrated by the speaker, who then finished his
remarks in this fashion:

“Before I close, let me say that if the Radio Boys of Clintonia are
listening in, I am sending my regards and will soon call upon them
again.”




                             CHAPTER V

                       THE WONDERFUL SCIENCE


The effect of this closing sentence on the Radio Boys was electric.
They had been engrossed in the subject of the talk, and the personal
twist that came at the end took them utterly by surprise. Bob jumped
as though he had been shot, and Jimmy nearly fell off his chair.

“Well! what do you think of that?” exclaimed Joe, as soon as he got
his breath.

“Wasn’t that dandy of the old scout?” sputtered Herb, not yet
recovered from his surprise.

“Talking to hundreds of thousands and yet taking time to send a
special message to us!” remarked Bob, with deep gratification.

“Radio Boys of Clintonia!” chuckled Jimmy. “Guess we’re some
pumpkins, say, what?”

“How I wish we could answer back and tell him what we thought of his
address,” observed Joe regretfully.

“You’ll have a chance to do that when you see him face to face,” Bob
reminded him. “You remember that he said he’d call on us soon.”

“Can’t be too soon to suit me,” declared Herb emphatically.

“And that’s the man who began by saying that he wasn’t a practiced
orator!” commented Bob. “Gee, I think it was one of the most
eloquent things I ever heard. I wouldn’t have missed a word of it.
I’ll bet that if he’d have delivered that in a crowded hall his
hearers would have raised the roof.”

“He’s there with the goods all right,” agreed Joe. “And did you
notice how modest he was? Not a word about his own personal
adventures, but boosting the other fellows to beat the band. I tell
you, that fellow’s a real man.”

“We were in luck when we got acquainted with him,” declared Bob.
“And by the way, fellows, did you ever stop to think how many fine
fellows we’ve met in the radio line? There’s Frank Brandon and
Brandon Harvey and Payne Bentley, all of them princes.”

“Not to mention Doctor Dale,” put in Herb. “Of course we knew him
before, but we never got real close to him until we took up this
radio work.”

“What a treat it would be to get those four together and get them
started talking about radio!” ejaculated Joe. “Maybe we wouldn’t
learn something!”

“You said it,” affirmed Jimmy. “I wouldn’t want to say a word but
just sit still and listen.”

There were still other numbers on the program of WJZ, but the boys
were so absorbed in Mr. Bentley and his talk that they did not care
for anything else that night. They sat talking it over until Joe,
looking at his watch, was startled to find that it was nearly
midnight.

“Guess we’d better be making tracks,” he said, reaching for his cap.

Jimmy was the only one of the visitors who did not follow his
example.

“Glued to the chair?” inquired Herb flippantly. “Going to make Bob
twice glad by staying all night?”

“I was thinking,” said Jimmy dreamily, “of a little word that I
heard earlier in the evening. A very little word it was, but it
means a lot in my young life. Only three letters. Let me see! P-i-e.
Yes, that’s it. Pie. I knew I’d be able to recall it.”

“That’s a safe bet,” said Joe. “If you remembered your lessons half
as well, you’d stand higher in your classes.”

Bob, recalled to his duties as host, hurried to the pantry, whence
he returned bearing one of the apple pies for which Mrs. Layton was
famous.

“Do you think you’d better eat anything so late at night, Jimmy?”
asked Herb, with mock solicitude.

“I don’t think—I know,” returned Jimmy, with emphasis. “It may kill
me, but at least I’ll die happy. But I don’t believe it will kill
me. Do you remember what I did in that pie-eating contest up in the
woods? Don’t forget that I’m a champion.”

Bob started to cut the pie into four equal pieces, when Jimmy
intervened.

“Remember your promise, Bob,” he said. “I was to have twice as much
as these crooks who robbed me of my doughnuts. Cut it into five
pieces and give me two of them.”

“Your figuring is rotten, Jimmy,” declared Joe. “That would give you
twice as much as either Herb or me, and so far it’s all right. But
it would also give you twice as much as Bob, and that wasn’t in the
bargain. He didn’t swipe one of your doughnuts.”

Jimmy looked perplexed. He was not especially strong in mathematics.

“That’s so,” he admitted. “Suppose then we cut it into six pieces.
That will be two for Bob, two for me and one apiece for you crooks.”

“There again you’re wrong,” persisted the implacable Joe. “It’s all
right for you to have double what we have, but where does Bob come
in to have two to our one? We didn’t rob him of a doughnut.”

Now poor Jimmy was puzzled indeed. It was clear to him that if the
pie were cut in five pieces, of which he had two, he would have an
unfair advantage over Bob. There was no reason why he should have
twice what Bob had. On the other hand if it were cut in six pieces,
of which Bob had two, Bob for no reason whatever would have twice as
much as Herb or Joe. How could the pie be cut so that Bob would have
his fair share and no more and yet Jimmy have twice as much as
either Herb or Joe? Into exactly how many equal pieces must it be
divided so that justice might be done?

Perhaps some of our young readers might be puzzled to answer the
question. Jimmy certainly was. So much so in fact that he made a
virtue of necessity and decided to be generous.

“Oh, all right,” he said with a magnificent gesture. “Cut it into
four equal pieces and let it go at that. I’ll get even with you
fellows some other way.”

“How sweet of you,” replied Joe, grinning, hastening to grab his
quarter before Jimmy should repent of his offer. “Only I’m not sure
whether this is softness of heart or softness of brain. You’d never
have done it if you hadn’t got mixed up in your figuring.”

Jimmy tried to think of some crushing retort, but by that time he
had started to eat the pie, and he put his whole attention so
thoroughly on the work that less important things were forgotten.

The next afternoon, as Bob was going down to his father’s store, he
ran across Dr. Dale. After the doctor had made inquiries as to how
Mr. Layton was progressing, Bob asked him:

“By the way, Doctor, were you listening in at WJZ last night?”

“No, I wasn’t,” replied the doctor. “Was there anything that was
especially interesting?”

“We found it so,” responded Bob, and then proceeded to give an
outline of the talk of the forest ranger.

“It must have been fine,” Dr. Dale commented when Bob had concluded.
“I have a personal interest in forestry work for reasons that I will
tell you about when I have more time. I’m glad to hear that Mr.
Bentley is going to visit you, and I would like to come round and
get acquainted with him.”

“I’ll tell you when he comes,” promised Bob.

“One reason that I missed his talk last night,” the doctor went on,
“was that for the greater part of the evening I was listening in at
WGY. Those, you remember, are the call letters of the Schenectady
station. They’ve got a wonderful new contrivance there that’s going
to make a sensation in the radio world when it becomes generally
known.”

“One more miracle to be put down to the account of radio, I
suppose,” replied Bob, with an appreciative smile.

“You might almost call it that,” replied the doctor. “Some weeks ago
WGY told its audience that a new device different from the
phonograph was being used to talk into the radio transmitter. But at
the time they didn’t give any explanation of what the contrivance
was. I suppose they wanted to test it out under all conditions
before they let the public in on it. But last night they told us all
about it. It’s a film that does the talking.”

“A film!” exclaimed Bob, in surprise.

“That’s just what it is,” affirmed Dr. Dale. “They showed it to
Edison when he was up there the other day, and he was astonished.
And anything that astonishes that wizard must be pretty good.”

“I should say so!” acquiesced Bob. “Please tell me just what it is
and how it works.”

“It’s something like this,” replied the doctor. “I’ll try to give it
to you as nearly as I can in the very words that were used in
explaining it. The purpose of the device is to record sounds on a
photographic film so that the sound may later on be exactly
reproduced in ordinary telephones and loud speakers. The record is
made by causing the sound waves to produce vibrations on a very
delicate mirror. A beam of light reflected by this mirror strikes a
photographic film which is constantly in motion.

“When the film is developed it shows a band of white with faint
markings on the edges which correspond to the sound which has been
reproduced. On account of the exceedingly small size of the mirror,
it has been found possible to produce a sound record which includes
the delicate overtones which give quality to speech and musical
sounds. Do you get my meaning?”

“I can understand how the film is made,” responded Bob thoughtfully.
“But after it is made, how is the sound reproduced?”

“I was coming to that,” replied the doctor. “The reproduction of the
sound from the film is brought about by moving the film in front of
an exceedingly delicate electrical device which produces an
electromotive force that varies with the amount of light that falls
upon it. By an ingenious combination of vacuum tubes, there has been
produced an apparatus which responds to variations in the light
falling on it with the speed of light itself or with the speed of
propagation of wireless waves into space. Therefore, when this film
is moved continuously in front of such a device, the device produces
an electric current which corresponds very accurately to the
original sound wave. This electric current may be used to actuate a
telephone or loud speaker.

“When this was told to us last night, I thought that it was the
announcer who was talking. But, as a matter of fact, it was the film
that was talking. The voice of the announcer had first been recorded
on the film and then was sent out with such accuracy that we were
all fooled into believing that the announcer himself was speaking to
us at first hand.”

“That certainly showed how good it was!” exclaimed Bob. “It’s
nothing less than magic! It sometimes seems as though it couldn’t be
real—as if radio must be a dream.”

“A dream that has come true,” answered the doctor, as he smilingly
said good-by and went on his way.




                             CHAPTER VI

                         THRASHING A BULLY


The next morning Bob was on his way to school when on passing the
Sterling House, the most prominent hotel in town, he caught sight of
the figure of a girl on the porch that looked somewhat familiar to
him. He looked again and recognized Nellie Berwick, the orphan girl
to whom he and the rest of the Radio Boys had rendered such valuable
service when her automobile had run wild and dashed through the
window of a store.

At the same moment her eyes fell upon Bob and her face lighted up
with pleasure. She waved her hand in greeting, and in a moment Bob
had run up the steps and was taking her outstretched hand.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and there was evident sincerity
in her voice. “I was just thinking of you before you came in sight.”

“It’s pleasant to be remembered,” replied Bob.

“I have good cause for remembering,” she said, pointing across the
street. “There’s the very place where I came so near to losing my
life, and probably would have lost it if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I simply had the good luck to be on hand at the time,” replied Bob.
“Anyone else would have done as much. But what is it that brings you
to Clintonia? Are you going to stay for some time?”

“No,” she responded, “I expect to go back home this afternoon. I
came to Clintonia to see your Doctor Dale, the pastor of the Old
First Church. You know him, I suppose.”

“Know him!” replied Bob. “I should say I do. He’s one of the finest
men that ever lived. It was only yesterday that I had a long talk
with him. If I had time this morning, I’d take you up and introduce
you to him.”

“Thank you just as much,” Miss Berwick answered. “I’m going to see
him about the services in his church that are carried to other
churches by radio. The little church in our town isn’t large enough
to support a pastor and I’ve heard of so many little churches that
are supplied by him that I thought we might make similar
arrangements. I wanted to learn from him just what kind of receiving
sets are best for the purpose and just how one can be installed.”

“He’ll be glad to give you any information that you want,” Bob
assured her. “He’s doing great work by radio, and by this time there
must be thousands who listen to him every Sunday. He’ll be only too
pleased to have your church added to the list. And say,” he added,
“when you’ve picked out your set, some of the other fellows and I
will come over and rig it up.”

“That’s awfully good of you,” she said gratefully. “We’ll certainly
need some help of that kind, for I don’t know any of our own people
that are experts at radio.”

“We don’t call ourselves experts,” disclaimed Bob. “But I’m sure we
can set your apparatus up so that you’ll have no trouble in
receiving.”

“By the way,” remarked Miss Berwick, “you remember Dan Cassey?”

“Will I ever forget him?” replied Bob, and before him rose that
night of storm and darkness when he had been engaged in a
life-and-death struggle with the scoundrel.

“I saw him the other day,” went on Miss Berwick.

“What!” cried Bob, with a start. “You don’t mean that the rascal has
escaped again?”

“Oh, no,” returned the girl. “I saw him in prison.”

“Oh!” said Bob, in great relief. “That’s better. That’s where the
villain belongs. But how on earth did you happen to see him?”

“It was quite accidental,” was the reply. “I went with a friend of
mine who is acquainted with the wife of the prison warden. A radio
concert was to be given for the benefit of the prisoners and the
warden’s wife had invited her to attend and bring any friend she
liked with her. I didn’t have Cassey in mind—didn’t know, in fact,
that he was in that special prison. You can imagine then how
startled I was when in looking over the rows of prisoners in the
prison chapel where the concert was given I recognized Cassey. He
looked up and saw me too, and I never saw such a black and wicked
look on any man’s face as came into his. He looked as though he
would like to tear me to pieces.”

“No doubt he would if he had the chance,” replied Bob. “I imagine I
wouldn’t fare very well either if he could get a hack at me. He’s
bad medicine, through and through. Had you heard that he escaped
once?”

“No,” replied Miss Berwick, in surprise. “Tell me about it.”

In response, Bob narrated the incident of Cassey’s escape and how he
and the other Radio Boys had been instrumental in his capture.

“So you see,” he concluded, with a laugh, “Cassey must think I’m his
hoodoo. I’d have a mighty slim chance if he ever had me helpless in
his hands.”

But here, Bob, glancing at his watch, saw that he had barely time to
reach the high school before the bell rang, and with cordial
farewells they parted.

As the hours wore on the day grew unbearably hot, unseasonably so,
since it was only the month of May. The day seemed excessively long,
the lessons dragged, and into the minds of the boys came thoughts of
cool green waters and ocean breezes.

“Oh, for Ocean Point once more!” ejaculated Joe, as at the close of
the school day he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Say,
fellows, how would it be just now to slip on our bathing suits, run
down to the surf and plunge into the breakers? Oh, me, oh, my!”

“What’s the use of tantalizing a fellow?” grumbled Herb. “It’ll be
at least a month or six weeks before we can get to the beach.”

“Let’s hope this weather doesn’t keep up,” remarked Bob. “But what’s
the use of waiting for Ocean Point? If we can’t get the whole loaf,
let’s take a slice. What do you say to taking a dip in the swimming
hole down on the old Shagary? It’ll cool us off anyway, and that’s
something on a day like this.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” declared Jimmy, and his comrades
murmured their approval.

It was the work of only a few minutes to reach their homes, leave
their books, get their swimming trunks and towels and make for the
banks of the Shagary. It was only a small stream, but the water was
clear and in several places deep enough to afford excellent sport.
There was one spot especially that was in high favor with the boys,
because there the stream widened out so that there was some fun in
racing from bank to bank. It bore the designation of the “swimming
hole,” and it was there that the boys proceeded.

A hundred yards away, Bob started on a sprint.

“The last one in is a Chinaman,” he cried.

All sought to avoid having that name tacked on to him, and Herb and
Joe gave Bob a genuine race, arriving with him at the river bank
almost neck and neck. Jimmy was handicapped by his weight and
shorter legs, and by the time he got there they had already removed
some of their clothes.

“I ought to have had a twenty-yard start,” he grumbled, as he
fumbled with his buttons.

In his haste, he had taken up a position too close to the edge of
the bank, and as he stood on one leg while he lifted up the other to
remove the leg of his trousers, he got slightly off his balance. He
staggered a moment in trying to regain it, but it was no use. Over
he went head first into the river, the yell of consternation that he
emitted being suddenly cut short as he struck the water.

Bob, who was standing nearest him, had seen him stagger and had
reached out his hand to catch him. But he had only grazed his sleeve
and had all he could do to escape toppling into the water himself.

Up came Jimmy, gasping and spluttering, for as his mouth had been
open when he struck the water he had swallowed a lot of it. His hair
was plastered over his head, and there was a comical look of
surprise and chagrin on his round face.

As he reached the bank and waded out, one leg of his trousers still
clinging about him and the other trailing behind him, he presented
such a ludicrous appearance that the boys fairly doubled up with
laughter.

Jimmy glared at them indignantly, but this only made them laugh the
more.

“That’s right, you laughing hyenas!” snorted Jimmy. “Go right ahead
and cackle.”

“You’re getting your figures mixed, Jimmy,” chuckled Herb. “Hyenas
don’t cackle. You’re thinking of hens.”

“I know I made a mistake,” admitted Jimmy. “I ought to have spoken
of the braying of jackasses.”

“Never mind, Jimmy,” consoled Bob. “You’re not a Chinaman anyway.
You weren’t the last one in.”

This seemed to bring but scant comfort to Jimmy, but he soon had
plenty to occupy his mind in squeezing out his dripping clothes and
spreading them in the sun to dry.

Whatever irritation he felt, however, was soon dissipated when he
joined his companions, who were sporting about in the cool water. It
was their first swim of the season and they enjoyed it beyond
measure, diving, swimming, floating and racing until a look at the
western sun told them that it was time to think about getting home.

By this time, Jimmy’s clothes were fairly dry, although they stood
sadly in need of pressing. They all dressed quickly and started for
the town.

Their road led for part of the way along the river bank, and they
had proceeded perhaps an eighth of a mile when they heard cries of
protest coming from the river mingled with mocking laughter.

At this point the road curved a little and was bordered with bushes.
Joe peered through the bushes and then beckoned to his companions.

“It’s Buck Looker and his gang up to one of their usual tricks,” he
whispered.

They looked and saw Buck, with Carl Lutz and Terry Mooney, sitting
on the grass a little way from the river. They were laughing
boisterously, as though at some huge joke.

At their feet were two suits of clothes, and in the river with the
water up to their waists were standing two boys who seemed to be
about ten or eleven years old. They were evidently the owners of the
clothes in question and were begging Buck and his cronies to give
them up.

“I told you you could have them,” Buck was saying. “All you have to
do is to come and get them. But the minute you step foot on the
bank, I’ll throw your shoes into the water.”

Between the offer and the threat, the small boys were in a dilemma.
It was evident that they had been in the water a long time, for they
were shivering and their teeth were chattering. They wanted their
clothes badly, but they did not want to lose their shoes. So they
stood there half whimpering with rage and cold.

The quandary in which Buck had placed his small victims seemed the
very essence of humor to him and his cronies, who roared with
laughter and slapped each other on the back.

At last, one of the boys in the water advanced timidly to the shore,
hoping perhaps that Buck would give him back his clothes without
making good his threat about the shoes. But the moment the boy
stepped on the shore, Buck took up one of his shoes and hurled it
into the water.

The little fellow looked after it for a moment, and then his
overstrained nerves gave way and he burst into tears.

This was too much for the Radio Boys, and they burst through the
bushes and came on a run toward Buck and his gang. The latter looked
up in alarm at the unexpected interruption and got up quickly on
their feet.

“You cowardly, hulking bully!” cried Bob. “What do you mean by
treating these little fellows that way? You ought to be thrashed
within an inch of your life.”

“You mind your business,” growled Buck sullenly. “Who gave you a
license to butt in, anyway?”

“I’ll show you in a minute where I got my license,” replied Bob.
“Don’t let him get away, fellows. Here, boys,” he called to the boys
in the water, “come here and get your clothes. There’s only one more
shoe going into the water, and it won’t be yours.”

The little fellows came out eagerly and then Bob turned to Buck.

“Take off your coat,” he commanded curtly, at the same time peeling
off his own and throwing it to the ground.

Buck looked around for help, but Joe had ranged himself alongside of
Lutz and Herb was looking after Mooney, and those worthies were not
a bit inclined to mix in.

“My, but you’re slow, Buck,” remarked Bob. “You weren’t half as slow
when you were picking on those youngsters. Come, get busy.”

There was no help for it, and Buck took off his coat. Then with a
roar of rage he rushed at Bob, who sidestepped cleverly and caught
Buck in the jaw with a blow that shook him from head to heels. Buck
staggered for a moment and then rushed in to a clinch, and in an
instant they were at it, hammer and tongs.

As Jimmy described it afterward it was a “peach of a scrap” while it
lasted. But it did not last long. Buck was a little the older and
considerably the heavier of the two, but he was no match for Bob in
strength, cleverness and hard hitting. Bob met his opponent’s rushes
with smashing, skilfully placed blows that soon had Buck grunting
and bewildered, and at last with a long drive to the point of the
jaw stretched him on the ground, where he lay half blubbering with
rage and pain.

“Had enough?” asked Bob. “If not, there’s plenty more waiting for
you. No trouble to show goods.”

Buck made some unintelligible answer.

“Say enough,” commanded Bob.

“Enough,” growled Buck.

“All right,” said Bob. “Now there’s only one more thing you’ve got
to do. Take off one of your shoes.”

“I won’t!” shouted Buck, stung into fury.

“Then stand up and take some more,” commanded Bob. “It’s one thing
or the other.”

But Buck had no stomach for any more fighting, and confronted by the
two alternatives, he chose the lesser evil and took off one of his
shoes.

Bob picked it up and flung it into the river, much to the delight of
the two little fellows whom Buck had tormented.

“I guess that will be about all,” remarked Bob, as he put on his
coat. “The next time you want to bully little chaps that can’t fight
back, take a good look all around and make sure there’s no one about
that may interfere with your amusement. Come along, fellows.”

They went on their way, followed by the black looks and enraged
mutterings of the discomfited bully and his cronies.

“I’ve heard a good deal about poetic justice, but I never saw such a
beautiful specimen as this,” chuckled Joe. “Bob, I take off my hat
to you.”

“That’s all right,” laughed Herb. “But for the love of Pete, don’t
take off your shoe. Shoes aren’t safe when Bob’s around.”




                            CHAPTER VII

                           GOOD RIDDANCE


Buck did not turn up at school on the following day and the Radio
Boys thought that they could guess the reason why.

“Don’t think his beauty was improved any by the handling he got
yesterday,” laughed Jimmy. “Of course he might use the old gag that
he had run against a door in the dark, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t
go.”

“A door would hardly be likely to do to him what Bob did,” rejoined
Joe with a grin.

“Perhaps he’s down at the river looking for that shoe of his,”
chuckled Herb.

Bob himself had said nothing to the rest of his schoolmates about
the fight that he had had with Buck. It was enough that he had given
the latter the punishment he deserved. He had no liking for the
Indian practice of scalping the dead.

Lutz and Mooney were on hand as usual, but they gave the Radio Boys
a wide berth, contenting themselves with an occasional malignant
glance when chance brought them in their vicinity. But later in the
day Jimmy heard Lutz telling one of the schoolboys who had asked him
about Buck that the latter had decided to take a little vacation and
was going up into the woods for a while. The exact location of the
woods was not specified, but the fact that he had gone away at all
was so gratifying to Jimmy that he lost no time in carrying the
welcome news to his companions.

Joe at first was inclined to be incredulous.

“Too good to be true,” he declared. “To have Buck licked one day and
go away the next! Luck doesn’t come that way, like bananas—in
bunches.”

“‘Though lost to sight to memory dear,’” quoted Herb.

“It will be a mighty good thing for Clintonia if he goes away and
stays away,” affirmed Bob. “He’s been the worst element in the
town—a pest that everybody dislikes except a few of his own kind.
There doesn’t seem to be a single decent streak in his whole
make-up.”

“It would be a good thing if he had taken Lutz and Mooney along with
him,” remarked Jimmy.

“Oh, they don’t count,” replied Bob. “They’ll wriggle around as a
snake does when its head is cut off, but that’s about all. It was
Buck who thought up the low-down tricks and then relied on them to
help him carry them out.”

“Well,” said Joe, “if he’s really gone we’ll mark this day with a
white stone. And let’s hope that he’ll be gone for a good long
while.”

And this was the general verdict of the school, especially of the
younger boys whose lives Buck had made a torment by his bullying.

Nearly two weeks passed by when Mr. Layton, who had by this time
fully recovered, received a letter from Mr. Bentley, stating that he
would be in town the next day. Bob lost no time in conveying the
information to the rest of the Radio Boys, who were quite as
delighted as he was himself. Mr. Bentley’s stay was to be brief, as
he was traveling on Government business, but he would stop over
night anyway, and especially mentioned that he hoped to see all the
Radio Boys, of whom he retained so many pleasant memories from his
previous visit.

“Will we be there?” replied Joe to Bob’s question. “I’d like to see
anything that would keep me away. It isn’t every day a fellow gets a
chance to talk with a live wire like him.”

The rest of his friends were just as emphatic, and were at Bob’s
house the following night even a little before the time appointed.

There, too, was Payne Bentley, tall and bronzed and athletic,
bringing with him the breezy suggestion of a man whose life is spent
largely in the open.

He greeted the boys with the heartiness that was characteristic of
him, and they on their part showed their whole-souled pleasure in
meeting him again.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you, fellows,” said Bob. “Here it
is,” and he pushed shut a door, revealing Mr. Frank Brandon, who had
been standing behind it, and who now advanced with a smile to shake
hands with the surprised and delighted boys.

“Wasn’t it you, Joe, who said a little while ago that good luck
didn’t come, like bananas, in bunches?” asked Bob. “Well, here’s a
case that proves you’re wrong.”

“I surely was,” laughed Joe. “It was a good wind that blew them both
here at the same time.”

“You see, Frank and I are old friends,” explained Mr. Bentley, as
they all took chairs and settled down for a cosy chat. “We’re both
in the Government service, although along somewhat different lines,
and every once in a while we run across each other. I met him on the
train as I was coming here and persuaded him to drop off with me and
stay over night. And I didn’t have to persuade him very much when I
told him whom I was going to see, for he thinks you Radio Boys are
just about the real thing.”

“That’s putting it a little too strongly, I’m afraid,” replied the
delighted Bob.

“Not a bit,” protested Mr. Bentley. “I was willing to agree with him
after he told me of how you saved the ship on that stormy night and
how you pursued and captured the rascal that tried to kill his
cousin. Oh, you see I know all the deep dark secrets of your lives.

“That’s the kind of fellows we’d like to have in the Forest Service
when they get old enough,” he went on. “Frank here tells me that
he’s got his eye on you for the radio work, but if he doesn’t book
you for that, come to me and see how you like the work of a forest
ranger.”

“Speaking of forestry work,” said Bob, taking advantage of the
opening to turn the conversation away from him and his chums, “I
want to tell you, Mr. Bentley, how we enjoyed your talk over the
radio. We thought it was splendid from start to finish.”

“And that message at the end almost knocked us off our chairs with
surprise and pleasure,” put in Joe.

“So you got that, did you?” returned Mr. Bentley, smiling. “I wasn’t
dead sure that you’d be listening, but put it in on a chance. Well,
you see I’ve kept my word.”

“And mighty glad we are that you have,” said Herb. “The only trouble
with your speech that night was that it was too short. I could have
kept on listening all night.”

“I’m glad you felt that way,” replied Mr. Bentley. “I didn’t know
but what I was boring my audience stiff. If I’d only been able to
see the people I was talking to, I could have told something by the
looks on their faces. But the dead silence and the lack of response
rather got on my nerves. I’d have felt a lot more comfortable if I’d
been fighting a forest fire.”

“Rather queer idea of comfort, don’t you think?” laughed Bob.




                            CHAPTER VIII

                          AT RISK OF LIFE


Mr. Bentley joined in the general laugh that followed Bob’s remark.

“Well, I don’t suppose it could be called exactly comfortable to
have your hands blistered and your hair singed and not know whether
the next minute you’re going to be alive or dead,” he admitted. “But
after all there’s an excitement in fighting a fire and a sense of
victory when you get the better of it that pays for all the work and
pain. It’s a funny thing that when you once get into the work you
don’t want to leave it. Once a forester always a forester seems to
be the rule. I suppose the call of the woods to the forest ranger is
like the call of the sea to the sailor.”

“I guess there’ll always be fires, so that you’ll never get out of a
job,” suggested Frank Brandon.

“Right you are,” replied Mr. Bentley. “Do you know, that with all
the advances that have been made in guarding against fires, more
than three hundred thousand acres of woodland were burned over last
year? Why, that’s equal to a strip ten miles wide reaching from New
York City to Denver. The timber lost in one year would build homes
for a city of four hundred thousand people.”

A gasp of astonishment came from every one of the boys.

“Did you ever!”

“Some loss!”

“What a shame to lose so much valuable timber!”

“Just what I say. Why can’t people be more careful with fire?”

“Those are mighty big figures,” commented Frank Brandon. “What are
the causes of so many fires?”

“There’s a host of causes,” replied Mr. Bentley. “But most fires
could be avoided. In one district last year, nearly forty per cent.
of the fires were caused by smokers. Campers knock the sparks out of
their pipes and throw away half smoked cigarettes. They fall in a
little heap of brushwood that perhaps is as dry as tinder, smoulder
there for a time and a little later break out into flames. The
Government is doing all it can by signs and warnings to curb the
evil, but as long as there are careless and inconsiderate people
there will be forest fires.

“Then too, lightning is responsible for many fires. Often that
brings its own remedy with it, for lightning usually occurs during a
rain storm, and the water that comes down drowns out the fire that
the lightning starts. But it doesn’t always work that way.

“Sometimes it’s a meteor that does the damage. Those big stones are
sometimes white hot when they strike the ground, and if that ground
happens to be in a thick wood, a fire is almost inevitable. Of
course it isn’t often that that happens, but when it does, it has to
be reckoned with, believe me!

“I’ve known of many fires that have been started by these fire
balloons that you see sometimes drifting along the sky especially
around the Fourth of July. It happens sometimes that the inflammable
material in the balloons has not completely burned itself out when
the balloon reaches the ground. If this happens in a dry spot in the
woods, a fire is not only likely, but is a practical certainty.

“You’d think it strange perhaps,” the ranger went on, as he looked
with a smile about the room, “if I told you that sleet and snow are
responsible for many forest fires.”

“Sleet and snow!” exclaimed Bob. “Why, I should think it would be
just the other way around and that they’d help put out fires instead
of causing them.”

“That would be the natural supposition,” conceded Mr. Bentley. “What
I mean is this. Whenever the winter has been very severe and there
have been heavy storms of sleet and snow, the trunk and branches get
loaded with tons and tons of ice. As a fierce gale often accompanies
the storm, the heavily burdened trees are blown down. As the summer
comes on, the dead tree and branches dry out, and all they need is a
spark to set them going. If those dead masses of brushwood had been
standing, living trees, the spark would have had nothing to feed
upon and would have died out harmlessly.”

“Even nature seems in league against you, as well as the
carelessness of men,” remarked Mr. Brandon.

“That’s what,” agreed Mr. Payne Bentley. “And there are times when
one is tempted to grow disheartened. But great as the losses are,
they’re not so heavy as they used to be. We’re gradually getting the
best of the fire fiend, although at times progress seems slow. It’s
only when you compare conditions of to-day with what they were
before the Government woke up that you realize what great strides
have been made in the protection of the forests.

“Of course, the most important thing in limiting the fire loss is
the education of the public. They’ve got to cooperate and help stop
the tremendous waste. When you realize that in the last five years
there have been one hundred and sixty thousand forest fires in the
United States and that at least eighty per cent. of these were
preventable you see who’s responsible. The public is starting more
fires than the small force of forest rangers can put out. Of course
one way would be to forbid the public to camp in or travel through
the national forests during the dry season. But that would be a
hardship when you realize that more than five million people enjoyed
their outings in those forests last year. Yet Canada has had to
forbid it, and the United States may have to come to the same thing
if tourists and campers will persist in leaving the burning embers
of their campfires behind them and throwing from traveling
automobiles lighted cigars into the brushwood.”

“What do you chiefly rely on in your work?” asked Frank Brandon.

“Airplanes and radio,” replied the ranger. “The airplanes are the
eyes of the service and the radio is the tongue. The airplanes scout
around above the forests, always on the watch for the slightest sign
of smoke or flame. The instant they detect it they radio the news to
all the listening stations for miles around. And they’ve grown so
skilful in placing the exact location of a fire that in the squadron
I was with last year thirty-three per cent. of the fires that were
reported were within a quarter of a mile of the exact point stated.
Nineteen per cent. came within half a mile, as was determined later
by actual surveys of the ground. And none of the others were far out
of the way. That’s something of a record, when you think of the
height at which the aviators are flying and the wide extent of space
that they have to cover.”

“I should say it was,” agreed Mr. Brandon, with a nod.

“And think of the promptness with which it was done,” went on Mr.
Bentley. “Within ten seconds after the first trace of fire was
discovered, the news was known for all of a hundred miles around.

“The airplane comes in handy, too, for carrying trained fire
fighters to the scene of the trouble. I remember once carrying a
bunch of rangers in seventy minutes to a burning area. To travel the
same distance by land, journeying by canoe and by portage, would
have taken three days.

“We flew at a height of three thousand feet, and when we got there
we could trace the whole outline of the fire and decided where the
firefighting gangs who came hurrying from every direction could best
be placed.

“I tell you that was some strenuous job! Up in the air your eyes are
burning and smarting from the pungent fumes that come from the trees
below, and it is as much as you can do to see at all.”

“Just what was the plan on which the men did the work when they
started to put out the fire?” asked Herb, with intense interest.

“First,” Mr. Bentley replied, “the gangs attacked the fire at its
most dangerous point, which we pointed out to them. Some trees in
the line of fire they chopped down. Then they cut fire lines through
the leaf litter to mineral soil, threw sand on burning stumps and
used water wherever it was available. They worked by shifts and got
their food when they could.

“During that time, while one plane would be directing the work by
radio messages, another plane would be busy in bringing supplies and
food for the men. The fire lasted nearly a week before it was fully
subdued, and, I can tell you, by that time we were all in!”

“It’s too bad that you have to rely so completely on man power,”
commented Mr. Brandon. “No matter how much grit’s behind it, the
time comes when human muscle has reached its limit and can do no
more. It would seem as though in some way the machinery which does
so much work in the cities could be used for similar purposes in the
forest.”

“It would seem so,” agreed Mr. Bentley. “But the difficulty of
transportation through a wilderness, that often has faint trails
instead of beaten paths and sometimes not even those, is so great
that I doubt whether machinery can ever be utilized on a large
scale.

“We have made a little progress though in that direction. There’s a
clever little pump that is operated by gasoline and weighs only one
hundred and twenty pounds, so that two men can carry it along a
forest trail. Each pump is provided with twelve hundred feet of
hose, which gives it an effective radius of about a quarter of a
mile, and a very small brook will suffice to supply it with water.
It’s a dandy little machine, and I’ve known it to do the work of
from sixty to seventy-five men working with shovels, hose and axes.”

“Some pump!” ejaculated Joe, in admiration.

“Almost as good as an engine,” came from Bob.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Bentley. “But of course it can be used only when
there happens to be water near at hand. No doubt the time will come
when chemicals will be used instead of water, and then the pumps can
work anywhere. But chemicals are of use chiefly at the start of a
fire, and perhaps wouldn’t be feasible for anything on the scale of
a forest fire.

“So for the present at least, and probably for some time to come,
we’ll have to rely on the men in the Forest Service. I don’t mean
that they have to do their work alone. When the alarm is given
everybody pitches in and works like a beaver. There’s never any lack
of volunteers. All in the vicinity unite to fight the common peril.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Jimmy, his eyes shining, “I wish I had a chance to
fight a forest fire.”

“Same here,” came in a chorus from the other Radio Boys.




                             CHAPTER IX

                      OFF FOR SPRUCE MOUNTAIN


Mr. Bentley and Frank Brandon smiled appreciatively at the boys’
enthusiasm.

“You’d have plenty of chances if you were with Bentley in the Spruce
Mountain district to which he has been transferred,” said Mr.
Brandon.

“I suppose you fellows have heard of Spruce Mountain before now,
haven’t you?” inquired Payne Bentley.

“It seems to me I have,” said Bob, somewhat doubtfully. “Doesn’t Dr.
Dale own some timberland up in that part of the country? Seems to me
I’ve heard him say something about it.”

Mr. Bentley nodded.

“He has about a hundred acres, I believe. And in addition to that,
he holds an equal amount in trust for the benefit of the Old First
Church. With the price of lumber going higher every day, you can
believe that woodland is rather valuable.”

“I should say it must be,” agreed Jimmy, with conviction. “Whenever
I want to get a little money from my dad, he tells me that the high
price of lumber is keeping him so poor that he can’t afford it.”

“Well, if it weren’t for some of the disastrous forest fires of
recent years, lumber would be more plentiful now,” remarked Mr.
Bentley. “However, in those days we didn’t have radio to help us,
and we hope there will never be other fires of such size as to wipe
out whole forests in one conflagration.”

“I wish we could all get a chance to visit you at Spruce Mountain,”
said Joe longingly. “I suppose that’s too much to hope for though.”

“Stranger things than that have happened,” replied the forest
ranger. “I happen to know that Doctor Dale owns an old hunting lodge
up there that was on the property when he bought it. I understand
you boys are pretty solid with him, and I’m sure he’d be willing to
let you use it. There’d be worse places to spend part of your
vacation. Your school, I suppose, will close pretty soon now.”

“Three weeks earlier than usual this year, Mr. Preston told us a few
days ago,” answered Bob. “There are going to be extensive repairs,
and the ordinary vacation wouldn’t be long enough to do them in.
We’ll probably be through school now in a couple of weeks. If our
folks think well of it, we might take a trip to Spruce Mountain
first and still have plenty of time later on at the seaside.”

“That would be fine,” responded Mr. Bentley cordially. “And I think
I can promise you something brand new in the way of experience.”

They sat talking till late and then the party broke up, the forest
ranger and Frank Brandon taking a hearty farewell of the boys, as
they had to take an early train in the morning.

It was not very hard for the boys to get the required permission
from their parents, and Dr. Dale was only too glad to put his lodge
at their service. The remaining days of school flew by quickly while
they were getting together equipment and supplies for their trip.
But when Bob’s father saw the formidable outfit, including a radio
set, for both receiving and sending, that Bob proposed to take with
him, he threw up his hands with a gesture of dismay.

“If all the rest of you boys intend to take as much apiece as you’ve
got, Bob, you’ll need a motor truck,” said Mr. Layton.

“It does look like a lot,” admitted Bob, ruefully. “But there’s
hardly anything there that I won’t actually need. There’s no place
within miles of the cabin where we can buy stuff.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Mr. Layton, eyeing the stack of
merchandise thoughtfully. “I suppose you’d feel awfully bad if I
hired an automobile to take you and the others to Spruce Mountain,
wouldn’t you?”

“Dad, we’ll never get over feeling grateful to you if you do!”
declared Bob. “It will be the greatest thing that ever happened!”

“Well, in that case, I suppose there’s no choice left me,” declared
Mr. Layton, with a twinkle in his eye. “You tell the others I’ll
stand for the automobile, and I guess I’d better order an especially
big one while I’m about it.”

Bob lost no time in communicating this last bit of good news to the
others, and they were all delighted, particularly Jimmy, who had
looked forward with considerable apprehension to a long hike through
the woods with sixty pounds of food and equipment strapped to his
suffering shoulders. To be sure, Dr. Dale had told them that they
would find almost everything they would require in the way of
furniture and cooking utensils in the cabin, but they had to take
all their food with them and several blankets apiece, as Mr. Bentley
had warned them that the nights were often cold.

It seemed to the eager boys that the day set for their departure
would never arrive, but at length they found themselves, one
beautiful summer morning, seated in the big touring car that Mr.
Layton had provided and headed for the hunting shack on Spruce
Mountain.

Their belongings were piled high in the tonneau, and the boys
occupied what little space was left. This was not much, but they
cared little for that as the big car hummed along over a perfect
road, headed for the cabin in the depths of the forest. Mr. Bentley
had returned several days before to the headquarters of the forest
rangers at Spruce Mountain, and had promised to be on the lookout
for them when they arrived.

“Your dad should have gotten us two cars, Bob; one to ride in, and
the other for the baggage,” said Jimmy, as a sudden swerve of the
car sent him rolling into a hollow between two bags. “I’ll be
getting thrown out, first thing you know, and then what will you
fellows do away up there in the woods, with nobody to protect and
take care of you?”

“There’s gratitude for you!” exclaimed Joe, indignantly. “You’ll get
thrown out fast enough, Doughnuts, but we’ll do the throwing, not
the car.”

“Bob wouldn’t let you throw me out,” said Jimmy, with calm
conviction. “He knows well enough that I’m the brains of this
party.”

“Gosh! that’s a terrible knock at the party, then,” remarked Herb.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Jimmy. “Remember, Herb, that
almost any brains are better than yours.”

Herb made an indignant lunge at him, but Bob and Joe caught hold of
him before he could take vengeance on their rotund friend.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” laughed Bob. “It seems to me there’s
a good deal of truth in what Jimmy says, after all, don’t you think
so, Joe?”

“There’s no doubt about it,” asserted the doctor’s son. “In fact,
I’d be willing to go a step further, and say that brains like Herb’s
are a shade worse than nothing at all. Just look at some of the
jokes he works off on us.”

“There you are!” crowed Jimmy, triumphantly. “What better evidence
could I have against Herb than some of his own jokes? They’d convict
him before any jury.”

“You win with us, anyway,” laughed Bob. “Will you promise to leave
Jimmy alone if we let you go, Herb?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” grunted Herb. “To get even, I’d have to lick the
whole bunch of you, and I don’t feel strong enough for that just
now. I’ll wait till we get back in Clintonia, and then I’ll tell you
all what I think of you—over the telephone.”

“That will be the safest way, if you care to live a little longer,”
Joe returned. “Even then, though, I’d advise you to start for Canada
and points north as soon as you hang up the receiver.”

“Well, it might be worth the trip for the sake of giving you a good
earful, but I’ll have to think it over,” replied Herb, with a grin.
“In the meantime, here’s a good riddle for you. You might use it,
Bob, in case you do some more radio broadcasting some day.”

“It hardly seems possible that I’d ever want to repeat one of your
riddles, Herb; but let’s hear it, anyway,” observed Bob. “We’ve
still got a long way to go, and I suppose we might as well kill time
that way as any other.”

“Well, then, here goes,” said Herb, grinning happily in anticipation
of his friends’ bewilderment. “What is it that sings, has four legs,
and flies through the air?”

“Good night!” exclaimed Jimmy. “That sounds too complicated for me.
I’m going to take a nap while you fellows puzzle it out.”

“Talk about brains!” exclaimed Herb. “You always duck out of any
kind of headwork by taking a nap, Doughnuts. Why don’t you give that
imitation mind of yours a little exercise once in a while?”

The only answer Herb received, however, was a gentle snore from his
fat friend, so he turned expectantly to Bob and Joe, who were both
cudgeling their brains for the answer to his riddle.

“Haven’t you thought of it yet?” asked Herb. “It’s so simple, that I
thought you would guess the answer right off the reel.”

“Of course it seems easy when you know the answer,” said Bob,
impatiently. “Shut up a few minutes and give us a chance to think,
can’t you?”

“Oh, sure, take your time,” agreed Herb, and chuckled to himself as
he saw them wrestling with the problem.

“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, at length. “I guess it’s too deep for me, Joe.
Can you make anything out of it?”

“I hate to give it up, but I guess we’ll have to,” answered Joe.
“What is it that sings and has four legs and flies through the air,
Herb?”

“Why, two canary birds, of course,” chortled Herb, and gave a shout
of laughter that brought Jimmy up to a sitting position with a look
of alarm on his round face. As for Bob and Joe, they gazed blankly
at each other for a few moments, then had to join in their friend’s
laughter in spite of themselves.

“What’s the joke?” inquired Jimmy, suspiciously. “Is it that phoney
riddle of Herb’s? I’ll bet any money there was a trick in it
somewhere. It didn’t sound on the level when I first heard it.”

“You were wise to go to sleep, Doughnuts,” Joe assured him. “The
next time I ever pay any attention to one of Herb’s jokes, I hope
somebody comes along and shoots me. It would be no more than I’d
deserve.”

“Don’t get sore just because you couldn’t guess it,” Herb adjured
him. “I’ll try to think up a nice easy one next time—something that
even you goofs can solve.”

Joe was about to make a withering reply when the driver of the car
uttered a startled shout and gave the wheel a twist that almost
threw the boys out in the road.




                             CHAPTER X

                        THE FALLING BOWLDER


A few minutes before this, after a long uphill climb, the car had
entered a narrow ravine between two hills, the sides of which were
studded with great bowlders. One of these had become dislodged in
some manner, and it was the sight of the huge stone rolling and
clattering directly down upon them that had brought the cry of alarm
from the driver.

As it rolled down the precipitous slope, the big bowlder dislodged
tons of gravel and dirt, which came flying down with it, until it
was the center of a small landslide. To the Radio Boys, it seemed
that there was no escape for them, and they gripped the sides of the
car, prepared to jump out as a last resort, although it seemed as
though that could avail them little. The ground trembled, and a
noise like thunder filled the air.

It was impossible to stop, as this would leave them directly in the
path of the oncoming bowlder. Their only chance lay in putting on
speed and attempting to get past ahead of the huge stone, which was
now bounding downward at terrific speed, part of the time leaping
bodily through the air as it caromed off some obstruction in its
path.

The driver opened the throttle to the limit, but the car was heavily
laden, and accelerated sluggishly. For a few seconds their fate hung
in the balance. The great bowlder hurtled down upon them, and leaped
into the air directly above them. Looking up, the boys could see the
tremendous mass perhaps a hundred feet away, its shadow blotting out
the sun. The automobile seemed to be only creeping, and seconds
seemed like hours. Then, with a crash that made the ground quiver
and shake, the bowlder plunged to the road not fifteen feet back of
their car. Flying splinters of rock pelted over those in the
automobile, and they crouched low to avoid the deadly shower. Tons
of sand and gravel followed the bowlder and piled across the road
where their car had passed a few short seconds before, forming a
drift many feet deep.

But now the moment of dire peril had passed, and the occupants of
the car drew long sighs of relief. The driver kept on at high speed
until they had passed through the defile, and then pulled up and
shut off the engine. His hand shook, and several moments went by
before he trusted himself to speak.

“Whew!” he exclaimed finally in a voice that was not quite steady.
“That was what you might call a close shave, young fellers.”

“Too close for comfort,” said Herb, essaying a grin that somehow did
not look quite natural. “I wonder what we’d look like now if that
bowlder had landed on top of us.”

“That’s a nice, cheerful thought, I must say,” replied Bob. “We
would have the same general appearance as a dog run over by a steam
roller. I think we owe a vote of thanks to our driver for getting us
out of a tight place.”

The thanks were enthusiastically given, and in a short time, they
resumed the journey.

Not much was said for a long time, as each was busy with thoughts of
their recent narrow escape. Eventually the boys recovered their
usual care-free spirits, however, and they began to pay attention to
the country through which they were passing.

Starting over level roads, they were now in a rolling, hilly
country, thickly clothed with trees. Sometimes the road ran for
miles through dense woods, where the sun could penetrate only in
scattered patches through the heavy foliage and where the cool shade
was most welcome after the scorching sun that had beaten down upon
them along the stretches of open country. Soon they began to feel
hungry, and Jimmy was not long in proposing a halt for lunch.

“I suppose you fellows were so scared by that big rock that you
won’t be able to eat for a week,” he remarked. “To a brave gink like
me, though, danger only gives a keener edge to his appetite.”

“Fortune help us, then!” exclaimed Herb. “If your appetite is much
keener than usual, Jimmy, all our grub will be gone before we ever
reach Spruce Mountain.”

“Oh, well, if it is, I’ll go out and kill a bear or two every
morning, so don’t let that worry you,” replied Jimmy, airily. “Mr.
Bentley said there were quite a few bears around that part of the
country, and they seem to be my natural prey. When I can’t find any
lions to kill, I like to keep in practice on bears.”

“Huh! why didn’t you give us a demonstration when Tony’s dancing
bear chased us up on to the roof of Buck Looker’s bungalow?”
inquired Joe.

“From what I remember of that scrape, Jimmy seemed rather anxious to
avoid the bear,” remarked Bob. “The way he shinned up the front
porch you might almost have thought he was afraid of the poor
animal.”

“Aw, he was a tame bear!” protested Jimmy. “I like the wild ones;
the wilder the better. I wouldn’t hurt a tame one like Tony’s. I
only bother with the real fierce ones.”

“Well, when we get to the lodge, we’ll see if we can’t borrow a trap
and catch a bear,” said Bob. “Then you can go and let him out of the
trap, Jimmy, and kill him with your bare hands, or by whatever
method it is that you use. The rest of us will climb the nearest
tree and get an idea of how it’s done.”

“What do you do, anyway, Doughnuts? Strangle the poor brutes, or
bite them to death?” inquired Herb, with every appearance of an
earnest seeker after knowledge.

“Never you mind; just wait until the bear comes along, that’s all,”
said Jimmy, with reprehensible vagueness. “I’m hungry enough to eat
one raw right now, hide and all. Here’s some chicken sandwiches my
mother put up, and if you Indians want any of them you’d better act
quickly.”

The others needed no second invitation, and the sandwiches, together
with a number of other home-cooked dainties, disappeared with
wonderful rapidity. When they had finished, the boys stretched out
luxuriously on the sweet-scented pine needles with which the ground
was strewn, and all felt as though life could offer them little
more. Jimmy took prompt advantage of the springy couch, and was soon
dreaming of a happy land where all the mountains were made of pies
and doughnuts. The others soon succumbed to the drowsy effects of
their hearty meal, and the shadows were gathering heavily before
they finally resumed their journey.

“We shouldn’t have stayed here so long,” said the driver, as they
started on again. “We’ve still a good bit to go, and it will be dark
in a few hours. This good road won’t last much longer, either.”

“Well, step on the accelerator while we still have the light, and we
may not be so late, after all,” suggested Bob. “If you get tired
driving, just say so, and I’ll take the wheel for a time and give
you a rest.”

But the driver would not hear of this. As he had foretold, the road
rapidly grew rougher, and at last it got so bad that they were
forced to proceed at an exasperatingly slow pace for anyone at all
anxious to get anywhere. The boys were thrown about here and there,
and had to cling to the sides of the car to keep from being thrown
out. Twilight changed to darkness, and, though on Spruce Mountain,
they were still many miles from their destination. Suddenly the
driver jammed on his brakes and the big car came to a shuddering
halt not two feet from a big tree that had fallen across the road.
The woods grew dense on either side of the road, so that there was
no possible chance of getting around the obstruction.

“Looks as though we were here for the night,” observed the driver,
scratching his head in perplexity. “This boiler can’t fly, and I
don’t see any other way of getting on the other side of that tree.”

“I do!” exclaimed Bob, decisively. “We’ve got axes in the car, so
why can’t we cut away a section of the trunk and go through sailing?
How about it, fellows?”

For answer the boys made a dive for the tonneau, and in a few
minutes the forest was ringing to the sound of their axes. The tree
was of fair size, but in less than an hour they had chopped away a
section of the trunk and rolled it to one side. This left an opening
wide enough for the automobile to pass through, and they were soon
bumping and jolting over the uneven road once more.

“I hope we haven’t got much further to go,” groaned Jimmy, after one
particularly hard jolt. “Seems to me I’ll have to spend most of our
time at Spruce Mountain in recovering from this trip. It would be
more fun to walk.”

“Oh, quit your grumbling. We can’t have very much further to go,”
said Joe. “I’ll have to admit I’ve ridden on better roads, though.”

But as Joe had said, their ride was almost at an end. A little
further, and the driver turned up a side road, jolted along for a
few hundred feet, and then, in the glare of the powerful headlights,
they could see the outlines of a low, rambling building that they
knew must be Dr. Dale’s bungalow. And sure enough, the key that had
been intrusted to Bob’s care fitted the big padlock that secured the
door, and the boys found themselves in the dim interior. They spent
little time in examining the place, leaving that until the following
day, but busied themselves in transferring their belongings from the
car to the house. This done, they ate a hearty supper, tumbled into
their bunks, and were soon sleeping the sleep that comes from an
exciting day in the open. But the next morning they were up bright
and early, for the man who had brought them up wanted to get an
early start back. After this the lads examined the place curiously
and spent the next day or two in getting settled and getting
acquainted with their surroundings.




                             CHAPTER XI

                            FOREST RADIO


“I’ll say this is the life,” said Herb, as he rambled happily about
the lodge which Dr. Dale had turned over to the Radio Boys for a
temporary camping place. “Say, fellows, did you ever hear that one
about——”

“Shoot him, someone,” interrupted Jimmy, hard-heartedly. “That’s the
fifth near joke he has tried to work off on us this morning.”

“Yeah, come and help with this bacon,” added Joe, who was struggling
manfully to keep a panful of the aforementioned article from burning
to a crisp. “If I don’t eat pretty soon I’m going to drop dead.”

“Same here,” groaned Bob, and went to the rescue just in time to
save the bacon.

The lodge was a picturesque, rambling little building with small,
many-paned windows and a steeply slanting roof. At some time or
other someone had planted vines about its foundations, and these had
flourished until the walls were almost completely covered with
bright green foliage.

Inside there were three small rooms furnished roughly—the one or two
tables and scattered chairs looking as though they had been put
together by hand.

The one main room of the little house served as kitchen, living room
and dining room all in one but it was large and rambling and
comfortable with its great open fireplace at one end and tiny oil
stove for cooking at the other.

There were trophies on its rough-beamed walls also and these the
boys regarded with interest—old rifles that looked as though they
had seen a good deal of service, a horn or two and, in a conspicuous
place directly over the fireplace, the great, antlered head of a
buck.

This, together with the fact that there were four fairly comfortable
cots in the two small rooms adjoining the main one and that there
were enough battered utensils in which to cook their meals, was
enough to satisfy the boys; especially as the lodge was not more
than a stone’s throw away from the headquarters of the forest
rangers.

“I hope we’ll meet some of those boys to-day,” said Bob, referring
to the rangers.

“We’re sure to, if we go up to the station,” returned Joe, as he sat
down at the table, preparatory to eating the bacon and eggs of his
own preparing. “Probably Mr. Bentley will show us the works and
introduce the boys as we go along.”

“Say, give me some more of everything, will you?” asked Jimmy
hungrily. For that moment Jimmy’s mind was on one thing only—and
that thing, food. “I never tasted anything half so good as that
bacon.”

Flattered, Joe helped him to a double portion.

“You never knew what a fine cook I was before, did you, Doughnuts?”
he asked complacently. Jimmy grinned wickedly at him.

“Huh,” he said. “It isn’t the cooking—it’s my appetite!”

“Say, you crook,” cried Joe, making a dive for Jimmy’s plate, “come
back with that grub!”

But it was too late. The food had already disappeared.

They had finished breakfast, had scraped up the pots and pans and
were preparing to leave the cabin before they remembered that this
was the day Dr. Dale had promised to “drop in on them” to see if
everything was all right.

“Oh, well, he won’t be here before noon, anyway,” reasoned Bob. “And
we’ll have time to say howdy to Mr. Bentley and get back before
then.”

“Let’s go,” cried Herb exuberantly. “I want to find out if those
forest rangers are the kind of fellows Mr. Bentley pictured ’em.”

“We won’t have to stay long to-day,” said Bob, as he locked the door
of the lodge and turned with the others down the woods path that led
in the direction of the station. “There will be plenty of other days
when we can stay as long as we like.”

“You sure said it that time, Bob,” cried Joe, joyfully. “Something
tells me we’re going to have the time of our lives in this neck of
the woods.”

But little did Joe guess when he uttered the careless words what
kind of excitement they were destined to meet in that “neck of the
woods.”

They soon came upon the camp of the rangers, a long low building,
situated close to the banks of the lake. Above the station, shooting
straight up through the trees to the cloudless blue of the sky,
towered the mast to which the antenna of the powerful radio
apparatus was attached.

The sight of that huge mast with the attached wires stretching
sensitive fingers into the vibrating ether thrilled the boys, fired
their imaginations. For those slender lines of wire, seemingly so
frail, were, in reality, more powerful than a host of men in
guarding the safety of the forest. For, where a man could see only
as far as his eyesight permitted, the eyes of radio searched for
scores, for hundreds of miles, ever on the alert to catch the first
faint hint of danger. One small flame shooting through the dried
underbrush of the forest, and immediately, through the warning of
the radio, countless men were put upon the defensive, intrepid,
fearless rangers rushing to the scene of danger to meet the dreadful
menace and subdue it.

For several seconds the boys stood still upon the edge of the
cleared space, gazing upward, awed by the power of their beloved
radio.

Bob, perhaps unconsciously, summed up all their thoughts when he
said: “Wherever it is, it does the trick!”

At that moment Mr. Bentley, attired in his aviator’s suit and in
company with two or three other men, stepped out on the porch of the
building.

He saw the boys and came toward them at once, his hand outstretched
in cordial greeting.

“Well, well, well!” he said, heartily. “If I’m not glad to see you
boys! Come on in and make yourselves at home.”

The three men who had been in conversation with Mr. Bentley were
introduced by the latter as fellow rangers, and it was not long
before the Radio Boys felt as though they had known these rugged
fine fellows all their lives.

Then Mr. Bentley showed them through the station himself,
“introducing them” as he said, “to the whole works.”

The boys were intensely interested in everything, feeling, since Mr.
Bentley’s memorable talk to them at Bob’s house on that day when
they had first met the forest ranger, as though the whole place were
familiar to them.

They were shown the “quarters” of the rangers. These were fitted up
quite comfortably, considering the rough work of the men. And there
also was the apartment where were stored the weapons used in the
fighting of that great forest enemy, fire.

But, needless to say, interested as they were in other departments
of the station, the one that interested them most powerfully was the
radio room.

The huge dynamo absorbed them and the tremendously complicated
mechanism of the set itself held them rapt and awed. The operator, a
nice young chap with crisp curling red hair, was instantly won by
the boys’ admiration of the apparatus and, led on by their
intelligent eager questions, he gave them many technical details
which fascinated them.

“No wonder,” Bob breathed at last, “you have been so successful in
the fighting of forest fires. With a set like this——”

“Yes, it’s a wonder,” broke in the red-haired chap quickly. “There’s
no denying that our apparatus is the best of its kind. But even at
that, we, here at the station, wouldn’t be able to do very much
without the cooperation of our radio-equipped air force. They are
the real eyes of our organization. We merely receive information
from them and act upon it. Mr. Bentley here,” he turned with a smile
to the latter, “will tell you how important the air service is.”

Payne Bentley grinned good-naturedly.

“Sure,” he said, “we aviators think it’s pretty classy. Just the
same,” he added seriously, “an air force without a base to work from
would be pretty much like Hamlet with Hamlet left out. The two
branches of the service are absolutely dependent one upon the other.
Apart, neither branch would be effective. Together—well,” he ended
with a boyish grin, “I’ll tell the world, we’re pretty good.”

As the boys said good-by to the curly-haired operator, promising to
return in a day or two, and followed Payne Bentley down the stairs,
they were ready to agree heartily with the latter in his estimate of
the worth of the Forestry Service.

Bob said as much to Mr. Bentley as they stopped on the porch for a
moment or two of talk. He added, with a laugh:

“But now that we have a perfect firefighting system—where are the
fires?”

Mr. Bentley laughed, the fine lines radiating from the corners of
his eyes.

“That’s a pretty sound question,” he said. “But one to which we
luckily have no answer just at present. With the exception of two or
three small outbreaks not worthy of mention, there have been no
fires for a considerable time. Our boys are getting lazy from light
work.”

“Perhaps,” said Bob with a laugh, “the fires are scared.”

“Forest rangers got ’em bluffed, eh?” asked Mr. Bentley, with a
twinkle in his eyes.




                            CHAPTER XII

                           THE ICE PATROL


“But say, I call this pretty tough,” broke in the irrepressible
Herb. “Here we fellows came away up to Spruce Mountain in the hope
of finding a little excitement, and you say there aren’t going to be
any more fires. What kind of treatment do you call that, I’d like to
know?”

This time Mr. Bentley laughed whole-heartedly.

“Sorry to cheat you out of a good show, my boy,” he said, while the
others grinned. “Perhaps we’ll be able to put on something for you
before you leave. However,” and his face became suddenly grave, “a
forest fire is really not in the least amusing. It is the most
heartbreaking thing in the world—a fight that brings out all that is
best in a man, a struggle that taxes his courage to the limit. If
you had ever lived through one—a real one, I mean, where your flesh
is scorched and your eyes go blind in the agony of the fight—you
would be thankful, as we here at the station are thankful, for this
respite. It is probably only a respite,” he continued in his old
light tone, “for the old demon is bound to break out sometime,
somewhere. And when it does, there will be excitement enough to
satisfy even you lads.”

As the boys walked slowly back toward the lodge, Mr. Bentley’s words
went with them. But, so far from dulling their desire to see a real
forest fire—one “in which your flesh is scorched and your eyes go
blind in the agony of the fight”—the ranger’s vivid description
merely fired their imaginations and made them all the more eager,
not only to see, but to participate in such a fight.

“It would be worth a couple of burned hands and the loss of an
eyebrow or two,” chuckled Joe, unconsciously voicing what was in the
minds of all of them, “just to be in a show like that once.”

“I’ll say it would,” agreed Jimmy, softly.

As they neared the lodge their pace quickened. They had spent more
time at the station than they had intended and they were fearful
that Dr. Dale might have arrived to find no one awaiting him.

But the rambling little house was as quiet as it had been when they
left it and they concluded that Dr. Dale had scheduled his arrival
for some time later that afternoon.

They set about getting lunch, talking excitedly about the marvels of
the ranger station.

“Say, make believe I wouldn’t like to get a job there!” cried Herb,
longingly. “Believe me, those rangers live some easy life.”

“Except when there happens to be a fire,” Bob reminded him. “From
what Mr. Bentley says, I guess at such times they are pretty much on
the job. But say, fellows, be honest,” he added. “Did you ever see a
radio outfit to equal that set over there?”

“Sure is some apparatus,” agreed Joe, appreciatively. “The fellow I
envy most is that operator. I’ll tell you, he’s the one that has the
real job.”

Later in the day Dr. Dale came, to be greeted boisterously by the
boys. The clergyman was in a good humor himself and listened with an
indulgent smile while the boys poured the story of the morning’s
visit to the rangers into his willing ears.

“I don’t wonder you’re enthusiastic,” he said. “Seems to me the
forest rangers have about the most romantic branch of the
Government, even more so, perhaps than the men of the Iceberg
Patrol.”

“What’s that?” queried the boys, instantly alert. For they knew by
experience and by the far-away look in Dr. Dale’s eyes that he was
thinking of something interesting.

“Why,” said the doctor, settling himself comfortably, “I had in mind
the International Ice Patrol which was organized soon after the
disaster of the ‘Titanic.’”

“Oh,” said Bob, with interest. “The ‘Titanic’ was wrecked by
colliding with an iceberg, wasn’t she?”

Dr. Dale nodded soberly.

“Went down with hundreds of souls,” he answered. “A useless and
horrible waste of lives.” He paused, while in his eyes was a great
pity for those who had gone down with the great ocean liner.

“And after the horse had been stolen,” he went on, just when the
boys thought they could stand the delay no longer, “our Government,
as well as the Government of other nations, decided to lock the
stable door.”

“And did they do it?” asked Joe eagerly.

“They did it—and nobly,” answered the doctor, with a smile. “That
was when they started the International Ice Patrol.

“You see,” he went on, while the boys listened interestedly, “in the
old days, the transatlantic steamers ran directly through the most
dangerous part of the spring ice field and only the greatest
vigilance on the part of their captains kept them from colliding
with the giant icebergs drifting from the north.”

“Must have been fun though,” interrupted Herb. “Dodging in and out
of icebergs and seeing how close you could come without getting
scratched.”

“Yes,” replied Dr. Dale, “but it wasn’t any fun at all when you did
get scratched. And in the old days that happened all too often,
especially in foggy weather.”

“They didn’t have any radio in those days, either,” put in Bob,
thoughtfully.

“No,” returned the doctor. “At that time radio was very much in its
infancy and no one thought of using it for the purpose of combating
icebergs.”

“And are they now—using radio, I mean?” asked Jimmy, eagerly.

“Very much so,” replied the doctor. “After the tragedy of the
‘Titanic,’ the big nations got together and thought up a method by
which radio—then still in its infancy—might be used to warn vessels
of the presence of ice and turn them aside from the danger zone.”

“That’s one use of radio I never thought of before,” said Joe. “Can
you tell us how it’s done, Doctor?”

“Very sketchily, I’m afraid,” returned the doctor, modestly. “I
haven’t made a study of it at all, although the romance of the
service has always appealed to me.

“You see,” he continued, warming to his story as he saw the genuine
interest on the faces of the boys, “even after the advent of faster,
larger steamers, when the lanes of travels were shifted southward in
order to avoid the normal limit of danger from the drifting
icebergs, there was still considerable menace from the terrors of
the sea.

“But of course one could never be absolutely sure just what the
limit of danger was. Sometimes, after an exceptionally early start
from the north, icebergs still blocked the paths of commerce.
Everyone feared a calamity and—they got one, in the wreck of the
‘Titanic.’

“It was after that that ship owners all over the world began to
think of radio as a possible solution of the problem confronting
them. If it had not been for the new science no one knows just how
they would have met the situation. Possibly they might not have been
able to meet it at all.

“But through radio they have now perfected a method by which the
lives of ships passing through the danger zone during the iceberg
season are practically insured.”

“But how? Please tell us all about it,” begged Bob.

“It sounds pretty interesting to me,” added Jimmy, as he
surreptitiously slipped a cake from his pocket and began to nibble
it. Doughnuts and his sweets could not long be parted.

“It is interesting,” agreed Dr. Dale. “To go deeply into the subject
would take too much time. But I can sketch the idea for you.

“The work is done by Coast Guard cutters and consists of patrolling
the iceberg zone. As soon as an iceberg is sighted the cutter ranges
alongside it, carefully noting its drift and the rate of speed at
which it is traveling.

“Then it sends out a wireless report to all vessels in the vicinity,
telling the location of the iceberg and asking in return the exact
location of the vessels.

“In that way ships sailing through the danger zone manage to steer
clear of the iceberg or bergs and, by keeping in constant touch with
the patrol boat, come through safely to clearer waters. It’s a
marvelous work and it is meeting with marvelous success. Another
triumph of radio.”

“Say,” breathed Bob, “I bet the radio operators on those patrol
boats are kept busy.”

“Indeed they are,” said the doctor, with his genial smile.
“Especially as most of the ships are not content with the
broadcasted information, but must constantly send in for special
news. Some of them send in a message every little while inquiring if
the coast is clear and what, under present conditions, is the best
route to take from one point to another. Oh, yes, the operators are
kept fairly busy, all right.”

“It’s a wonderful thing,” said Bob thoughtfully. “There doesn’t seem
to be anything any more that radio isn’t used for.”

Owing to the urgent invitation of the boys, Dr. Dale consented to
stay with them over night, saying, however, that he must positively
leave the following afternoon as there were matters in Clintonia
which he must attend to.

The boys were glad of even so short a visit and when the time came
at last for their good friend to leave they were very sorry to see
him go.

“Take care of yourselves, lads,” said the doctor, as he started off.
“And be careful not to start any forest fires around here. The Old
First Church isn’t hankering for any!”

The boys promised laughingly, and then, as trees hid the doctor from
view, turned and entered the lodge again.

“Too bad he couldn’t have stayed longer,” said Herb. “He certainly
is a good sport.”

“And that was some tale he told us about radio and icebergs, wasn’t
it?” asked Joe, reflectively. “He’s right when he says it’s almost
as interesting as the ranger service.”

“Well,” said Bob, with a grin, “when we get too hot fighting forest
fires, we can cool off by fighting icebergs for a change.”

“I imagine we’d cool off all right,” agreed Herb. “I bet it’s mighty
cold where those icebergs come from.”

“You said it,” agreed Jimmy, adding briskly: “But now, to get right
down to business, when do we eat?”

Since it was then early in the afternoon and they had just finished
lunch, the boys fell upon the unfortunate Doughnuts and pommeled him
right properly.

“Good gracious, don’t you ever think of anything but eating?” asked
Herb. Then, seeing that Jimmy had taken refuge in the pantry, Herb
yanked him out with scant ceremony. “If we left you in there loose,”
said the latter, by way of explanation, “there wouldn’t be anything
left for dinner.”

“Come over here, fellows!” commanded Bob, a sudden queer sound in
his voice. He was standing near the door and the boys went quickly
to him.

“Look over there beyond those trees. Do you see smoke?”




                            CHAPTER XIII

                        WINNING THEIR SPURS


For a moment the Radio Boys stared in the direction of Bob’s
pointing finger. They could see nothing out of the ordinary. Yet,
even while they told themselves this, the acrid smell of burning
leaves and wood wafted to them.

Then suddenly Joe saw what Bob’s still keener eyes had seen. A thin
column of smoke, drifting lazily upward.

“Fire!” cried Herb, under his breath, and at the word the boys
seemed suddenly stirred to action.

With one accord they dashed from the house and started running in
the direction of the smoke. After a moment they realized that they
were heading straight for the railroad tracks.

“Probably only a little barn fire,” panted Bob, as the odor of
burning wood became more pungent and they knew they were nearing the
flames.

“Maybe they’re burning the leaves on purpose,” added Jimmy, but Herb
grunted scornfully.

“It isn’t being done—not at this time in the year. Guess again,
Doughnuts, old boy.”

Then they could see the flames through the trees and could hear the
excited exclamations of people running back and forth. They
redoubled their pace and in a moment more found themselves on the
outskirts of the crowd.

Men and women, some swinging shovels, some brooms, others pails of
water that slopped as they ran, jostled the boys as they elbowed
their way to the front, anxious to see the extent of the fire.

A couple of women dropped the brooms they had been wildly waving,
and Bob and Joe captured the weapons, approaching the blaze. At the
same moment there was the sound of running footsteps behind them and
in a moment more a dozen rangers broke through the crowd.

At sight of the lean, sun-burned men, the excited, hysterical men
and women fell back, leaving the work of fighting the fire to the
newcomers.

The grim faces of the rangers relaxed when they saw that the blaze
was a small one and comparatively easy to control. Some fell to work
with pick and shovel, digging a narrow ditch some twenty feet from
the fire and back of it, while others turned streams of water upon
the flames.

One of the men, recognizing the Radio Boys, pushed shovels toward
them and eagerly the boys fell to work. They were having their first
experience of a forest fire, and although this was a small one, they
meant to make the most of the experience, just the same.

It was a short fight, but a brisk one while it lasted. The fire had
started near the railroad tracks, as the boys had at first supposed.
And though several times, driven by a capricious breeze, the flames
had darted away from the fire fighters and toward the tracks, they
were not able to leap across the bared space to the trees on the
other side.

Then suddenly, as though the elements had decided to come to the aid
of the fire fighters, the wind died down, and the fire, already well
in hand, gave up the struggle. Gradually the leaping flames subsided
until there was nothing left but a wide bed of glowing embers.

The boys, thinking all danger past, rested from their labors, only
to find that the rangers were still busy, beating out sinister,
creeping ribbons of flame that wound snake-like through the
underbrush.

As soon as one small thread was extinguished it seemed to the
fascinated boys as though another sprang up. And always they seemed
to come from nowhere—from the air above or the ground underneath.

“That’s the worst of it,” said a panting ranger, speaking to Bob as
he leaned on his shovel. “You think you have the fire under your
thumb, turn away, and before you know it, it’s started all over
again. It’s uncanny how the spirit of the flames persists.”

“I’ve noticed it,” agreed Bob, adding suddenly: “There’s another.
Look out, it’s almost under your feet.”

Together they put out the snake-like creeping flame and then the
ranger turned again to Bob. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with a
grimy hand.

“There’s more than one bad fire that has started just that way,” he
said. “Fire’s out apparently, everything’s peaceful and grand,
people go home contented, even the rangers are satisfied there’s
nothing left to do. But in spite of that we stick around and the
chances are ten to one that sooner or later that fire will start up
again—some distance maybe from the original place—and if we hadn’t
been on the spot, there’s no telling but what a million dollars’
worth of good lumber would have gone up in smoke. Yes, sir, it’s a
great life if you don’t weaken.”

“Do you think this one’s over?” asked Joe. He and the other boys had
come up in time to hear the last part of the ranger’s discourse. Now
the latter grinned.

“Never can tell,” he said, adding whimsically: “It doesn’t pay to
think in this business.”

In spite of the ranger’s pessimism, the fire did really prove to be
over, and when the rangers themselves decided it was safe to leave
the spot the boys turned back with them. Reluctantly they parted
company with the rangers and slowly made their way toward the lodge.

“Gee, the fun was over too soon,” mourned Herb. “That fire was only
a teaser.”

“I’d hate to think what it might have been, just the same, if the
rangers hadn’t shown up on the spot,” said Bob, thoughtfully.
“Suppose, for instance, the fire had started in a deserted part of
the woodland where no one would have noticed it until it had
gathered headway——”

“But someone would have noticed it,” Joe broke in eagerly. “That’s
what the ranger service is for, especially the air patrol part of
it.”

“Of course,” admitted Bob. “But even at that the chances are that it
would have gathered considerable headway before even the airplanes
caught on to the danger.”

“Too bad it didn’t,” returned Herb flippantly. “Then we’d have had
that much more fun. I’d like to see a real fire before we go back to
Clintonia.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Bob, regarding his soot-blackened hands,
“if one really big forest fire cured your liking for them. I reckon
they’re not all fun. However,” he added, with a laugh, “I guess
there’s not much danger of our being in on a regular blaze unless we
start one ourselves.”

“But did you notice,” asked Jimmy, as they came within sight of the
lodge, “how everybody else melted away when the rangers hove in
view? The people around here certainly have some respect for those
fellows, all right.”

“I see,” said Herb with a grin, “that Doughnuts has fully decided to
be a forest ranger—when he grows up.”

“Huh,” grunted Jimmy, aggrieved. “Where do you get that stuff?”

The days following the fire at the railroad tracks were quiet, as
far as any new fire scare was concerned, and the boys sallied into
the woods in search of adventure.

They found many things of interest, but the most interesting of all
to them was the discovery of the mouth of a cave some distance from
the lodge where they were staying.

The cave could be reached by means of a narrow, tortuous path
through the woods, the path so overgrown in spots with weeds and
tangled underbrush that the boys were forced to mark trees and
stones in order to find their way to the spot.

But the aggravating part of this discovery was that the mouth of the
cave was not big enough to allow of their passing through it even
though, by the throwing of the light from a flash into the black
interior, they could see that, a little further along, there was
ample room for them to stand almost upright.

Of course they thought of enlarging the mouth of the cave, for they
became the prey of an insatiable curiosity to see what was inside
this mysterious hole in the mountainside. But to do this was almost
impossible. The mouth of the cave was flanked by heavy rocks and it
would take many hours of work to remove these, if, indeed, the feat
were possible at all. And they were too lazy—or perhaps not quite
curious enough—to take the trouble.

However, they thought of the cave often and gradually it became
surrounded, in their own minds at least, by an air of mystery.

Herb thought it might have been the retreat of smugglers in olden
days, Jimmy had it a counterfeiters’ den and Joe even went so far as
to say that it might be in use now as a hiding place for contraband
liquors. And so they got a great deal of fun from the discovery of
the cave, even if they could not go any further in their
explorations.

When they were not wandering about the woods, they were either at
the ranger station, hobnobbing with the good-natured fellows there
and discussing radio with the red-headed operator, or they were at
home in the lodge, sending out messages from their own radio set.
They received messages also, for there was a broadcasting station
not so far away but what they might catch an occasional concert and
some of the talks.

They had set up their apparatus soon after arriving and not until
they had the set “ready for business” did they begin to feel really
“at home.”

“Never lonesome these days—even in the backwoods!” cried Joe, as he
joyfully clapped on a pair of head phones. “All you have to do is
listen in on a concert or two to imagine you are back in dear old
Clintonia again.”

“Far be it from us to imagine any such thing,” retorted Bob quickly,
at which the boys had chuckled appreciatively. As a matter of fact,
they were having far too good a time to wish themselves in Clintonia
or anywhere but where they were.

Then one day, wandering in the woods, they came across their second
great discovery. This was a quiet pool deep and still, surrounded by
low-bending trees whose foliage fairly swept the placid surface of
it.

The boys were quiet, lost in admiration of the beauty of the scene,
then suddenly Jimmy was struck by an idea.

“I bet you anything, fellows,” he cried, his round face fairly
radiating joy, “that there’s as fine fishing in this pool as any
you’ve ever seen. I’m going back for my tackle.” And he had actually
turned and headed back for the lodge before the boys fully grasped
the meaning of what he was saying. Then, with a whoop, they followed
him.

Luckily they had thought far enough to pack in their rods at the
last moment and they knew exactly where to put their hands upon
them. So it happened that they were back at that pool again in
record time, equipped for fishing.

They caught fish too—numbers of them—beyond their wildest dreams,
and they were just in the act of noisily proclaiming the proud Jimmy
a hero when Bob’s gaze, traveling upward, froze suddenly with
horror.

“For the love of Pete, Doughnuts,” he cried hoarsely, “don’t move!”




                            CHAPTER XIV

                       THE CROUCHING WILDCAT


Startled by the tone of Bob’s voice, the boys turned quickly, and
Jimmy, disregarding his admonition not to move, screwed around till
he could follow Bob’s gaze. Then an answering look of horror crept
into his eyes.

There, directly above him, crouching low on an overhanging branch of
the tree, was an animal that looked like nothing so much as an
overgrown house cat. But instinctively the boys knew that those
ferocious yellow eyes and small stubby ears flattened close to a
sleek furry head belonged to no tame animal. It was a bobcat, one of
the most vicious of the wild animals.

How long the boys sat there, staring fascinated into the branches of
that tree, they were never afterward able to say. But even while
they sat there motionless their minds were working furiously.

They were unarmed. If the animal attacked them they would be
helpless. Instinctively they knew that as long as they remained
absolutely quiet they had a chance of safety. The wildcat, puzzled
by their stillness, would hesitate to spring. But if they moved——

Then suddenly Bob, as though released from the spell that held him,
reached over ever so gently and his fingers closed on a stout stick
that lay close to him. At the same moment his other hand grasped a
heavy stone.

The other boys, guessing what he was about to do, followed his
example, moving with the utmost caution. But, carefully as they
moved, the slight action annoyed the crouching wildcat. His teeth
showed in a wicked snarl and he crept nearer the end of the branch.

Then Bob, staking everything on sudden action, jumped to his feet,
throwing the rock he held with all his force toward the huge cat and
brandishing his stick wildly above his head.

The other boys followed suit, yelling like wild Indians and
advancing fiercely upon their foe. It was a wild thing to do and
there was only one chance in a hundred that the ruse would work. If
the cat, infuriated by the attack, sprang upon them——

But no! Again that fierce growl, the flattened ears, muscles tensed
for a spring——

But as the boys, shouting and waving their improvised weapons
wildly, advanced bewilderment crept into the glaring yellow eyes of
their antagonist. He crouched lower, he snarled angrily, he seemed
about to leap.

Then, very slowly, the big animal began to retreat, inch by inch,
along the branch, his body almost touching the bark, his fur
bristling angrily.

Elated at the prospect of triumph the boys sprang forward with yells
that started echoes sounding and resounding through the forest.

With a sudden motion the wildcat bounded backward, landed on his
feet in the underbrush and scurried away through the trees. The boys
waited, weapons still raised, half expecting a return, but as the
moments passed and the woodland was still save for the excited
chattering of birds in the branches over their heads, they began to
realize that what they had hoped for was true, the enemy had been
finally and completely routed.

They turned and stared at each other with eyes in which laughter
could not completely hide the shock of their experience.

“Well, what do you know about that?” asked Bob, regarding the stick
which he still grasped. “Scared him off with a bit of stick. I bet
if I’d tried to hit him the stick would have broken in two on his
sleek back. Say, fellows, can you beat it?”

Then he began to laugh and the others joined him. They laughed till
tears rolled down their cheeks, and when at last they sobered down
they felt a good deal better.

“That was some great idea of yours, Bob,” said Joe admiringly, as he
threw away his stick and stooped to pick up the day’s catch. “I
suppose the rest of us would just have sat tight like a bunch of
boobs and let that bobcat tackle us.”

“It was the craziest idea I ever had,” returned Bob. “It was a long
chance, but I guess it was about the only chance we had, at that.”

“Whew,” said Herb, as he thoughtfully wound up his line. “That was
enough excitement to last me for a good long while.”

“I didn’t know there were bobcats around here,” said Jimmy, wiping
the perspiration from his round face.

“I guess there are all sorts of wild animals in the forest,” replied
Joe, adding with a grin: “I guess maybe we’d better get down one of
those guns from the wall of the lodge and load it with buckshot.
Looks as if we might need it.”

“Well, I guess we’ll not want to do any more fishing to-day, shall
we?” asked Jimmy, looking around him rather anxiously. “We’ve got a
pretty good haul anyway.”

“Plenty for dinner,” said Bob. “And just now nothing would suit me
better than to go home and cook ’em.”

This feeling was heartily shared by the boys, and it did not take
them long to gather up their bait and reels and start away from the
pool.

Although, by tacit consent, they did not mention their hair-raising
experience on that tramp through the woods, it was easy to tell by
the way they continually glanced this way and that into the shadows
of the forest what was uppermost in their minds.

Of course they had been told there were wild animals on Spruce
Mountain, but somehow they had not taken the information very
seriously. But since the incident of the afternoon, an incident that
might have ended in tragedy, they decided to be more cautious.

“I’m glad we met one, anyway,” said Herb, as, later that night, they
prepared for bed.

“Met what?” yawned Jimmy, who, after the day’s exertions, was very
weary.

“The bobcat, bonehead,” retorted Herb, unflatteringly. “What did you
think I was talking about—the fish?”

“Well,” said Joe, reflectively, “I’ve seen plenty of pictures of
wildcats, but as far as I’m concerned I’m perfectly willing to take
the pictures’ word for it.”

“Same here,” put in Bob, grinning. “They aren’t particularly playful
little animals to have around.”

At that moment Jimmy sank upon his cot with a sigh of abject relief.

“Whew!” he ejaculated, “there aren’t any springs worth mentioning on
this downy bed but it sure feels good to me, just the same.”

“Doughnuts wants a spring like the one the fellow had I was reading
about the other day,” said Bob.

“What kind is that?” asked Jimmy, through a prodigious yawn.

“Why, this fellow,” chuckled Bob, stretching himself out on his own
cot and staring up at the ceiling, “thought up the wonderful idea of
using his springs for an aerial.”

The boys gasped at him.

“Now I know you’re fooling,” Herb told him, incredulously.

“Fooling, nothing!” replied Bob. “I never was more serious in my
life.”

“You’ve got to prove it to us,” said Joe, as he carefully extracted
a fish hook that was on the point of entering his thumb. “Sounds
kind of phony to me, Bob.”

“Not at all,” said Bob, still seeming very much amused about
something. “It’s really the simplest thing in the world when you’ve
once thought of it.

“This fellow doesn’t even use an antenna—not the towering, outside
kind, that is. He merely attaches the antenna lead to the springs of
his iron bed——”

“How does he make his ground connection then?” asked Joe, still
incredulous, while Herb and Jimmy regarded Bob with interest. “Tell
me that, then.”

“Easiest thing in the world,” retorted Bob. “He makes the ground
connection by means of a water pipe and a radiator in his own
quarters.”

Herb whistled.

“Pretty slick—that,” he said admiringly. “Has music to sing him to
sleep and everything.”

“But what kind of an outfit has he?” asked Joe, always anxious for
technical information.

“It’s a single circuit, regenerative design,” explained Bob. “It has
two variometers, a detector tube, two condensers and one-stage of
audio-amplification from two ‘B’ batteries. Very simple apparatus
when you know about it.”

“Well, that boy was surely original!” exclaimed Herb. “I wouldn’t
mind having a set like that myself.”

“It would be easy enough to make,” said Joe, his mind already busy
with circuits and condensers and variometers. “And when it was
finished you’d have something that not everybody else has, anyway.”

“I’m for it, strong,” said Jimmy, turning over in an effort to find
the softest spot in the bed. “And not only for the sake of the
music, either. Just think how nice it would be to go to sleep on
some real springs. I love music—but oh, you comfort!”

“Oh, go to sleep before I put you there!” commanded Herb, raising a
shoe threateningly.




                             CHAPTER XV

                       AN UNDERGROUND MYSTERY


“Say, have you fellows heard about that new vacuum tube?” asked Joe,
as the boys were tinkering with their set a day or so after the
incident of the wildcat.

“What about it?” the others asked, with interest.

“They say it’s the most powerful tube in the world,” Joe continued
enthusiastically. “Think of it—this tube is capable of supplying a
hundred kilowatts of oscillating high frequency energy to an
antenna.”

“Must be some hefty tube,” remarked Bob, rather absently. He was
trying to tune in on a station some distance away and there was
considerable interference.

“No, that’s just the beauty of it,” said Joe, still on the subject
of this wonder tube. “It’s small. Only weighs ten pounds.”

“I suppose that will have a big effect upon radio in general,” said
Herb.

“I’ll say so,” Joe returned. “Why, they say that two of these tubes
operated in parallel would do the work of a million dollars’ worth
of machinery in transatlantic communication.”

“Some tube, all right,” said Jimmy. “I bet it will bring the
inventor some hard cash, too.”

“He deserves it,” declared Joe. “Anyone who has brains enough to
invent a thing like that ought to be a millionaire.”

“Probably will be, too, before he gets through,” remarked Bob.

Jimmy sighed.

“Oh, for a few brains!” he murmured and Herb grinned happily.

“You said something that time, old timer,” he assured the despondent
Jimmy.

However, they wearied even of their radio sets after awhile and
decided to take a tramp in the woods, “just to pick up an appetite
for dinner.”

“Here’s hoping we don’t pick up a wildcat or two for good measure,”
said Joe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Jimmy nonchalantly. “I’ve heard wildcat
steaks are very good eating.”

“So are bear steaks,” retorted Joe. “But I’m not particularly
anxious to meet the bear.”

“Let’s go over to the ranger station,” suggested Bob, “and see if
there’s any news. Then we might go around and see if our cave is
still there.”

The boys agreed, and a moment later they were being greeted
pleasantly by Mr. Bentley and one or two others. There had been no
fires of any account reported, the rangers assured them, and smiled
when the boys looked disappointed.

As usual, they stayed at the station longer than they had expected
to and when they came out they decided it was too late to go around
to their cave that afternoon.

“We’ll make a good early start in the morning and spend the day,”
decided Bob. “We can take some canned beans and rolls along so
Doughnuts won’t starve to death.”

“That reminds me that we’d better go around by way of the
crossroads,” said Herb. “Doughnuts ate up the last bit of jam last
night, and if we’re going on a picnic we’ve got to have jam.”

The boys agreed on the necessity, and so started to detour through
the woods in the direction of the little crossroads country store,
where a few things, they had discovered, could be bought.

But they were destined not to reach the store that afternoon. They
had never gone straight from the ranger station to the place, and so
the country through which they were passing was new to them.

They knew there was no possibility of their becoming lost, however,
for Mr. Bentley told them that if they followed straight along the
path they were now on they would come out right at the crossroads.

However, the way was long and as they had been climbing steadily
they finally sat down on the crest of a low mountain to regain their
breath and look at the scenery.

It was then that Joe discovered, half-way down the mountainside, a
curious gaping hole, half concealed by intertwining underbrush.

“Look!” he said. “That looks like a fair-sized cave to me.”

“Let’s go and have a closer look at it,” said Bob, curiously. “It’s
probably just a hole, but there may be something interesting about
it.”

Jimmy protested, for his short legs were weary, but Herb yanked him
to his feet and gave him a shove in the direction of the cave. Jimmy
had not been any too securely balanced in the first place, and
Herb’s shove had the effect of lifting him completely from his feet.
He fell, landed on his side and rolled down the steep side of the
mountain, turning over and over and grasping wildly at roots and
stones in his path.

So suddenly had it happened that for a moment the other boys only
stared. Then, as poor Jimmy went on rolling and finally disappeared
in the gaping mouth of the cave they gathered their wits and made
after him. Smothering their mirth, they half slid, half fell, down
the mountain side.

The ground was rough and stony and they were afraid that Jimmy might
be really hurt. Their fears were set at rest, however, when, upon
peering into the dark cavern, they found that Jimmy had regained his
feet and was glaring with a mixture of sheepishness and rage at
Herb.

“You big stiff!” he said, carefully feeling over his pudgy form to
make sure there were no bones broken, “next time you feel like
shoving a fellow, just look who you’re shoving, will you? I suppose
you think this was fun.”

“It was—for us,” retorted Herb, relieved to find he had not
seriously hurt his fat chum. “Stop glaring at me, Doughnuts,” he
added placatingly. “I didn’t mean to shove so hard, honest I
didn’t.”

“Well,” said Jimmy, somewhat mollified, “I suppose I’ll have to take
your word for it. Only don’t let it happen again, that’s all.”

“And now that we’re here,” said Bob, gazing about him with lively
interest at the walls of the cave into which they had literally
stumbled, “what do you say we look around a bit?”

“You bet,” agreed Joe, feeling in his pockets for matches. “From the
looks of things, if we’re going to do much exploring we’ll need
plenty of light.”

“I’ve got a new box of matches myself,” said Herb. “Any of the rest
of you fellows got any?”

It appeared that they all had, and Bob, feeling about on the floor
of the cave, found a stick that would serve them admirably as a
torch.

This he lighted with one of the precious matches and held it over
his head in an attempt to pierce the dark corners of the place.

“Probably ends a few feet farther on,” said Herb, as they carefully
made their way forward, groping along the damp walls of the cave.
“You go ahead with your light, Bob, and lead the way. It’s as dark
as pitch in this hole.”

But, contrary to Herb’s prediction, the cave did not end a few feet
further on. As a matter of fact, it seemed to widen as they went
forward and the boys began to feel a growing excitement.

“This is getting good,” chortled Bob, then stopped short as by the
light of his torch he discovered something new. “Say, fellows,” he
cried, in an excited voice, “here’s a tunnel—and, yes, there’s one
on the other side.”

“Better and better!” exulted Herb. “Which one of the tunnels shall
we explore first?”

“Why not take both?” asked Jimmy, who had completely recovered from
his ignominious tumble. “Two of us can go down one of them and the
other two can take the other.”

“Nothing doing,” said Bob, firmly. “We’re going to stick together on
this jaunt. We don’t want to take any chances of our matches giving
out and being left in the dark—not if I know it!”

When Bob spoke in this tone the other boys generally did as he said.
And this time was no exception. They tossed coins to determine which
of the diverging tunnels they would follow. This proved to be the
one to the right of them.

“This piece of stick is burning out,” said Bob, as they turned down
the dark passage. “Feel around and see if you can get any more, will
you, fellows? If we depend on matches they will be all burnt out
before we’ve seen half we want to see.”

They felt about the floor of the cave, which was damp and clammy to
the touch, and finally produced a couple of sticks which might be
made to do. These last were damp and rotten, but Bob finally
succeeded in lighting one.

“We’ll have to work fast, fellows,” he told them. “This isn’t going
to last long.”

And so they went ahead in real earnest, thrilled and fascinated by
the discovery that there was not one tunnel, or two, in this
remarkable cave, but a whole network of them, leading bewilderingly
one into another.

In their excitement the Radio Boys temporarily forgot that it was
much easier to get in than it would be to find their way out again.
All that seemed to matter at the time was to find to what point
these fascinating tunnels led. They had been using up matches at an
appalling rate of speed.

Then suddenly the torch in Bob’s hand flickered and went out

“More matches,” he called impatiently. “Herb, it’s your turn.”

A minute of dead silence while Herb fumbled wildly in his pockets.
Then faintly through the pitch blackness his voice came to them.

“I—haven’t any. I must have lost them.”




                            CHAPTER XVI

                    SWALLOWED UP BY THE DARKNESS


At first the full measure of the calamity did not come home to the
boys. It was irritating, of course, to find themselves in the dark
with no possible way of making a light. The blackness was so intense
that they could not even see a hand before the face.

Herb turned, stumbled over something and almost lost his balance.

“Confound this dark,” he grumbled. “I could have sworn I had those
matches.”

“Feel in your pockets, fellows,” commanded Bob sharply. Perhaps more
than any of the other boys he realized the seriousness of their
predicament. “Without a light we’re going to have a hard time
getting out of here.”

But, feel as they would in every pocket they possessed, the boys
were at last obliged to confess that they had not a match among
them.

“Oh, we can remember the way back, all right,” said Herb, assuming a
confidence he was very far from feeling. “All we have to do is
follow this wall till we come to the end of it.”

“Yes,” said Bob with a touch of irony in his voice. “Then what?”

“Then we turn to the right—or was it the left?” faltered Herb, and
Bob laughed.

“That’s just what I’d like to know,” he said, then went on, with
sudden resolution in his tone: “There’s no use dodging the fact,
fellows, that we’re in a pretty tight fix. If we get out of this
black hole all right it will be more luck than anything else.
However, the sooner we start trying the better.”

“If we go slowly and try to remember the way we came in, we’ll be
all right,” said Joe. “I think I know the direction. Come on, follow
me, fellows, and we all may be happy yet.”

They turned and slowly felt their way back along the damp earthy
walls of the tunnel. They came to the end of it and then, following
Joe’s advice, turned to the left.

Along this passageway they carefully felt their way, and, once more
coming to the end of it, this time turned to the right. This was the
way, Joe was confident, that they had come. All they needed to do
was to follow their noses and they could not fail but be all right.

Poor Joe! His confidence was short-lived. For, when they came to the
end of this passageway, instead of seeing before them daylight from
the mouth of the cave, there was still that maddening pitch
blackness.

They stood irresolute, without the slightest idea which way to turn
next.

“This is what I call rotten luck!” groaned Jimmy. “Here I am
starving to death and we may not be able to get out of this place
for another hour.”

“Humph,” put in Bob grimly. “We’ll be mighty lucky if we get out at
all. It would be hard enough to find our way around with a light,
but now——”

“Say, wouldn’t you think we’d have had more sense?” growled Herb.
“I’ve got a good ball of cord in my pocket and we could easily have
attached that to something outside the cave. Then finding our way
out would have been a cinch.”

“No use crying over spilled milk,” observed Joe. “It won’t help us
get out. How about it, Bob? Got any ideas?”

“Not one,” admitted Bob. “As far as I can see we’re lost good and
plenty.”

Jimmy groaned again.

“That’s cheerful,” he said. “When all a fellow can think of is a
plate of pork and beans with——”

“Say, cut it out, can’t you?” interrupted Herb. “Isn’t it enough to
know we’re going to starve to death without your making it worse
with your pork and beans?”

“Starve, nothing!” Bob broke in. “Where do you get that stuff,
anyway? We’re going to get out of this place if it takes all night
to do it. Come on, let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Nobody knows,” retorted Bob. “But anything’s better than standing
still groaning about our luck.”

They started on again, groping their way along, the dank smell of
earth and decaying wood in their nostrils and the black curtain of
darkness before their eyes. It was no use. Every way they turned
they were met with defeat.

“Might as well sit down and accept our awful fate,” said Herb
dolefully. “I’ve barked more shins than I knew I had, and all for
nothing——”

“Hey, you back there, come and see what I’ve found!”

It was Bob’s voice coming to them from a considerable distance up
the tunnel. There was a ring of joyful elation in it that sent them
stumbling frantically toward him.

“For the love of Pete, Bob!” yelled Joe, “what have you got?”

“A way out,” returned Bob, and, coming closer, the others could see
before them the faint gray of twilight where Bob had pushed aside
some intervening branches.

The boys pushed forward, stumbling over one another in their
excitement.

“It’s a hole, all right,” said Herb. “But do you think it’s big
enough for us to get through?”

“We’ll get through it all right,” said Bob, grimly. “Do you suppose
we’re going to get this near to the good old out-of-doors without
going the rest of the way? Watch me!”

He began digging with his hands at the earth about the hole and the
boys eagerly followed suit. But it did not take them long to realize
that any attempt to enlarge the hole was hopeless. Beneath the loose
earth was a solid foundation of rock.

They sat back on their heels, gazing at one another helplessly.
Suddenly Bob spoke excitedly.

“Do you know what I think?” he said. “I’ll bet just about anything I
own that this hole is the entrance to the cave that we’ve been
wondering about so much.”

“I bet you’re right!” agreed Joe. “It’s just about the size and
everything——”

“Well, all I have to say is,” interrupted Herb, “that if that’s the
case, our prospects of getting out of here aren’t very hopeful.
We’ve been trying for a long while to get in this hole and couldn’t.
So I must say, I don’t see how we’re going to get out.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” admitted Bob. “Only I have a pretty good
idea we’re going to get out some way. You never know what you can do
till you’re desperate.”

“Go to it,” remarked Herb pessimistically. “As for me, I think I’ll
go back and see if I can’t find some other way out.”

“Better stay where you are,” advised Bob, as he took off his coat
and thrust it through the hole. “Now I’ll make myself as small as
possible and see what happens.”

He lay down on his side and, with his arms pushed as close to his
sides as possible, stuck his head through the hole and then pushed
gently with his feet.

You would have said it was impossible for Bob to get through that
narrow opening. The boys still thought it was. Yet, in another
moment they had to change their minds. As Bob had said, “you never
know what you can do till you’re desperate.”

Once it seemed, so tight was he wedged, that Bob would be doomed to
spend the rest of his life there, but by a tremendous effort he
finally managed to push himself the rest of the way. Then, panting
and triumphant, he stood up on the other side of that hole, free.

“Well, what Bob can do, I can too,” said Joe. “Let’s go.”

He managed the feat and Herb after him, each one loosening some dirt
and small stones as he wriggled his way through. It was harder for
Jimmy, but by strenuous pulling they finally managed to rescue him
also.

“Say,” cried Bob, drawing in deep breaths of the cool evening air,
“make believe it doesn’t smell good out here!”




                            CHAPTER XVII

                            AN OLD ENEMY


They were starting back along the familiar path to the lodge when
they were surprised by the sound of angry voices coming from the
direction of the road just beyond.

One of the voices seemed familiar to them and by common consent they
turned and retraced their steps. For the voice, improbable as it
seemed, had sounded like Buck Looker’s!

As they came out into the open they saw through the gathering dusk
the indistinct outlines of a motor car. At first they could not
distinguish the owners of the voices raised in altercation, but in a
moment more they saw the reason for this.

As they watched they saw someone crawl from underneath the car while
another came around from the further side of the machine. Even in
the indistinct light the boys recognized the two distinctly. They
were Buck Looker and Carl Lutz!

The latter were so busy quarreling that they did not at once notice
the boys. Buck was blaming Carl in no uncertain tones with something
that had happened to the car.

“Thought you said you knew how to drive!” Buck snarled. “Do you
think I’d have risked my neck with a fool like you, if you hadn’t
said——”

“Oh, cut it out, can’t you?” Lutz interrupted sullenly. “I can’t
help it if the car’s a piece of old junk. The best chauffeur going
couldn’t run her two miles without trouble.”

“I suppose you think that lets you out,” sneered Buck. “Make excuses
and blame it all on the car——” He paused, mouth open, eyes staring.
He had seen the Radio Boys.

“Well, look who’s here!” he said, his mouth stretching in a sneering
grin. “Hello, fellows. Can’t we give you a lift wherever you’re
going? You look,” with a glance that took in their earth-grimed
clothes, “as if you’d been in a fight.”

“No,” said Bob, with a misleading gentleness. “We haven’t been—yet.”

“Well, we’re not looking for any, if that’s what you mean,” sneered
Buck, but the boys noticed with a grin that he climbed quickly into
the automobile. “We’d hate to wipe up the ground with fellows like
you.”

The boys started forward, fists clenched, but Carl Lutz had jumped
into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As the boys sprang
forward, the car moved up the road—at first slowly, but gathering
speed quickly.

Buck waved a hand to them.

“So long,” he called. “See you again maybe before long.”

“If you do,” said Bob, under his breath, “it won’t be lucky for
you.”

“Well, what do you think of that?” breathed Herb, as the Radio Boys
once more started for the lodge. “Who would ever have thought we’d
have the bad luck to see Buck up here?”

“That fellow,” remarked Jimmy, puffing as he tried to keep up with
the longer strides of the other boys, “is a bad penny. He’s always
turning up just when you least expect him.”

“I wonder,” said Bob reflectively, “if he can be spending his
vacation up here too.”

“Looks like it,” admitted Joe, with a scowl. “Tough luck for us,
I’ll tell the world.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bob, cheerfully. “I have a notion Buck and
Carl, too, will keep pretty well out of our way. They aren’t anxious
to mix it up with us any.”

“No. But they’re sure to try to make it unpleasant for us some way
or other,” insisted Herb. “You know how they are. They’ll do any
sort of mean trick as long as there isn’t too much danger of their
getting a black eye out of it.”

“We’ll have to take our chance on that,” said Bob, with a grin,
adding: “But, somehow, after being lost in that cave, Buck doesn’t
bother me a bit. Let him do his worst. He’ll get a good deal better
than he gives!”

Nevertheless, in the days that followed the boys thought a great
deal about their meeting with the two cronies, and they made all
sorts of inquiries in order to find out where the boys were staying.

Finally they found someone, a friend of Mr. Bentley’s, who knew
them, though, as he admitted with a frown, he knew no good of them.
This gentleman, Mr. Watson by name, said that Buck and Carl Lutz
were staying at a fashionable bungalow three or four miles from the
ranger station.

“If you’ll take my advice,” he said to the Radio Boys, the frown
still lingering, “you’ll give those lads a wide berth. They’re no
good. I’d hate to see a boy of mine having anything to do with
them.”

“You needn’t worry about our giving them a wide berth, Mr. Watson,”
said Bob, adding with a grin: “That’s the best thing we do!”

In the days that followed the boys saw nothing of Buck and his
friend and gradually forgot all about them. As long as they kept out
of sight, that was all that could be asked of them.

After their adventure in the mysterious mountain cave, the boys
found it hard to keep away from the spot. They went there every day
or so and soon came to know the various tunnels and passages in the
cavern so well that they could almost have found their way about in
the dark.

Of course at first they were extremely cautious, for they were not
particularly anxious to repeat their first experience. They made use
of Herb’s ball of cord, attaching one end of the cord to a tree
trunk outside the cave and holding the ball, unwinding it as they
felt their way along.

It was a fascinating place with its passages, its strange,
suddenly-widened chambers where they might stand upright and rest
their cramped backs.

And the more they saw of the place, the more convinced did they
become that at some time or other the cave had really been the
refuge of outlaws, who brought their booty there—desperate criminals
perhaps.

Then, one day, they came upon something that Herb declared was
positive proof of this belief.

At the end of one of the tunnels which they had not explored before
they came upon an apartment where were several evidences of former
habitation. There were bits of broken crockery, a rusted hammer, the
remains of a rudely constructed chair and a worm-eaten table. And in
the far corner, so encrusted with dirt and mold that it seemed like
part of the earth itself, Herb triumphantly discovered an old burlap
bag.

“I bet,” he said, his eyes shining, “that this thing has held gold
and silver, jewels maybe!”

“Huh!” said Joe skeptically, “you’ll be finding the treasure next.
You can’t tell anything by an empty bag.”

“No,” retorted Herb indignantly, “and you can’t tell anything by the
rest of the stuff we’ve found here, the hammer, for instance, and
the broken dishes, but you can imagine things just the same.”

“Someone used this place to hide in, that one thing’s sure,” said
Bob. “But there hasn’t been anyone here recently. Whoever our
friends were, they probably died a couple of hundred years ago.”

But in spite of the chaffing it remained a fact that from that day
of this last discovery the boys found the lure of the cave
irresistible. They spent hours there, imagining all sorts of
romantic happenings in the past and bemoaning the fact that nothing
exciting ever happened to them.

“Here it is getting near time for us to go home again, and never a
real fire yet,” complained Herb. “That’s what I call a mean trick.”

For, although they visited the rangers every day, the latter
reported everything quiet without ever a spark on the horizon and
the boys began to think that the fire they had helped to quell at
the railroad tracks was the only one they were destined to take part
in that summer.

They had had excellent weather all along, warm, sunshiny days when
the out-of-doors called to them and the only time they wanted to
stay indoors at all was when the spirit moved them to work on their
radio set.

But now the weather changed suddenly. One morning the boys woke to
find the sky leaden and overcast. There was the feel of rain in the
air and a chill breeze was blowing.

“Won’t be very cheerful around the cave to-day,” said Bob, as he
stood in the doorway of the lodge, looking up at the lowering sky.
“Guess we’d better stick around this cabin. I want to experiment a
bit with the transmitter, anyway.”

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jimmy, coming to
join Bob in the doorway. “But I’m going down to the crossroads. A
bit of rain won’t hurt!”

“Of course not,” said Joe, adding with a wicked grin: “Rose says
there’s nothing better than rain for the complexion.”

“Say!” retorted Jimmy, aggrieved, “who said I was worrying about my
complexion, I’d like to know. You fellows make me sick!”

“It’s doughnuts he’s after,” volunteered Herb. “I looked in the
doughnut jar last night and there wasn’t one left.”

“Good-by, I’m going!” said Jimmy, and without another word started
off in the direction of the general store at the crossroads,
followed by the good-natured hoots of his comrades.

“Doughnuts will die of indigestion yet,” prophesied Herb, with a
doleful shake of his head, “Come on, fellows, let’s listen in on
something. We haven’t heard a good concert for days.”

For the time Jimmy and his doughnuts were forgotten. The three boys,
absorbed in their beloved radio, forgot time and place.

But finally, finding that static was interfering annoyingly, they
stopped to make some unflattering comments on it and Bob, happening
to look at his watch, suddenly made the discovery that Jimmy had
been gone for almost three hours. At almost the same minute he
became conscious of the furious wind that whistled and moaned about
the lodge. There was no rain—only that terrific wind.

“Whew,” said Joe, going over to the window, “no wonder the old set
isn’t working well. This looks like a regular storm, fellows.”

“And Doughnuts has been gone nearly three hours,” said Bob
anxiously. “I wonder what can be keeping him?”

They went over to the door, which had long since blown shut, and
Herb turned the knob. The door flung inward with such violence that
it nearly knocked him from his feet. It took the combined force of
the three boys to push it to again.

“A regular hurricane,” gasped Joe. “Takes your breath away. Say,
fellows, I wish Doughnuts were back.”

And when another twenty minutes had passed and still no sign of
Jimmy, the boys put on their coats, pulled their caps down over
their eyes and started out to search for him. They knew the path he
would take and they started down it, the wind behind them fairly
lifting them along.

“Coming back, we’ll have to face this wind,” shouted Herb.

A ripping, rending noise! A sound as though the earth itself were
being torn asunder! With a terrific crash a giant monarch of the
forest fell across their path!




                           CHAPTER XVIII

                            PINNED DOWN


So directly in their path was the felled giant of the forest that
the boys stumbled among its outstretched branches before they could
stop their onward rush.

Then they pulled their caps still closer over their eyes, circled
around the tree and found the path again. They knew just how close
they had been to death, and yet their thoughts at that moment were
not of themselves. They were thinking of Jimmy, wondering if,
perhaps, some such accident as had happened to them had overtaken
their chum. Was that what had delayed him? They shuddered and ran
faster.

The wind, fierce as it had been before, seemed momentarily to
increase in violence. Trees moaned beneath the force of it, sweeping
their tortured branches earthward. Again and again came that
tearing, rending sound that meant the downfall of another forest
giant.

Urged on now by a horrible fear for Jimmy’s safety, the boys climbed
over jagged stumps, fought their way through clinging branches,
keeping the while a sharp lookout to right and left of them. Several
times they stopped and shouted, but the wind viciously whipped the
sound from their lips and they had the nightmare feeling that they
were making no noise at all.

Then, in a sudden deep lull in the storm, they heard it. Faintly it
came to them—a cry for help—smothered the next minute by the fury of
the wind.

But it was enough for the boys. That had been Jimmy’s voice, and
with a wild shout they turned in the direction from which it had
come.

They found him, lying on his side, the branches of a great tree
pinning him to the earth. There was perspiration on his face, either
from pain or his desperate struggles to get free. His chums did not
know which, and they spent little time trying to find out.

Down on their knees they went, shouting encouragement to Jimmy while
they tried to lift the heavy branches from him. It was all they
could do with their combined strength to lift the limb which pinned
their comrade to the ground, but they managed it at last. The
heavier weight removed, it took them but a few minutes to cut off
the rest of the branches.

Then Jimmy was free! But he made no effort to rise. Bob knelt beside
him anxiously.

“Are you much hurt, old man?” he asked, putting an arm gently
beneath the lad’s shoulders. “Do you think you can get up?”

“I guess so,” said Jimmy, struggling to a sitting position. He
grimaced with pain and rubbed an ankle gingerly. “I feel kind of
numb and queer.”

“Humph, I should think you would, after all that,” returned Herb,
adding with, for him, unusual gentleness: “How about it, Doughnuts?
Think there are any bones broken?”

Jimmy shook his head, and, with Bob’s assistance, struggled gamely
to his feet. There was the exquisite torture of returning
circulation in his feet. He felt as though he were standing on a bed
of needles with all the sharp points turned upward. He bit his lips
to keep back a groan.

The boys regarded him anxiously while Bob felt him carefully all
over to make sure there were no broken bones.

“I’m all right, I guess,” said Jimmy, his round face becoming more
cheerful as the pain in his feet subsided. “Got plenty of bruises I
guess, but I don’t mind them.”

With intense relief the boys realized that what he said was true. It
had been a miracle that he should have escaped with only a few
scratches and bruises to tell the story. As it was, if the falling
tree had caught him just a little bit sooner—but resolutely they
turned away from that thought.

As soon as Jimmy found that he could hobble along, they turned and
began the stiff fight back to the lodge. And it was a fight, every
inch of the way.

The wind seemed like a human enemy against whom they had to exert
every ounce of their strength. It wrestled them, buffeted them,
snatched at their breath, at times sent them reeling against the
trunk of a tree.

The journey was made still harder for them because of the weakened
condition of Jimmy. Although he had not been seriously hurt, the
shock of his experience had been terrific. Toward the end the boys
fairly had to carry him along.

When they finally came within sight of the lodge they saw a sight
that made their hearts jump wildly. Half a dozen rangers were
running through the woods, armed with shovels and wet sacks.

As the boys stared, two of them turned and started for the door of
the lodge. Bob rushed forward, shouting to them. It was then he saw
that one of the men was Mr. Bentley.

“Let’s get inside,” he snapped at Bob. “We can’t talk in this wind.”

Swiftly Bob drew the key from his pocket and fitted it in the lock.
The door flew open and the wind fairly swept them inside. With an
effort Bob got the door shut, turned and faced the men.

“A fire over on the ridge,” said Mr. Bentley, curtly. His face was
drawn and there were grim lines about his mouth. “Can you boys send
out some radio messages for us?”

“Watch us!” cried Bob, turning to the instrument. “Where to?”

“Villages in the district,” replied Mr. Bentley. He had already
turned toward the door. “Ashley and Dawnville are in the path of the
fire. Our wireless will be busy directing the fight. After warning
the villages, send out calls for help in all directions. We’ll need
men, men and more men!”

“Is it so bad, then?” asked Herb, his eyes gleaming.

Mr. Bentley did not answer except by a nod of the head. But the
lines about his mouth had deepened.

Then the door slammed to after the men, and the boys turned
feverishly to the instrument. Static put up a fight, but they
finally managed to get Ashley, then Dawnville.

“Perry is just a little way further on,” suggested Joe. “Better get
them too, Bob.”

Bob got Perry and then started broadcasting the call for men, men
and more men. And when they were satisfied they had done all they
could do with the radio, the boys pulled on jackets and hats and
hurried to swell the numbers of the defenders.

Jimmy who, in his excitement, had forgotten what had happened to
him, went with them. To Bob’s suggestion that he stay at the lodge
for a while and join them later, he stubbornly refused to listen.

“Think you’re going to do me out of this, do you?” he cried. “Well,
I guess not! If anybody stays at home, it isn’t going to be me.”

The boys had no time to argue with him, if they had wanted to. They
knew that in a terrific wind such as this a forest fire can become a
hideous thing, burning up whole tracts of valuable lumber, sweeping
down upon villages and leaving terror and destruction in its wake.

Mr. Bentley had said that they needed men, men and more men. And
they knew that what he had said was nothing to what he had left
unsaid. Hardened veteran as he was of many forest fires, a blaze
such as this promised to be would try even his tested courage. Well,
they’d show him what Radio Boys could do!

They paused for a moment outside the lodge to get their bearings. No
need to ask in which direction the blaze was now. No longer need to
hunt for evidences of the terror. For plainly visible now was the
curtain of red, broken and torn by darting tongues of flame that
shot heavenward, painting a dull reflection on the sky.

They could hear the hoarse shouts of the men who risked their lives
in battle with the terrible enemy, the crackling of burning trees,
could smell the pungent acrid smell of burning wood.

“Come on, fellows!” cried Herb excitedly. “We don’t have to ask the
way, do we?”

“Couldn’t miss it,” shouted Joe, giving the gasping Jimmy a lift
over the tangled branches of a fallen tree.

“Look out for that hole, fellows,” warned Bob, for, with their eyes
upon that wavering, changing curtain of red, the boys had come very
near pitching headlong into a hole made by the torn-up roots of a
tree. “Wouldn’t do to break a leg just now.”

It was deceitful—that fire line. It had seemed just ahead of them,
but, although they ran as fast as they could, it seemed always to be
just as far ahead of them.

“Maybe it’s going the other way,” panted Jimmy, his lungs feeling as
though they would burst.

“Couldn’t,” Bob shouted back. “The wind’s blowing right toward us. I
think it’s just the other side of the hill.”

For a long time they had been climbing steadily, and as they neared
the top of the hill they seemed at last to be approaching the fire.
Or was it approaching them? With that wind——

The shouts of the fire fighters were growing plainer now. Groups of
men, gesticulating excitedly and carrying shovels and sodden sacks,
brushed past them.

The boys ran with them, beside themselves with feverish excitement.
They reached the top of the hill. Down below them, writhed and
twisted and fought the grinning demon of fire!




                            CHAPTER XIX

                                FIRE


Everywhere men were working, driving themselves and others
mercilessly. A hundred yards back of the fire some were digging a
ditch while others hacked madly with hatchets at outstretching
branches of trees.

Close to the fire line men fought grimly, resolutely beating at
creeping tendrils of flame with the wet sacks, eyes bloodshot and
wild in blackened faces, burned hands returning again and again to
the attack.

Reinforcements were continually arriving, as well as fresh sacks and
shovels from the ranger station. The Radio Boys, arming themselves
with some of these, made their way as close as possible to the fire
line.

One man, whose hands had been very seriously burned and who still
refused to leave his post was carried off by two of his comrades,
shouting and protesting wildly. The boys filled in the gap.

The smoke stung their eyes torturingly, flying particles of burning
wood and leaves seared their flesh and the sweat poured from them.
They only worked the harder.

“It’s this danged wind!” groaned a man next to them, stopping for a
moment to wipe his tear-filled, smarting eyes on the sleeve of his
shirt. “If it’d stop we might have a chance——” He paused, sniffed
the air inquiringly while the expression of his face slowly changed.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he said softly. “If it ain’t!”

It was then the boys noticed what in the fever of the fight they had
overlooked, that the wind seemed indeed to have blown itself out. At
least there was a lull.

The flames which, driven by the gale, had bent and writhed and
twisted toward them, now darted straight upward.

“If we can keep it from reaching the gully,” the man beside them
continued, “there’s a chance we can beat it.”

“What gully?” asked Bob, dashing the sweat from his eyes so he might
see more plainly. “What do you mean?”

The man jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder.

“Over there, son,” he said, as he fell to work with redoubled
energy, “there’s a narrow little gully between the two mountains. If
the fire reaches that there will be no stopping it. There’s a wind
that sweeps through that place that will carry the flames ahead
faster than we can beat ’em out. That means the blaze will have us
surrounded.”

Surrounded! The phrase repeated itself over and over in the thoughts
of the boys as they were gradually forced backward and upward by the
advance of the flames.

True, the wind had stopped, but the fire had gained such tremendous
headway that even now it would require all their energy to defeat
it. But could they defeat it? That was the question.

Surrounded! Why, that meant—but it was impossible! They must
concentrate all their force, all their men at the mouth of that
gully. The fire must be checked.

Bob, starting back for a fresh sack, looked upward, and there,
hovering directly over his head, was a sight that thrilled him.

Like two great birds with outstretched wings hovering over the scene
of terror were the airplanes, the “eyes” of the Government rangers.

Bob well knew that the men up there were keeping the ether humming
with reports, messages, orders, between the station and the ships
themselves.

What was Payne Bentley thinking up there? Did he see victory or did
he fear defeat? Did he, like the ranger who had worked beside him,
see the danger in that narrow gully?

He did not have to wait long for an answer to that. As he took a wet
sack and threw his dry, scorched one upon the ground he saw that men
were being rushed to one point and that point the outermost edge of
the blaze where it reached hungry fingers toward the gully. Bob
gazed up, almost in awe, at the hovering planes.

“He’ll do it,” he exulted. “He’ll beat that blaze if anybody can.”

It did not take Bob very long to see that he had exulted too soon.
Despite the heroic efforts of the men who fought to stem the tide of
destruction, the fire crept steadily, relentlessly forward, forcing
the workers foot by foot, inch by inch back toward the gully.

Side by side with the men, never faltering, though their lungs felt
near to bursting and their smarting eyes tormented them, fought the
Radio Boys.

Only once did Jimmy, naturally feeling the strain of it more than
the other boys, fall back to get his breath. But not five minutes
had passed before he was with them again, gallantly taking up the
task where he had left it.

And all for nothing! The fire, feeding on the dry and crackling
timber made brittle by weeks of drought, rushed onward like a
destroying fiend, seeming to gather headway as it came.

Faster and faster the men retreated before it, back, back, back to
the last line of retreat—a deep trench dug at the very mouth of the
gully. If they were driven past that——

And they were driven past it, fighting for the last inch, gasping,
struggling, sweating—down in the trench—on the other side—hacking
frantically at branches, felling them to save them from the worse
destruction of the fire.

No use! What could men avail against a force like this, a force
mocking at their puny efforts, sweeping on, on——

It had leapt across the trench, caught the first draft from the
treacherous gully, with a roar like a roar of a maddened bull it
started up the mountainside, driving men before it, threatening to
wind its deadly robes about them even as they ran——

“Back, back!” was shouted hoarsely from parched throats. “More
trenches—more sacks—more—more——”

Choking, stumbling, gasping, the boys ran with the rest.

“Our radio!” cried Bob, in a rasping voice that he himself did not
know. “We’ll have to get the set out of danger! Then we can come
back!”

The boys nodded and turned their stumbling steps in the direction of
the lodge. Blindly they made their way through heavy underbrush and
over fallen trees, one thought uppermost in their minds—to get their
radio set to a place of safety while there was yet time.

They had gone a considerable distance before they were out of reach
of the flying embers of the fire, before they found relief from the
suffocating smoke of it.

Then they paused for a moment, exhausted, and sank down upon the
ground. They brushed the hair back from their hot faces, wiped the
perspiration from their eyes and stared at each other. So begrimed
were they, so soot-blackened and altogether disreputable, that it
would have been hard to recognize them as the same boys that had
left the lodge so short a time before.

Herb grinned with something of his old, unquenchable humor.

“I guess our own families wouldn’t be able to recognize us now,” he
said. “We sure are some mussed up.”

“And we’re liable to be more so before we get through,” said Bob,
getting stiffly to his feet. “Better keep going, fellows,” he said.
“There’s a lot of work to be done yet.”

They started on again, knowing by the sound of the fire behind them
that it was still gaining alarming headway.

“Lucky that wind quit just as it did,” panted Jimmy, his breath
coming in short, labored gasps. “If the gale had lasted much longer
it would have been all up with us, I guess.”

“If only we can check the fire before it has us surrounded we may
have a chance,” said Bob. “But if that fire line meets——”

He left the sentence unfinished, and as they came in sight of the
lodge he made a dash for it, flinging open the door. The boys worked
feverishly, striving to do an hour’s work in a few minutes.

The set must be dismantled and carried to a place of at least
comparative safety. The lodge was no place for it at all. It was
directly in the path of the flames and there was every probability
that the little house would have to go with all its contents.

It was characteristic of the boys that it never entered their heads
to try to save anything but their beloved outfit. Millions of
dollars’ worth of timber was endangered, to say nothing of men’s
lives, and their one thought was to rescue the radio set and get
back to the fight.

It was a nightmare that they would never afterward forget, pulling
at bolts and wires with burned and trembling fingers. Everything
seemed unfamiliar, unreal, to them, the very apparatus itself seemed
to fight their frantic efforts to save it. They had moments of
thinking they must give up in despair.

But they worked doggedly on and finally accomplished what they had
set out to do. The radio was dismantled and ready for moving.

“But where shall we take it too?” asked Jimmy, helplessly. “There’s
no place——”

“Down by the lake,” Bob broke in quickly. “That’s the safest spot
just now. Later, if we have to, we can come back for it.”

So down to the shores of the lake they bore the apparatus, then
turned and, once more, ran in the direction of the fire.

“If this timber burns up,” panted Joe, as the thickened smoke in the
air told them they were getting close to the blaze, “it will be an
awful loss to Doctor Dale and the Old First Church.”

A few moments more, and they plunged again into the thick of the
fight.




                             CHAPTER XX

                         A TERRIBLE BATTLE


The Radio Boys found it harder now to fight against the onrushing
flames. They had entered the battle full of fresh strength and
energy, but now that had been in a large measure spent, and it was
on sheer will power that they flung themselves once more into the
inferno of heat and smoke.

If it had been bad before, it was almost unendurable now. Terrible
blasts of heat smote down upon them, while billows of acrid smoke
threatened momentarily to overwhelm them. Gasping and choking, with
the hot fingers of fiery destruction clutching at them, they threw
themselves face downward on the ground, seeking momentary relief
from the searing torment. But even as they lay striving for a breath
of pure air, their clothing smoldered and smoked, bursting into tiny
flames here and there.

Bob leapt to his feet, beating out patches of flame from his
garments, and the others struggled up, looking to him for leadership
in their dire extremity. Obviously, the fire was now utterly beyond
control, and to attempt to stem its onward rush would be madness.
How to save themselves from that red destruction was all they need
consider now.

Look where they would, they could see red lines of fire. The
tremendous crackle and roar of the oncoming conflagration crashed on
their ears. Whatever they were to do must be done quickly, for no
man could live long in that scorching, searing heat. The thought of
the lake flashed into Bob’s mind, and with a shout to the others to
follow, he started off. But he did not go far. Between them and the
lake was a towering mass of flaming trees which effectually barred
progress in that direction. But it might still be possible to skirt
around the fire, and like a flash Bob thought of an old woods road
that ran in a rough semicircle through the woods and ended not far
from the lake. The smoke was so thick that it was agony to see or
breathe, while the heat became more intense every instant.

With a shock and a curious sense of surprise it came to Bob that
death was close upon him and his comrades, that they were marked to
die in that chaos of falling trees and leaping flame. With the
thought came a creeping, paralyzing sense of helplessness and panic
and a temptation to surrender to the inevitable. But only for a
second. Then he gathered himself together and shook off that
nightmare feeling. He was young and strong, and death was not for
him. With a gasping shout he started off in the direction where
instinct, more than anything else, told him that the old woods road
started, and the others staggered after, their failing spirits still
clinging to a trust in the leader who had never yet failed them.

Searching frantically back and forth, Bob at last located the
opening he sought, and dashed in. The others followed, and they all
staggered along, tripping, falling, staggering to their feet, but
always a little nearer their last hope of life—the lake!

They had covered perhaps half the distance when they were stopped
short by a shout from a thicket to one side of the road.

“Save me, or I’ll be burned up! Save me!”

Had the Radio Boys been of another breed, they would have thought
only of their own safety and paid no attention to the plea for
assistance. But they were incapable of refusing aid to another, no
matter how great their own peril, so they turned off from the road
and presently came to the source of the outcry.

Prone on the ground lay Buck Looker, yelling lustily but making no
other effort to save himself. Indeed, he was so unnerved by terror
that had the Radio Boys not come to his assistance it is probable
that he would have lain in the same place until the fire found him
and put an end to his career. It was all they could do to haul him
to his feet and drag him along with them, but they did their best,
although this greatly retarded their own progress. And they could
ill afford to lose time. The fire was rapidly closing in upon them.

Ahead they could see the opening through the trees which marked the
end of the road, and they knew that the lake was only fifty yards or
so past this. But even as they looked, some wandering breeze threw a
tuft of flame into one of the trees ahead, the leaves and branches
burst into flame, and the archway through which they would have to
pass was outlined in fire.

Buck gave a howl of terror, and even the Radio Boys hesitated,
appalled at the sight. They gazed desperately about them, but on
every side the red tongues of the fire demon were lapping greedily
at them. There could be no stopping and no retreat. To advance
seemed almost as hopeless, but there was no choice left them.

Their chances were further diminished by the fact that Buck,
overcome by terror, had fainted, and they were forced to carry his
inert form between them. How they ever covered the remaining
distance none of them could afterward tell. They had literally to
run through the fire for twenty feet at the end, and when they
emerged into the open space bordering the lake their clothing was
afire in several places. Summoning the last remnant of their
strength, they rushed toward the lake and threw themselves into the
blessed coolness of the quiet water.

Words cannot describe the relief and luxury of that plunge. They
splashed about, cooling their parched and blistered skins, reveling
in their deliverance from the furious heat that pervaded the air.
Close to the surface of the lake the atmosphere seemed cooler and
less smoky, and it was possible to breathe and live.

At the first touch of the cool water Buck Looker had regained
consciousness, but he was still overcome with terror and the fear of
death, and did nothing but mutter and moan to himself. The Radio
Boys took little further notice of him, however, but set about
salvaging their radio set, which they had left close to the bank of
the lake.

The fire was closing in on the lake from every side now, while the
heat steadily waxed greater and stronger. The boys were forced to
duck under the water continually, to get relief. Burning leaves and
sticks hissed down on the lake in a steady shower, while the crackle
and roar of the fire were deafening. In only one direction was there
a break in the ring of flame, and that was on the side where their
bungalow was situated. From that direction came a faint breeze,
which fanned the fire to even greater fury, but at the same time
drove it back on itself, so that its progress there was greatly
retarded.

“It’s getting too hot along the shore, fellows,” said Bob. “Out near
the center of the lake we’d be further from the fire and have a
better chance.”

“Yes, but we can’t swim forever,” objected Joe. “We’ll have to get
hold of something to keep us afloat.”

“Oh, that part is easy enough,” replied Bob. “There are plenty of
logs that we could shove out and hang onto. But if we’re going to
save the radio equipment, we’ll need something more substantial.
Maybe if we work fast we can sling some kind of raft together that
will do the trick.”

“That’s the idea!” exclaimed Joe. “Up and at it, fellows. We might
as well get cooked a little more while we’re about it.”

In spite of the scorching heat, the boys dashed up the bank and ran
to the place where they had left their radio equipment. They were
none too soon, for the fire was within a hundred yards of it. The
metal parts were too hot to be touched, but as yet nothing had been
damaged. To construct any kind of raft under such conditions was
extremely difficult, but the boys went at the task with a dogged
determination that refused to recognize the word “impossible.” Their
wet clothes steamed in the heat, and at short intervals they were
forced to dash into the water and wet them anew.

Nevertheless, by dint of tremendous exertions, they dragged several
logs together. Then the problem arose of fastening them together,
and this time it was Jimmy who had the inspiration.

“There’s a big roll of new antenna wire somewhere in that pile of
equipment,” he said. “If we can get hold of that it will be just the
thing to lash the logs together with.”

This idea seemed so good to the others that they acted on it
instantly.

A short but furious search brought the coil of wire to light, and
with it they lashed the logs securely together. This gave them a
fairly substantial raft, capable of floating them and their
equipment. The work was finished not a moment too soon. The breeze
had freshened, sending waves of terrible heat over them, and at the
last moment they were almost forced to leave their precious radio
outfit and take to the water without it. It required a high type of
courage to work in that inferno, but they stuck gamely to it, while
the skin on their hands and faces blistered and peeled, and their
clothing steamed and smoked and broke into patches of flame.

With the strength born of necessity they pushed and hauled the raft
into the water and loaded their radio outfit on it. Then they
plunged in themselves, and headed away from shore, swimming and
pushing the raft before them.




                            CHAPTER XXI

                        PLUNGED IN THE LAKE


All the time that the Radio Boys had been working to construct the
raft, Buck Looker had remained just where they had left him, never
even offering to help. But now, when he saw the raft actually made
and floating, he gave a yell and struck out for it.

“He’s not going to get on that raft,” muttered Bob, grimly. “He’s
better off in the water, anyway. We’ll let him hang on with the rest
of us, but if he gets on top he’s just crazy and mean enough to
knock some of the radio stuff overboard.”

“It would be a pretty mean stunt, after we saved his life, but I
know well enough that he’s capable of it,” said Joe. “We’ll have to
keep him off, that’s all.”

By this time Buck was close to the raft.

“Keep off, Buck!” shouted Bob. “Hang on to the raft, if you want to,
but don’t climb up on it.”

Either Buck did not hear him or he decided to ignore the warning. In
a few more strokes he had reached one corner of the raft and started
to climb aboard. His weight tilted the raft at a sharp angle, and
some of the equipment started to slide down toward that end.

Joe was nearest to Buck, and he saw that there was not an instant to
lose. He rapidly pulled himself along the side of the raft, and when
he got within reach dealt Buck a blow that made him loose his grip
on the raft. The clumsy structure returned to an even keel, while
Buck snarled at the Radio Boys in anger and resentment.

“What are you trying to do, Joe Atwood—drown me?” he blustered. “If
I was on dry land I’d make you feel sorry for hitting me that way.”

“If you were on dry land you’d be burnt to a crisp right now,” said
Joe, scornfully. “We saved your worthless life at all sorts of risk
to ourselves, and then you repay us by trying to dump our radio
apparatus into the water.”

“I suppose you’d like to save that junk even if you let me drown,
wouldn’t you?” whined Buck.

“It seems to me that it’s worth a lot more than you are,” snapped
Herb. “If the choice were left to me, I’d say save the radio, every
time.” Of course, he did not mean this, but he spoke in anger.

Buck gave him a black look, but made no further reply, and when he
saw that the boys were determined not to allow him on the raft, he
contented himself by hanging to the side, as the others were doing.
Indeed, as Bob had said, this was the best way, after all, for it
was the only escape from the fierce heat of the atmosphere. The
Radio Boys took off their tattered coats and spread them over the
radio outfit in order to protect it from the blistering air.

The boys pushed the raft further and further from shore, as the fire
reached the water and burned fiercely. As they rounded a bend in the
shore, they became aware that they were not the only living
creatures who had sought refuge in the lake. Dotted about over the
surface were the antlered heads of several deer, together with a
number of smaller animals. But in addition to these harmless
creatures the boys could see several shaggy black heads that
undoubtedly belonged to members of the bear tribe.

“There’s a chance for you, Jimmy,” said Herb, unable to refrain from
his jokes even in the face of this new danger. “You were telling us
how you enjoyed killing bears for breakfast. As far as I can make
out, there are enough bears in this immediate neighborhood to
satisfy the most ambitious hunter. How will you take ’em—one at a
time, or all together?”

“Gee, willikins!” exclaimed Jimmy. “I’ll steal some of Buck’s
thunder, and tell you what I’d do to ’em if we were all on dry land.
Seeing we’re all in the lake, the only thing I can think of is to
call loudly for assistance.”

“Now you’re stealing Buck’s stuff again!” Herb pointed out, and, in
spite of their desperate situation, the boys could not help laughing
at the ludicrous expression on Buck’s face, half of anger and half
of shame. However, they had little time for laughter. Several of the
bears had sighted the raft and were coming over to investigate.

Now, in times of fire or flood, the wild creatures seem to forget
their savage instincts for the time being, and in the common peril
seem to pursue a policy of “live and let live.” The bears in the
lake were too terrified to have any desire to attack the boys, but
they were tired of swimming and wanted some place where they could
rest. The raft looked inviting, and as the boys were unarmed it was
hard to see what effective resistance they could make to the
powerful animals. Once let them start to climb aboard, and the raft
would inevitably be swamped and all the radio apparatus lost.

The boys were not slow to realize this, but that was of little avail
unless they could think of some way to drive the animals off. All
this flashed through their minds as they gazed blankly at each
other, while the bobbing black heads came steadily closer. Buck
Looker did not even try to think, and could only gaze
terror-stricken at the approaching brutes while his teeth chattered
from fright and he whimpered like a whipped puppy.

“Aw, cut out that blubbering, can’t you?” exclaimed Bob,
impatiently. “How can we think of anything when that noise is going
on?”

“B-but they’ll kill us all,” moaned Buck. “We’re as good as dead
already.”

“Say, you’d be a lot better dead than alive, seems to me!” exclaimed
Joe, contemptuously. “If you can’t do anything else, keep quiet, as
Bob says. If you give us a chance we may save your worthless life
once more to-day.”

“If we only had a gun or two!” said Herb. “I haven’t even a
jackknife to put up a fight with.”

“We’ve got about the most powerful force in the world to-day right
at our command, haven’t we?” demanded Bob, with a note of suppressed
triumph in his voice.

“What do you mean?” they demanded, all together.

“Why, electricity, of course,” said Bob. “That raft is loaded down
with it. We’ve got two fully charged storage batteries there,
haven’t we? And any number of induction coils? If we work fast, we
may be able to give the bear family the shock of their lives when
they arrive.”

The others caught his idea in a flash.

“You mean connect up the batteries with the primary coil and give
the bears high voltage juice from the secondary coil, is that it?”
questioned Joe.

“That’s just it,” replied Bob. “But we’ll have to step lively, or
they’ll be here before we can get ready for them. You and I can do
the hooking up, Joe, while the others keep the raft steady and try
to scare the bears off for a little while. I’ll climb aboard first,
while you fellows put your weight on the far side so that our ship
won’t tip too much.”

This maneuver was accomplished without a hitch, and Bob was soon
safely on the raft. Out that far on the lake the air was a little
cooler, so that it was possible to work without being scorched. Once
aboard, Bob helped Joe to clamber on, and then they fell to work
like madmen, stripping wires and making connections. The batteries
they connected in series, thus doubling their voltage, and then
connected them to the primary coil of their inductance unit.
Fortunately the latter was an unusually large and powerful one, and
the induced voltage in the secondary was very heavy. Owing to the
high resistance of the secondary the amperage was necessarily low,
but when the primary circuit was made and then suddenly broken the
induced voltage in the secondary was of such strength as to give a
paralyzing shock to any object with which it might come in contact.
One side of the secondary was grounded to the water, and then their
impromptu shock-giving apparatus was ready for use.

And not a minute too soon. The bears, five in number, had been
circling about the raft, somewhat doubtful about its nature, but
without doubt desperate enough to rush at it as soon as they became
familiar enough with it. Bob had hardly made the last connection
when Jimmy uttered a warning cry.

“They’re coming, Bob!” he yelled. “All five of them at once!”




                            CHAPTER XXII

                       FIGHTING OFF THE BEARS


Jimmy’s warning came not a moment too soon, for the words were
hardly out of his mouth before two of the bears came splashing
toward the raft. Buck Looker gave a yell of terror and started
swimming away as fast as he could. Jimmy and Herb had to let go,
too, and swim out of the reach of those big paws that were
propelling the bears forward at surprising speed. The largest one
was soon close to the raft, and Bob could see one big paw lifted in
preparation to climb aboard.

With one hand Bob depressed the key that completed the circuit
through the primary coil and held the end of the high tension lead,
which he had lashed to a long stick, close to the bear’s moist black
nose. Then he released the key.

With a hiss and a snap a long blue spark crackled between the
terminal and the bear’s nose. Bob worked the key rapidly up and
down, and at each break another high voltage spark jumped to the
animal’s sensitive snout. Each spark had the force and effect of a
heavy hammer blow, and the bear half roared and half squealed in
pain and fright. One big paw came up and tried to brush away that
agonizing, stunning thing, but this only transferred the sparks to
his paw. With a terrified squeal he turned about and swam off at top
speed. The other bear was puzzled at the behavior of his companion,
but he could see no reason why he should not get up on the raft,
even though the other, for some incomprehensible reason, had failed.
Accordingly he made a rush, but was even less fortunate than his
predecessor, for by now Joe had gotten his outfit to working
properly, and the animal had to face two streams of sparks instead
of one. They tore through him with paralyzing force, and he slipped
back into the water, hardly able even to swim.

Meanwhile the other three bears had been swimming about the raft,
growling and grunting. The fate of their two companions made them
suspicious and puzzled them, but at last they seemed to muster up
courage all at the same time, and as though through a preconcerted
signal they charged down on the raft at once. For a few minutes it
was nip and tuck, and it looked as though the bears might win by
sheer weight of numbers. One actually dragged himself half way up on
the raft, tilting it at such an angle that it was all Bob and Joe
could do to keep their footing. Once Joe’s stick was knocked out of
his hand, and Bob had to stand off all three until he could recover
it. Herb and Jimmy swam about, almost crazy with the desire to help
their hard-pressed comrades, but of course unarmed as they were,
there was nothing that they could do. Indeed, they were taking big
risks by remaining close to the raft, for there was no telling when
one of the bears, infuriated by the baffling electric discharges,
would attack one of them by way of venting its fury. Luckily,
however, the animals were so dazed and frightened by the novel
defense put up by these strange beings on the raft that there was
little fight left in them, and their only thought was to get away
from that stinging, hammering torment as soon as possible. With
grunts and squeals they turned tail to the raft, their going
accelerated by a string of writhing blue sparks that hissed and
snapped after them as long as Bob and Joe could reach them with
their long poles.

The discomfiture of the big brutes was so sudden and complete that
the boys were actually surprised at their own success. But the
victory had not been won so easily as they had supposed. The bears,
it is true, had been driven off, but they had gone no great distance
when they stopped and began circling about the raft, growling
fiercely and evidently meditating a further attack.

“If they all come on at once, we’d better all be on the raft to ward
them off,” said Bob. “We can rig up two more electrodes, and we may
need them all before we get through.”

“That suits me,” said Jimmy, proceeding with considerable alacrity
to climb up on the raft. “It isn’t hard to see that those fellows
can swim about ten yards to my one, so if they ever took the notion
to go after me, they’d probably get me.”

“And a nice, juicy meal they’d have, too,” said Herb, as he
clambered up on the raft. “I know if I were a bear, Doughnuts, I’d
go after you first thing.”

“Well, naturally,” retorted his friend. “No bear would waste his
time going after a bean pole like you. You wouldn’t make a square
meal for a cub.”

“Hey, can’t you fellows ever cut out that funny stuff?” demanded
Joe. “Suppose you cut out the phony humor and get busy hooking up
some wires here. It won’t be any joking matter if those brutes come
for us again before we’re ready for them.”

“Oh, sure,” said Herb. “Anything to oblige. Just give me a pair of
cutting pliers and watch my speed.”

Joe uttered a grunt that might mean anything, but handed him the
pliers, and they all fell to work with a will. Buck came swimming
back to the raft, and the boys helped him aboard, although he could
do nothing useful and was only in the way. It was in times of stress
such as this that the difference between boys like the Radio Boys
and those of Buck Looker’s stamp became most apparent. All their
lives they had engaged in clean, healthful sports and occupations
that had developed their strength and resourcefulness until they
were equipped to meet the emergencies in life in an efficient
manner. Buck, on the other hand, had just loafed around with friends
as idle as himself, killing time and jeering at the efforts of
others to be of some use in the world. Then when some emergency
arose demanding quick thinking and strong, active muscles, he was
completely at a loss and had neither the resource to plan nor the
ability to execute.

So at the present time, although he was ashamed of having been so
cowardly and would have liked to help in the defense of the raft, he
did not know how to do any of the necessary things, and so could
only sit and watch the others as they deftly performed their tasks,
doing everything quickly and efficiently without any lost motion.
Buck was not so stupid as to be entirely insensible to his
shortcomings, and even formed some vague resolutions to try to do
better in the future.

But those on the raft were afforded little time for idle thoughts.
The bears kept circling closer and closer, and, to make it still
worse, their numbers had been augmented by two new arrivals who had
not had a taste of the induction coil and were proportionately
brave. The boys had barely made their last connection when the
bears, with a chorus of growls, made for the raft, their mouths open
and little eyes twinkling viciously.

The sight was a fearsome one, but there was no way of retreat open
even had the boys been so minded, which was far from the case. They
were resolved to save their radio outfit, and moreover were
encouraged by the success of their former defense.

This time they had a harder rush to stem, as they soon found. The
bears flinched away from the stream of sparks emitted by the four
high tension terminals wielded by the boys, but they could attend to
only four at a time, and meanwhile the other bears were attempting
to get a foothold on the raft.

Fortunately, this was not an easy thing to do, as the logs were
slippery and difficult to climb up on. For several minutes the
result seemed in doubt. Jimmy’s pole was swept out of his grasp and
thrown twenty feet by one sweep of a big black paw. Fortunately the
wire broke under the blow, otherwise the whole coil would have been
dragged into the lake, and the boys would have been helpless against
the attack. As it was, this cut down the number of the defenders,
and it seemed as though the bears would surely overwhelm the frail
raft. Jimmy worked like a madman trying to connect up another wire,
but before he could get one in operating condition the fate of the
battle had been decided. The bears, bewildered and stunned by the
mysterious force that shot through them like the stabs of red hot
wires, and that all their tremendous strength was powerless to ward
off, finally gave way. First one and then another turned tail and
paddled away, splashing and whimpering, baffled by the weapon
wielded by these beings who seemed so puny to look at, compared to
them, and yet held lightning in their hands. One big fellow
persisted when all the others had given up their attempt, but the
boys concentrated three crackling blue spark streams on him, and
that proved to be more than he could stand. With a cross between a
growl and a squeal he splashed away in the wake of his companions,
who were snorting and charging through the water like a fleet of
ferryboats.

Left in undisputed possession of the raft, the boys drew long
breaths of relief and took stock of damages. Herb had four deep
furrows on his left hand, where a bear’s claws had grazed it. Jimmy,
now that the excitement was over for the time, discovered that his
wrist had been badly sprained when the bear had knocked the stick
from his hand, but aside from these comparatively minor injuries,
the boys were in good shape.

The raft had suffered more, in its way, than they had. The efforts
of the big animals to climb aboard had loosened several of the
outside logs, and broken some of the strands of wire that bound them
together. However, there was plenty more wire on the raft, and the
boys immediately set to work to repair the damage. Now that the
bears had gone, they began to realize that the heat, which in the
excitement of the fight they had hardly noticed, was again growing
intense, and they were glad enough to plunge once more into the lake
to make repairs on the raft.

“While we’re about it, we might as well make a thorough job of it,”
observed Bob. “There’s no telling how long we may have to stay out
here in the lake, and we might better take a little more trouble now
and make everything as secure as possible.”

The others had no objection to make to this, except Buck Looker.

“Aw, what’s the use of bothering with it,” he observed. “I guess
these old logs will hold together as long as we need them.”

“Yes, but guessing isn’t quite good enough for us,” observed Joe.
“When we finish a job, we want to _know_ that it will do the work
it’s intended to do. You have to take enough chances in this world,
no matter what you do, without making more chances by your own
carelessness.”

“That’s the stuff!” cried Bob approvingly. “If a job is worth doing
at all, it’s worth doing well, as somebody remarked about ten
thousand years or so ago.”

They wound the wire again and again about the logs, and then
tightened it by looping other strands between each pair of logs and
drawing the wire on opposite sides of the raft as taut as they could
get it. They made a good job of it, even though they were working
under tremendous difficulties, and the time was not far away when
they had good reason to congratulate themselves on the fact that
they had done so.




                           CHAPTER XXIII

                         A DESPERATE CHANCE


The fire still burned with unabated fury along the shores, and so
great was the heat that the lake was actually getting warmer. It was
a large body of water, fed by ice-cold springs, and as a rule it was
almost too cold for comfortable swimming. But now it had grown
almost tepid, so much so that numerous fish, unused to any but a
cold lake, were killed by the unaccustomed warmth and numbers of
them began to make their appearance on the surface of the lake. The
boys were ravenously hungry, but they had no way of cooking the
fish, and they were far from being hungry enough to try to eat them
raw. In their flight it had not occurred to any of them to take food
along, and now they regretted the oversight, especially Jimmy, who
looked longingly at the beautiful bass and lake trout so close to
his hand.

“Say!” he exclaimed, “wouldn’t one or two of those fellows taste
good, nicely broiled and served hot?”

“There’s plenty of fire on shore,” Joe pointed out. “Just swim over
and poke one or two of those fish up on the bank, Doughnuts, and
they’ll be ready to eat in no time.”

“Well, if you’ll furnish me with a nice asbestos suit, maybe I’ll
try it,” retorted Jimmy, “Don’t forget that I might get cooked even
sooner than the fish.”

“Oh, we’d have to take a chance on that,” said Joe, heartlessly.

“Maybe you’ll have to, but I won’t,” replied Jimmy, with conviction
in his tones. “Go over and broil yourself, if you want to.”

“I will—if I want to,” Joe assured him.

“It’s a wonder you can’t cook the fish with your precious radio
set,” said Buck, with one of his customary sneers.

“Don’t be too sure that we can’t!” exclaimed Bob, as Buck’s words
gave him an idea. “Haven’t we got some German silver resistance wire
on the raft, Joe?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure we have,” returned his friend. “What do you
want it for?”

“Why not make an electric grid out of some of it?” asked Bob. “The
wire is a fine gauge, and the electricity from the batteries will
heat it red hot in a few seconds. We can mount it on a few
insulators and cook as many fish as we like. How does that strike
you, Jimmy?”

“Hooray! Just what the doctor ordered!” responded that individual.
“You rig up the stove, Bob, and I’ll get hold of a couple of fish
and clean them. See which will be ready first.”

“What do you think of the radio set now, Buck?” inquired Herb. “You
thought we couldn’t cook with it, but in about ten minutes we’ll
show you that we can. Maybe after a while we’ll make a fan out of
you. Although it hardly seems possible. It takes brains to
understand radio.”

“Aw, I could understand it if I wanted to,” growled Buck.

But there was little conviction in his tone. He and his cronies had
consistently scoffed at radio, and told everybody who would listen
to them that it was just a fad and not a serious science. And they
had said it so often, that they had actually come to believe it.

Now, in a short space of time, Buck had seen how that same radio set
that he had scoffed at had been utilized to fend off the bears, and
he was about to see it utilized to cook their food. Concerning the
latter he was still skeptical, however. He suspected that the Radio
Boys were just trying to fool him, but this idea was somewhat shaken
when he saw the business-like way in which Jimmy proceeded to scoop
up two fat fish and clean them.

Meanwhile, Bob and Joe had been busy on the raft and had strung
several coils of thin resistance wire across some flat porcelain
insulators. Then they connected one end to one of the storage
battery terminals, and connected the other end to a small knife
switch, which was in turn connected to the other terminal of the
battery. Now everything was ready to test their impromptu stove, and
while the others looked on expectantly, Bob closed the switch.

The result was too good. They had not strung enough resistance wire
to cut down the amperage sufficiently, and a second after Bob closed
the switch the wires sprang to a white heat and a second later one
strand melted, breaking the circuit before Bob even had time to open
the switch.

“Good night!” exclaimed Herb, while Buck Looker viewed this
practical demonstration of electricity’s heating power with
astonishment writ large on his face. “You’d better stick about three
times as much resistance into that circuit. Bob. Those batteries are
sure full of juice.”

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Bob. “If we’d had a pencil and a
table of resistances we could have calculated the right length of
wire to an inch, but since we haven’t any such convenient things
along, we’ll have to get the right length by experiment.”

“Well, I win on speed, anyway,” said Jimmy, complacently. “My fish
are all ready to be cooked, and I don’t see that your stove is ready
to cook them. You’ve got to step lively to beat out your Uncle
Jimmy.”

“Guess he’s right, at that, Joe,” admitted Bob. “He’s hung it on us
this time, anyway. But this stove’s ready for another test now, and
I have a hunch we’ll have better luck this time.”

Once more he closed the switch, and this time the results were all
that could be desired. After a few seconds the resistance wire
glowed a dull red, then a brighter red, and stayed there, showing
that about the proper amount of current was passing through the
circuit. Bob placed three more insulators loosely on top of the
wires to hold the fish a slight distance away from them, and then
the stove was ready.

“Hand over your fish, Doughnuts, and we’ll put a golden brown on
them that would make a French chef envious,” said Joe, and as Jimmy
complied he placed them over the glowing wires.

“If this blamed smoke weren’t so thick we could smell them cooking
pretty soon, and that would make them taste all the better,”
lamented Jimmy.

“Never mind the smoke. How about the heat?” demanded Joe. “It feels
to me as though I must be cooking almost as fast as those fish. I’m
going to take a duck in the lake.”

“You won’t cool off much that way,” Jimmy warned him. “The lake is
lukewarm.”

“No, and you won’t get any cleaner,” added Bob. “Just look at that
black scum over the water!”

The boys had been working under a constant shower of burning sticks
and leaves that dropped steadily into the lake. But by this time
they had become so used to this continual bombardment that they
scarcely noticed it. Hot bits of charcoal hissed against their
clothing, and they brushed them off into the lake with almost as
little concern as they would have shown in brushing away a
troublesome mosquito. They were badly blistered in many places,
especially their hands and faces, but they had become so used to the
stinging pain that the Radio Boys did not bother to remark upon it
now to each other. Buck was the only one of the little party who
complained, and even he did not say very much, being ashamed to when
he saw the others showing such fortitude. They kept their clothing
wet by frequent dips in the lake, and waited with what patience they
could for the fire to burn itself out. There seemed little immediate
prospect of this, however, because the trees surrounding the lake
were all of giant size, and as time passed on the heat seemed to wax
hotter instead of getting less. They were filled with bitterness,
however, when they thought of the bungalow and all the valuable
timber belonging to Dr. Dale and the church, which they believed was
almost certainly on fire by now.

They were roused from these gloomy thoughts by a sputtering and
crackling over their impromptu electric stove, which warned them
that the fish were rapidly becoming cooked. Jimmy took charge of
them at this stage, being a good cook as well as a young man rarely
endowed with appreciation of the good things of the table.

“I’m sorry I haven’t any seasoning for these beauties, but you’ll
have to get along the best you can without it,” he said. “This fish
is done now, and I’ll whack it up the best I can. If there isn’t
enough, we can easily fish one or two more out of the lake.”

In spite of Jimmy’s apology the fish tasted good, although before
they were all eaten the boys were in the water again, seeking relief
from the suffocating heat. After that there was not much they could
do but keep their raft well away from the blazing shore and pray for
rain, which they all did fervently.




                            CHAPTER XXIV

                          THE BLESSED RAIN


Through the blazing forest the wind tore its way, gathering up as it
went the blazing crowns of trees and throwing them, like a baleful
giant at sport, high up in the air, where they separated and fell
like thousands of skyrockets at once.

At any other time it would have been a spectacle of such
magnificence that it would have held the boys spellbound. But there
was nothing in it now but terror and deadly peril to life.

The Radio Boys braced themselves to meet the ordeal, and for the
sake of the others held their fears under control. But in their
secret hearts they believed that none of them would come out of that
fiery furnace alive.

But there was one on the raft who had no hesitation in letting his
fears be known, and that was Buck Looker. He crouched down on the
raft, his usually red face blanched with fright, whimpering and
whining and mumbling incoherently.

It takes an ordeal like that through which the party on the raft
were passing to bring each one out in his true colors. There was no
question as to Buck’s color. It was undeniably yellow.

A great mass of branches, all aflame, was carried out by the wind
and fell in the lake not more than twenty feet from the raft. Had it
fallen on it, the party would have been enveloped in flames in a
moment. Even at that distance, the heat seared their faces as though
with a hot iron, and to save their eyes they covered their heads
with their wet coats.

Buck gave a wild shriek as the blazing mass came down.

“It’s got us sure!” he yelled, grabbing at Jimmy and pulling him
between him and the blaze to give himself that much protection.

“For the love of Pete, let go of me,” growled Jimmy, as he yanked
himself away, in disgust at Buck’s cowardice. “Don’t make a fire
screen out of me.”

“Oh, why did I ever come up into these woods?” moaned Buck.

“Chiefly because Bob gave you a licking,” Herb muttered to himself,
his sense of humor not wholly subdued even by the peril he was in.

Buck made a grab at Joe.

“Do you think there is any hope?” he whined. “Oh, don’t tell me that
there isn’t any hope!”

Joe shrugged his shoulders.

“Search me,” he said curtly. Then, as he looked at the abject
creature, he could not help feeling some pity for him despite the
contempt he had for him, and added more gently: “Of course there’s
hope. Brace up, Buck, and get a grip on yourself. We’re worth a
dozen dead men yet.”

“Dead men!” repeated Buck. “Oh, don’t speak of death! I don’t want
to die!”

“I guess none of us does,” remarked Bob kindly. “Now, Buck, try to
calm down. You see that the water is putting out those blazing
branches, and we’re getting out now into the middle of the lake. I
guess we’ll pull through all right.”

“I know I haven’t treated you fellows right,” whimpered Buck. “But
if you once get me out of this I’ll never do anything against you
again.” Bob did not reply, for at that moment he felt upon his face
what seemed like drops of rain. At first he thought that it was
spray from the rough water on which the raft was tossing. But he
held his face upturned and felt several more large drops come
pattering down.

“Hurrah, fellows!” he cried, in wild jubilation. “It’s raining!”

“What!” yelled Joe unbelievingly.

“You’re fooling!” cried Herb.

“More likely it’s water from the lake,” asserted Jimmy.

“It’s rain, I tell you!” exclaimed Bob. “Hold your faces up and feel
it. Glory, hallelujah!”

A moment more and doubt was impossible, for with a swish and a roar
the rain began to come down in torrents.

How they welcomed it! How they gloried in it! In a few minutes they
were drenched to the skin with water colder than that of the lake,
but it seemed to them that they had never had such a delightful
sensation.

For that blessed rain meant salvation, salvation not only for them
but perhaps for scores of others who, like themselves, had been
trapped in that ring of flame. It meant the conquering of the fire
fiend, that red demon who for hours past had been threatening them
with a terrible death.

“If it only keeps up, if it only keeps up!” they found themselves
repeating again and again.

And the frantic hope that was really a prayer was answered. How it
rained! It was like a cloudburst. Down, down it came in torrents
that seemed inexhaustible.

And as the floods descended, the boys watched with delight the
effect it had upon the fire. At first it was hardly perceptible, and
the flames still towered toward the skies. But after a few minutes
the blaze began to lower and waver. The heart of the forest was
still crimson, but at the outer edges, above and around, little
columns of smoke began to dull the red welter. And it stopped
spreading. The trees that had not yet caught were now beyond
likelihood of catching. The red fingers that reached out for them
found not dry timber but dripping, soaking trunks and branches on
which the fingers slipped. The fire was beaten. It might be hours
before it would admit defeat and slink out of sight, but it was
beaten just the same. The beginning of the end had come!




                            CHAPTER XXV

                        SNATCHED FROM DEATH


But the jubilation of the Radio Boys at the victory of rain over the
flames soon gave way to feelings of alarm at a new danger that
threatened them.

The wind seemed to abandon the upper stretches of the air and
swooped down on the lake. Soon it had become a howling gale that
churned the waters into foam and tossed their frail craft about like
an eggshell.

Had they been in a canoe or even in an ordinary rowboat, they could
not have survived. But the broad surface that the raft presented to
the water made it difficult to upset it, though at times it seemed
as though it would throw a complete somersault.

Up and down it went sickeningly, at one moment on the crest and the
next in the trough of the waves. Again and again the water came
aboard and swept the raft from end to end, and the boys had to dig
their hands and feet into the crevices of the raft and hold on for
dear life.

Bob had thrown himself at full length on the raft, one arm flung
about the radio set which otherwise would have been washed
overboard.

Buck’s fears had again been aroused by the new peril, and he broke
out into lamentations, which might have had an unnerving effect on
the other boys had they not been half-smothered by the clamor of the
wind and waves.

Suddenly a new sound broke through the din, a noise that the boys
from their experience at Ocean Point recognized at once as the roar
of waves beating on the shore.

In a sense this was welcome, as it told them that the land was near.
The solid earth never seemed so precious to them as it did at that
moment. They were expert swimmers, and in ordinary circumstances
could swim to the shore if they were thrown from the raft.

But these were far from being ordinary circumstances. No swimmer
could live long in such a storm, when the waves might easily beat
him into unconsciousness. The shore might be steep and slippery, so
that they could not get a hold either with hands or feet. And if the
raft were hurled on it, some of its occupants might be stunned by
the shock or by something against which they might be thrown, and
thus lose their chance of safety.

“Stand by, fellows,” shouted Bob, his words barely heard above the
shrieking of the storm. “Keep as close together as you can and be
ready to help. One for all and all for one. Remember!”

The words had barely left his lips when there was a terrific
concussion as the raft was thrown on a group of rocks lining the
shore of the lake. The craft hung there impaled, while all of the
boys were flung headlong into the cruel, swirling waters.

Those waters beat upon them mercilessly, seeking to drag them back
into the lake. But they clung desperately to projecting points of
rock until the wave receded. Then they were rejoiced to find that
their feet could touch bottom. Before the next roller came in they
had got in far enough to be safe, Bob dragging Buck, who had again
collapsed, along with them.

They dragged themselves up on the shore, which luckily was sloping
at that point, and then threw themselves down, too strained and
exhausted to speak, but their hearts filled with an immense
gratitude for their deliverance.

For several minutes they lay there panting. Then Bob sat up with a
sudden exclamation.

“The radio set!” he cried. “Where is it?”

Without waiting for an answer he hurried to the shore. There at a
little distance lay the raft, held fast in shallow water. And on it,
to Bob’s great relief, rested the old reliable radio set, whose
weight had held it steadfast.

Joe had followed him, and together they measured with their eyes the
distance to the raft. It was only a few yards, and they knew that
the water there was shallow.

“When I give the word, Joe,” directed Bob.

They waited till the next wave dashed in.

“Now!” cried Bob, as it began to recede.

They rushed into the water, reached the raft, grasped the set and
were half way back when the next wave caught them. But the weight of
the set helped to steady them, and the next moment they were safe on
the shore with their precious possession.

“Now,” said Bob, “the next thing is to set it up and get in
connection with Mr. Bentley.”

They set to work at once with alacrity. Herb shinned up a tree with
wire, from which he made an extemporized aerial, while Bob, Joe and
Jimmy busied themselves with making a ground connection. In a few
minutes the work was done, the battery was working and Bob was
sending a message to wing its way through the ether.

“Radio Boys safe,” he sent. “Stranded on coast of lake. Do you hear
me, Bentley?”

Not more than a minute elapsed before an answer came.

“Thank God!” the message ran. “Had feared you were lost in the fire.
Will scout around until I find you. This rain is taking my job off
my hands, and as soon as the fire is under control I’ll start
looking for you.”

Bob communicated the message to the others who had crowded around
and who were as delighted as he that he had got in touch with their
staunch and reliable friend. All that they had to do now was to wait
with what patience they could summon until rescue came.

And now that the greatest peril was past, they had time to take
account of their plight. They were wet and haggard and bedraggled.
Their hair had been singed in places, and there were blisters on
their hands and faces. Their eyes were hollow and there were
unaccustomed lines about them. They were frightfully weary.

But all these things seemed like trifles compared with the one great
fact that their lives had been spared. How could they dream of
complaining about anything?

The rain was still falling heavily, and the flames had died down.
There was a red glow in the heart of the forest, which looked like
one gigantic ember, and volumes of steam were rising to the sky. The
fire had done its worst, but rain had proved its master.

Perhaps an hour elapsed, and then from afar they heard the roar of
an airplane engine. Nearer and nearer it came, until they could see
the plane like a great bird coming toward them.

That the pilot had seen them as they waved their arms was evident by
the way the plane began circling above them, looking for a landing.
One was discovered in an open space not far away, and the plane came
gracefully down. The boys rushed toward it, and the next moment
Payne Bentley jumped out and was soon shaking hands and giving the
boys bear hugs that showed how deeply he was moved by meeting with
them again.

Then came questions and answers in quick succession that enlightened
all of them on the situation of affairs. The boys told of their
adventures, and the forest ranger in turn gave them the story of the
fire. It had proved unexpectedly stubborn, and the fire fighters,
worn and exhausted, were at the limit of their endurance when the
rain had come to their help. In response to their eager inquiries,
he assured them that the tracts belonging to Dr. Dale and the Old
First Church had been saved without substantial damage.

The plane could not carry them all at once, and Mr. Bentley had to
make two trips before the boys were safe and sound at a ranger’s
rendezvous beyond the zone of fire, where they were received with
open arms and had the refreshment and rest they so sorely needed.

They ate till they could eat no more, and then slept right through
the next twenty-four hours.

It was a much chastened and subdued Buck Looker who bade them
good-by with what seemed real gratitude the following day. While the
Radio Boys were somewhat in doubt as to whether the “leopard” could
really “change his spots,” they were willing to give him the benefit
of the doubt and sent him away with their best wishes.

“Fellows,” said Bob, as they were lounging in front of the house
that had given them shelter, “if you had your choice, what would you
rather be when you grew up—a radio expert or a forest ranger?”

The question was something of a poser, for each vocation had its
special fascinations. Joe answered it in Yankee fashion by asking:

“How about you, Bob? Which would you rather be?”

“Both,” answered Bob. “Just like Payne Bentley.”

                              THE END