CHAPTER XV THE DOG'S PARACHUTE
By this time you are wondering what had happened to Florence. She hadpaused to consider her own plight. She had lost all trace of the trail,was surrounded by smoke and flames and knew of no certain way of escape.The only answer to such a problem was retreat.
But which way? Up the ridge perhaps. She resolved to try this. The wallof rock was all but perpendicular. At times she was obliged to find a toehold in a crack between rocks, then to grasp the root of a tree that,like herself, clung precariously, then drag herself up. Always there wasthe danger of a fall. A broken leg might mean a terrible death by fire.
The girl was strong and steady of nerve. No cigaret smoking, no fastingto attain a perfect figure had sapped her strength. All this stood her ingood stead at this moment. It saved her from possible accident. It couldnot, however, change the course of the fire. To her further consternationshe discovered as, all but exhausted, she threw herself upon the crest,that the fire was on its way up the opposite slope to meet her.
"Oh! Oh-a!" she breathed in dismay. How the fire roared and crackled!Already great waves of heat were wafted up to her.
Turning wearily she began letting herself back down the slope.
"I must not allow myself to grow desperate," she told herself. "I _must_not."
Forcing herself to unusual caution she held her nerves steady and step bystep made her way down.
One other way of escape seemed to present itself--a narrow, dry swamp ranbetween two ridges. It was filled with smoke but there were no flames. Itmight still be open. Daring to hope, she went hurrying over itsbrush-entangled bed of leaves and moss. The smoke was stifling and allbut blinding. At times she found herself fairly groping her way.
There came a time when it seemed she could no longer breathe. A peculiarbrown smoke appeared to rise from the very ground. This, she discoveredto her despair, was exactly what it was doing. At this point the groundwas on fire. Isle Royale, in the beginning, was a barren rock. All itssoil is of vegetable origin. Here in the narrow valley a form of peat laysome three feet thick. Dry as tinder it had ignited. To attempt to passover it would be to find oneself floundering in masses of burning peat.This was unthinkable. Once again the way was blocked.
Wearily she turned back to retrace her steps to higher ground and clearerair. Scarcely had she reached her starting point when, to her greatsurprise, she heard her name called. A great wave of joy swept over heras she answered, "Here! Here I am!"
Call answered call until at last Mike and Tony burst into view.
"Oh! It--it's you," she faltered.
"Sure it's us," Mike agreed. "Who'd you t'ink? We may be tough, miss, butwe know real coin when we see it. You come from right down our alley.Come on, we'll git y' out a' here."
"Not so fast," a voice might have whispered. The boys had been too intenton getting over the trail to note that a wall of fire was at that verymoment fast closing the trail. They had retraced their steps only amatter of two hundred yards when they found themselves face to face withthat wall of fire.
"All right fer you," Mike shouted defiance at the flames. "We'll find away out. Never doubt that!"
It was not long before even Mike did doubt this. Florence had warned himof danger in two directions. All others seemed blocked.
This was the state of affairs when Jeanne and the captain flew over themfor the first time. At sight of the plane Florence took courage. She wassure they would try to help. But how? They could not land. There was nolake in the fire-encircled area. What could they do? She was to know.
In the meantime, on a very high point of Greenstone Ridge, perhaps a mileaway, there stood a solitary figure. He wore a crimson sweater andcarried a high-powered glass at his side. Three times he lifted the glassto study the spot where Florence and the two boys stood. At last heturned and took three steps in their direction. Then he stopped. A soundhad reached his ears, the drum of an airplane motor.
He did not go on, but, as the airplane circled toward him, dropped fromsight behind some low-growing fir trees. Who was he? Why was he here? Didhe know a safe way back to the spot where Florence and the boys stood?Who could answer these questions?
Florence and her companions, too, heard that motor. It was the plane'ssecond trip. Their hopes rose. They might receive aid. But how?
Twice, as they stood watching, the plane circled. Then a spot of whiteappeared at the side of the plane. In the rear seat a slim figure stooderect. It was Jeanne. She was saying, "Poor Plumdum."
The spot of white detached itself from the plane. The girl sat down.
"A parachute!" Florence murmured hoarsely.
"It ain't big enough," said Mike.
"There's something dark--" Florence did not finish.
"Oh--ah! Gone into a cloud of smoke," Tony groaned.
"It--it's a message or something. I--I'll get it. I've got the direction.You stay right here," Florence was away.
Dashing through brush, over fallen trees and around giant boulders shehad covered half the distance when to her vast astonishment she beganhearing strange sounds.
"What can it be?" she asked herself. She stopped dead in her tracks.
What indeed? Now it was like the ki-yi of a badly frightened dog and nowlike the roar of a mad bull.
As she stood there the sounds grew louder until the whole air seemedfilled with them. Then, to her utter consternation she saw poor littlePlumdum racing toward her. And after him, tongue lolling, massive antlerstossing, came a giant bull moose.
For ten seconds, her whole body paralyzed with fear, she stood theremotionless. Then her alert mind began to work. Full well she knew thehatred every moose bears for every creature of the dog and wolf family.
To stand there and gather the small dog in her arms would have been agallant but fatal gesture. She would have been torn in pieces.
She did not pause but fled down the way she had come. Realizing that themoose was much faster than herself, she began dodging to the right hereand the left there. The moose, she knew, had poor eyesight. She wasputting low-growing spruce trees between herself and her pursuer. Thisgave her added time. Twice the moose, coming head on into the sturdylimbs of a tree, was obliged to back away before continuing the chase.
Plumdum had dodged off into the brush. Mike and Tony, hearing the roar ofthe moose had climbed trees. It was Florence and the moose for it. Or wasit?
She had gained considerable distance, had raced past the spot she hadleft without seeing the boys in the trees and was hoping to elude herpursuer when catastrophy befell her. Her boot caught in a vine and senther sprawling. Worst of all, she fell on a half rotten stump whichknocked the breath out of her. In agony she tried to rise. It wasimpossible.
Tony was slim, agile as a cat, a typical Italian. His dark eyes had takenit all in. His trigger-like mind had formed a plan. The moose would passbeneath his tree. And then--
Something hit the moose squarely in the back. Something seized hisantlers in a grip of steel. Thrown into sudden panic, he forgot Florenceto go bolting down the slope toward the swamp where the ground was onfire.
Neither Mike nor Florence saw this last bit of wildwoods drama. They wereastonished when Tony did not at once answer their call. But here wasPlumdum whimpering at their feet. And there, safely tied to his collarwas a precious message.