CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Rains Came

Because of this latest emergency, Fire Boss Landers had moved his headquarters about two miles down the road to the junction of the two big firebreaks. Over four hundred smoke-eaters were strung out along this line. Twice they had fought the fire on its own terms in the thick forest and had had victory within their grasp—only to see it get away from them. Now, tired and discouraged, they had retreated to strong defensive positions established years before for just such an emergency. They would wait until the fire came to them, hurling itself against the firebreaks as a wild beast throws itself against the bars of its cage. They would watch its struggles become weaker and weaker until, at last, it would burn itself out. But in some vague, intangible way, they felt that the fire had really won the battle. For it would be hundreds of years before man and nature could rebuild what the fire had destroyed.

The remarkable escape of the boys was the only heartening note in camp that second night of the forest fire. Time and time again, they had to repeat the dramatic story for new audiences.

“They ought to strike medals for the lot of you,” Paul Landers declared enthusiastically.

“They might just do that,” Russ Steele mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for his nephew to hear. As soon as the rescue plane had landed them back at headquarters, Sandy had pulled his uncle aside for a private conversation. Minutes later a carefully worded telegram was on its way to the Pentagon:

FIRE STILL RAGING UNCHECKED HERE AT RED LAKE BUT WE PLUCKED OUR HOT POTATO OUT BEFORE IT WAS TOO BADLY BURNED

“The local telegrapher must be really scratching his head over that one,” Russ said with a laugh, as he and the boys sat around in a circle on the ground eating supper.

“What happens now?” Jerry asked.

“The Air Force will fly a top-security demolition team up here pronto. Probably tomorrow morning. The bomb will be dismantled and that will be the end of it.... I don’t have to tell you boys that the government owes you a debt of enormous gratitude for finding its ‘hot potato.’”

Sandy grinned. “We didn’t exactly find it. More accurately, we stumbled over it.”

“_I_ stumbled over it,” Quiz corrected, patting his ankle, now tightly strapped with elastic bandage. “But as I pointed out to Sandy and Jerry before, General Steele, we owe our lives to the fact that the bomb fell where it did. If we hadn’t had that hole to crawl into, there might have been three well-done potatoes on that hill.”

Ranger Dick Fellows approached them with his plate and coffee mug. “Mind if I join you fellows?”

“Sit down,” Russ invited him. “How’s the fire?”

“Looks as if she’ll lay waste the entire area due east and due north of the end of the ridge between the two roads. All we can do now is concentrate on the flanks. If that wind should reverse itself, she might burn clear back to the river before we could stop her.”

The boys let out a long groan. “Oh, no!” Sandy said with disbelief. “That couldn’t happen!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Dick said pessimistically. “Fire in Idaho played tag with the fire fighters for three days. Burned off thirty thousand acres before it was controlled by—” In the middle of the sentence, he stopped and cocked his head to one side. “Say, do you hear what I hear?”

Sandy became aware of a loud rustling in the heavy foliage overhead. “Sounds as if the wind is picking up again.”

“Wind nothing!” To the amazement of Russ Steele and the three boys, Dick Fellows unexpectedly threw his mess tin high into the air and let out an ear-splitting Indian yell.

“Holy smokes!” Jerry said, edging back from the ranger. “He’s blown his stack.”

Sandy heard the deep rumble of thunder, and then he felt the _splat_ of a raindrop on the top of his head, followed by another and another. Soon they were falling all around him, making little pockmarks in the dry dust.

“Rain!” Jerry said in an awed voice.

Dick Fellows was nearly hysterical. “Rain!” he repeated. And before Jerry could stop him, he had snatched _his_ plate away and tossed it into the air.

“Who’s hungry?” Sandy cried gleefully and sent his meat loaf and mashed potatoes soaring. As if at a signal, the other fire fighters who were eating in the grove followed suit.

“I can’t tell which it’s raining harder,” Quiz said, “gravy or water.”

Prince and a few other stray dogs who had attached themselves to the camp were having a field day, scampering around gobbling up the discarded food. The road was crowding up fast with men leaping about with their faces turned to the sky. This was a rain to end all rain. It was almost as if the sky had been filling up during all the weeks of the drought and finally had burst open like a balloon, dumping its whole reservoir onto the parched earth in one big splash.

Sandy saw men dancing together in a knee-deep rivulet running down a culvert at the side of the road. He saw one man scoop up a handful of mud and throw it at another man like a kid with a snowball.

Fire Boss Landers was standing by himself very quietly, his face turned up to the sky, and Sandy had a feeling that tears were running down his cheeks along with the raindrops.

Dick Fellows grabbed Sandy by the arm and pointed to a gigantic cloud almost a mile wide that was rising and spreading across the forest to the west.

“Smoke?” Sandy asked fearfully.

“Steam!” the ranger bawled happily. “What we couldn’t do in two days, nature has done in a matter of minutes. The fire’s done for.”

Sandy saw his uncle walking slowly in the direction of the headquarters tent. “Where are you going?” he called after him.

Russ turned and grinned back at them. “Don’t you guys know enough to come in out of the rain?”