Chapter XII: The Crimson Spot

The next morning Florence lay dreaming luxuriously in bed. Without knowing why, she thought of smiling Tim O’Hara and his Adventurers’ Club of the air. On her last trip to the mainland she had found a letter from him.

“The radio program is going big,” he wrote. “It’s a grand spot, coast to coast. We are looking forward to your coming. As soon as the battle of Isle Royale is over, wire me, collect, and I’ll get off a round trip ticket for you that every hour.”

“To speak over the radio,” she thought, as she thrilled at the prospect, “a chain broadcast, coast to coast! What would that be like?” She had not the slightest idea, but hers was the right to dream. And dream she did.

Jeanne, who had risen at dawn to watch the matchless sunrise from over the dark waters of Superior, suddenly burst into the room.

“Come, my dear!” she exclaimed. “It’s slacks and hiking boots today!”

“What’s happened?” Florence asked.

“There’s to be a mountain climbing. It’s Mt. Franklin, only five hundred feet high, but you can see the fire from there.”

“It’s worth doing, if we have no more serious business,” Florence agreed.

“Oh, yes!” Jeanne exclaimed. “Your gray-haired friend is back. He says there’s good news for you.”

“Good news?” The big girl’s heart leaped. She was in her clothes and out of doors before Jeanne could catch her breath.

“Come inside and have your morning coffee,” Colonel Colby invited, after greetings had been exchanged. “Dave has gone in. I have something to say to you both.”

He was tantalizingly slow in coming to the point, but after he had talked of moose, salmon, trout, Snug Harbor and big timber, and after the morning coffee was over, clearing his throat, he satisfied their curiosity.

“I have been in touch with my Department by short wave radio. We are obliged to revise our plans—” Pausing, he looked at his young companions, then went on, slowly,

“I truly hate doing this. I think it would be splendid training for your young souls if you were allowed to return home for a month or two hence with empty pockets, but fired by the realization that you have made a real contribution to the happiness of your fellow men, as you surely have.

“However,” he cleared his throat again, “there is your grandfather’s interest to be considered. He is a splendid man. I know him well. He can ill afford to lose.

“What’s still more important,” he paused for a space of seconds, “the truth is, we need your boat.”

“You do!”

“Absolutely.” The colonel leaned forward. “When men are to be moved by hundreds, a large craft like the _Iroquois_ is best. But when we have won this major battle with the fire, which we hope to do in a few days—two weeks, at most—there will remain weeks of mopping up to be done. Men will be scattered here and there all over the island, putting out spot fires, cutting down charred trees, digging out burning peat bogs. They must have food and other supplies. Their officers must be moved from place to place. For such a task the _Wanderer_, that can turn around on its own shadow and can enter every little cove with safety, is just the craft.

“So-o,” he added, as his listeners waited in breathless suspense, “in the name of our Government I am going to requisition your boat for perhaps eight weeks. The pay shall be four hundred and twenty-five dollars per week, and you shall be supplied fuel and oil without cost.”

“But—”

“The matter has been gone into quite carefully,” the colonel held up a hand for silence. “We have decided that this will be a fair settlement. And you,” he threw back his head and laughed, “you can’t do a thing about it!”

“Do anything about it!” Dave enthused. “Four hundred and twenty-five a week, for two months. We’ll pay off the debt!”

Florence let out a low “Hurray! Boy! That sure is a break for us!”

“No,” the colonel counseled. “Don’t say that. It is not a matter of luck. The best things of life do not come by chance. You have been tried and have proven yourselves worthy of trust. Having discovered an opportunity to do a real service, you did it without thought of reward. Time after time in my long life, I have seen men who placed service before reward led by their very attitude into higher things.

“Well, that’s settled then.” He rose from his chair. “I doubt if we shall need the services of the _Wanderer_ today. At least you may stand by here for further orders.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dave rose to salute in a soldierly fashion.

Florence’s head was fairly bursting. What wonderful good fortune! They were to carry on this fight, to do all the good possible, to help save the island and its people. “And be paid for it!” she whispered. “How grand!”

It is little wonder that she should be ready for a picnic. When Dave assured her that he, with the help of Katie and Ruben, could take care of any emergency that might arise, she and Jeanne joined the hikers, who, after a long walk, were to view the fire from the peak of Mt. Franklin.

Recalling her experience on that other occasion when she climbed the ridge, she slung the heavy field glasses over her shoulder.

“May see a moose,” she laughed. “Or perhaps a bear!”

“There are no bears on the island,” someone corrected.

“All right,” she laughed, “then I’ll look for some other creature.” She knew what. Nor was she to be disappointed.

Two hours later they were standing on the crest of the ridge, looking down the length of the island, where great clouds of smoke were rising and drifting away across the water. The nearest fire, Florence estimated, could not now be three miles from the spot where they now stood.

“If a strong wind came up—blowing this way—” She shuddered as she spoke.

“Yes,” said Jeanne, “that would be tragic!”

And so it would be. Back of them were woods and water, picturesque cottages and happy people. Before them, fire.

“Look, Jeanne!” With trembling hands Florence passed the field glasses to her companion. “There on the rocks close to that dark cluster of spruce trees, right between three fires—do you see anything there?”

“Yes.” Jeanne spoke very slowly. “There is a spot—a crimson spot. It moves. It is a man.”

“Or perhaps a boy,” said Florence. “Listen, Jeanne,” the big girl’s lips were a straight line, “I am going to that spot!”

“Oh, no!” Jeanne protested.

“Yes.” Florence was serious. “If that is the firebug, I shall get him.”

“See that trail?” She pointed to a narrow break in the forest. “It leads to the head of the harbor. I’m going down that on the run. If you wish you may follow me to the camp and the dock at the end of the trail.”

“I shall follow,” said Jeanne.

“Wait for me there.”

Florence was away.