One light plane did fly over, and the pilot saw the balloon and the fires all right, because he circled back and came in very low over the trees. We thought the vibration would shake the walls of the quarry loose when he went overhead. He pulled up sharply and dropped something over the side. It came swinging down on a small parachute and dropped with a big splash in the stagnant pond at the open end of the quarry.
"Come on!" Jeff shouted. "Bring a flashlight."
He crashed through the underbrush and charged right into the pond. I got there just in time to catch the parachute on the surface of the water in the beam of my flashlight, and I plunged right in after Jeff. The pond was a deep pit and we had to swim, but we got to the parachute in time to grab the package before it sank. We got it back to shore and opened it. It contained four flares, some medical supplies and a note. The note told us that if they decided to try a helicopter landing the pilot would circle overhead and drop a parachute flare to light up the area. Then we were to light the flares we had, two yellow and two red, to mark the place the chopper was to land.
Jeff and I were dripping wet but we soon dried off when we all went to work with hatchets to clear the scrub growth from an area about fifty feet in diameter in the middle of the triangle formed by our three campfires.
It wasn't long before we heard the putt-putt-putt of the chopper's motor and the thrashing of its rotor blades. Then we saw its blinking lights over the rim of the quarry and rushed out to set off the flares that marked the circle it was to land in. They sent up huge billowing clouds of red and yellow smoke. It made a beautiful sight as the smoke caught the light of the campfires and the chopper hovered overhead, beating the air with its blades. We could see the pilot and the Air Force doctor looking down at us. The wind from the rotor blades beat our shirts and trousers back against us and made the smoke from the flares swirl around on the ground. The whole quarry floor throbbed as the chopper settled down. We had to turn our backs to it and run for cover to get away from the loose gravel and dust it kicked up and sent flying in all directions.
It took only a minute for the doctor, who was an Air Force major, to check the jet pilot over thoroughly.
"Somebody did a first-rate job here!" he said quietly. "You probably saved this man's life. Get one of those stretchers over here."
It seemed like a long time, but it probably wasn't more than fifteen minutes before we had the stretcher back on the skids of the chopper and the pilot wrapped snugly in blankets under the protective plastic hood.
The Army pilot inspected everything carefully and radioed in to Westport Field for wind and temperature information. Then he looked slowly around the rim of the quarry, where the dawn was beginning to form a faint halo of light. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and spoke briefly with the doctor. Then they both walked over to where we were standing.
"How much do you weigh, fella?" the pilot was looking right at Dinky Poore.
Dinky gulped.
"Eighty-five pounds, sir."
"I'm going to need all the help I can get to lift out of here. The Major is too heavy. I need somebody about your weight to ride the other stretcher on my side and help balance the load. Would you like to take a ride?"
"Sure . . . yeah . . . I guess so . . . !" Dinky scratched his head and looked around at the rest of us for encouragement.
Dinky was trembling a little bit when we strapped him onto the other stretcher and put the plastic hood over his head, but it might have been because he was cold.
"Tie me on good," he said.
Just then a call came in on the chopper's radio. It was Colonel March, at Search and Rescue Headquarters, telling the pilot to make sure we stayed in the quarry until daylight. A big H21 helicopter would be over the quarry in about an hour to take us and all our gear back into town. We all gave a cheer when we heard this, and Dinky held up two fingers in the victory sign as the Army pilot revved up his motor.
We lowered Mortimer and our radio equipment down to the quarry floor on the rope sling. Now that the excitement was all over we flopped down on the ground dead tired, and I think most of us fell asleep.
The noise of the giant H21 "Grasshopper" woke me up. Colonel March stepped out of it when it touched down. He shook all our hands and told us the pilot had been flown direct to the Westport Field Hospital, where the doctors said he would live.
The big chopper brought us down in a field back of Town Hall, where tents had been set up for feeding the search teams. Freddy Muldoon was already there, gulping down hot cakes and bacon. Another helicopter had brought him and our ham equipment down off Brake Hill. Dinky Poore was lying on an Army cot sipping lemonade through a straw, while one Air Force nurse held the glass for him and another one treated the blisters on his feet.
When we climbed down out of the helicopter, Mayor Scragg and some of the Town Council were there to greet us, along with most of Colonel March's staff officers from Westport Field. Photographers started taking pictures, and they told us there would be a parade in our honor at the air base the next day.
Mayor Scragg had to make a flowery speech, and Mortimer Dalrymple sneezed all the way through it, because his feet were wet. From what the Mayor said, you'd have thought it was his own idea to send us out on the search. But we didn't really mind, because the Mayor had run home from the Town Hall and put on his best suit for the occasion, and he'd got several of the Council members out of bed to come meet us, so we felt quite flattered by it all.
Besides, Colonel March told us he was recommending that the Department of the Air Force award medals for meritorious service to all the members of the Mad Scientists' Club, and this made us really proud. He also said he hoped we would think about trying for the Air Force Academy when we got ready to go to college, because the Air Force needs plenty of scientists.
We all had some hot breakfast in the Red Cross tent, and then they bundled us into hostess wagons to take us home. Mayor Scragg shook all our hands again and asked us if there was anything more the town could do for us.
Freddy Muldoon said, "Yes! How about another plate of fried eggs?"
Table of Contents
The Strange Sea Monster of Strawberry Lake
The Big Egg
The Secret of the Old Cannon
The Unidentified Flying Man of Mammoth Falls
The Great Gas Bag Race
The Voice in the Attic
Night Rescue
Bertrand R. Brinley Page 14