The patrols over the forest continued day after day. As the planes landed, the master map in the operations office became more and more spotted with its colored pins. The number of pins constantly increased, but the colors changed with the condition of the fire. Everyone was working to have the pins all black as soon as possible, for black pins meant that the fire was out and therefore presented no further danger.

The truck train arrived and the added equipment which it carried made operations easier for everyone. The enlisted men pitched a camp in a grove of trees adjacent to the flying field. The tents were all in the shade. A large tent with a fly covered the kitchen and storeroom. Wooden tables and benches were built for messing. A large tent fly was erected over the tables to provide shade and keep out rain, if any should come.

Radio stations were established at Eugene, Portland and Medford. With the establishment of these stations, the reports of fires were almost instantly received and sent to the forest supervisor concerned. The smaller sets were sent out to the forest headquarters for use of the amateurs. This further expedited the reporting of fires, as it was no longer necessary to rely on the telephone lines, which in some cases might lead through as many as five or six centrals.

The amateurs operating the sets in the forests were usually boys on vacation from school or college. They were eager to get out into the woods and much interested in the radio. Their enthusiasm and interest materially assisted in the efficiency of the radio. Accordingly, it was very seldom that an amateur station was reported as being out of order or the operator not on the job.

The number of new fires decreased each day and the fires reported were controlled much sooner than before the Squadron arrived. However, the crying need was rain, and lots of it. The woods were dry as tinder and a single spark was sufficient to start an enormous fire. This was especially true in the sections well out beyond the line of habitations bordering the valleys. A general rain would dampen the ground in the forests and at least tend to prevent fires from starting.

The hot Summer days also increased the fire hazard by driving more vacationists into the woods. In spite of everything that the Forest Service did, some of these campers would go away leaving their campfire burning or throw burning matches or cigarette stubs into the woods. It was a constant fight to try and secure conformity to the fire rules and regulations.

Simmons returned to his forest for a short time and returned with a story which showed the psychological value of the airplane patrol. He was in his office one morning when a camper came in and asked for the forester in charge.

“I am he,” replied Simmons.

“I came in to give myself up,” said the camper.

“What for?” asked Simmons.

“I left my campfire burning this morning when I left my camp, and that airplane patrol flew over a little later,” replied the camper. “I know that he saw the fire, and I also know that he saw me coming down the trail. He would catch me sooner or later, so I am giving myself up.”

“We will go right back and put out that fire,” said Earl.

As it happened, the airplane observer had caught the fire and reported it by radio. Simmons and the camper returned to the camp site and the camper extinguished the fire. Then Earl escorted him to the county seat, where a judge fined the camper for not extinguishing his fire. It was all over within a few hours, but the camper had learned a lesson.

The airplane observer might or might not have been able to see the camper going down the trail in his automobile, but that did not enter into the case. The whole proceeding showed that the average camper knew of the airplane patrol and was accordingly more careful.

Some time later Goldy was on patrol from Medford. He had not been out for more than twenty minutes when he picked up the smoke of a new fire. The location and size were sent in by radio and picked up by an amateur at the supervisor’s headquarters in the Umpqua Forest. The warden left immediately for the location reported and found a homesteader burning slashings.

After extinguishing the fire, the warden escorted the woodsman to the nearest judge. The case was tried, the man found guilty and the fine imposed without delay.

The airplane observers picked up the smoke five minutes after the fire was lighted. The amateur operator picked up the message and notified the warden almost immediately. Twenty minutes later the warden was on the scene and the fire was extinguished. Another half hour and the case was being heard in court and sentence pronounced. Thus within an hour after the fire was started the man had been convicted and had paid his fine. He never knew how the fire was discovered and why the warden had arrived so quickly until it was all over. It mystified him, for things had happened so quickly. The warden explained to him how the observers were flying overhead with all-seeing eyes and could discern even the smallest of slashing fires. It was rather a bitter pill for the woodsman to swallow, but he had learned that when forest regulations were published it was expected that they would be obeyed.

“Bruce,” said Captain Smith one day, “I want you to go out on a special patrol. There are a few fires along the crest of the Cascades which we are not getting. Fly a course from here to Mount Thielsen, turn there and then go direct to Medford. Return over the same route. If you start now, you will get into Medford about eleven o’clock.”

“Who will I take along as observer?” asked Bill.

“All the regular observers are on routine patrols,” replied Smith. “You will have to take one of the mechanics who can operate radio.”

“I’ll take Sergeant Breene, then,” said Bill.

“That’s all right. Go ahead,” agreed Smith. “Your patrol number will be five.”

“Get your flying togs,” said Bill Bruce to Breene. “We leave in five minutes.”

“What do we take in the plane?” asked Breene. “I have not made any of these trips yet.”

“You put the equipment in the plane every time that it goes out,” said Bill. “Why ask me that?”

“That was different,” replied Breene. “I didn’t have to go on any of those trips.”

“Two canteens filled with water, two emergency ration outfits, two revolvers and ammunition,” ordered Bill. “I will take care of the maps and pencils.”

In a few minutes they were on their way. For some time the low smoke cloud had made it necessary that they follow the Middle Fork of the Willamette River. The sky cleared materially by the time that they reached Diamond Peak, but did not allow them to get as much altitude as Bill would have liked. They picked up several small fires, which were sent in by radio after Bill gave Breene the data in code form. It was too much to expect that a mechanic could accurately report on forest fires while flying over absolutely strange country. Breene was now finding it just as hard to locate himself accurately as Bill did on his first trip.

All traces of the smoke had disappeared when they reached the Umpqua River and Bill climbed to the nine thousand foot level. The mountains to the south stood out distinctly in the sky. Directly in their path were Mount Thielsen, ninety-one hundred feet, and Mount Bailey, eighty-three hundred feet high. Mountains with their tops above the seven thousand foot level were numerous. To the east the visibility was almost unlimited and one range after another sloped off from the Oregon High Desert further to the east.

Before reaching Mount Thielsen, they passed over Diamond Lake. It was located in a valley between Thielsen and Bailey. Just why lakes should nestle in the valleys along the crest of this high mountain range, Bill could never understand. In California there is a long chain of lakes which extends from the middle of the state to the Oregon line. These lakes are also located amidst the highest peaks of the Sierras. It is a topsy-turvy condition of topographical features that allows water to be plentiful among the mountain peaks where it should run off, and have extremely arid land down in the plains.

Bill’s thoughts were far afield from his engine as he cruised along over Diamond Lake. He had about ninety-five hundred feet altitude and everything was running smoothly. There was no reason why he should think of his plane. Also there was no reason for looking for forest fires, as they had not seen any for the last twenty or thirty minutes of the flight. Bill was brought back to the business at hand with a jerk. His engine started an intermittent miss.

He looked under the plane for a possible landing field. There was none. The lake was out of the question as the timber came right down to the water line. He had no idea of the nature of the country ahead of him and reasoned that it might be even worse than that which he had already passed over. He had no option, he must turn back.

With the start of the turn, the missing increased alarmingly. The engine was now giving just enough power to keep the plane in level flight. Bill tried to retain the altitude that he had, for, seemingly, he had a long distance to go before he could find any kind of a place to land his plane. He remembered having flown over a burnt-over area some distance back and headed in that direction. The area was covered with snags and second growth timber, but it was better to take a chance in that then in the towering trees which covered the ground under him.

The engine sputtered and spit as if showing its displeasure at being made to work when not in perfect condition. The R.P.M.’s steadily dropped until it was doubtful if any power at all was being obtained. Meanwhile the plane continuously lost altitude. Bill scanned the terrain ahead, vainly seeking the burnt-over area. He knew that if it did not show up soon that he could never make it, for they were now gliding along with an almost dead engine.

Bill tried to picture the results if they were forced to land on top of the giant trees. He pictured the plane supported by the mass of limbs some two or three hundred feet above the ground. Suppose that it turned out that way, how could they get down? The lowest limbs were usually a good hundred feet from the ground. They did not have any ropes of any kind with them in the plane. He thought that they might use the wire controls from the plane in an emergency, but he hoped that he wouldn’t have to. Then the thought came to him: suppose that they became stranded on the tree tops and could not get down. They would starve to death.

In the meantime they dropped below the surrounding peaks and were gliding over the valleys. The burnt-over area came into view as a small speck in the distance. It was a big question whether or not they had altitude enough to make the distance.

Down, down, down dropped the plane. The trees came closer and closer to the landing gear and the distance to the burnt-over area decreased slowly. If they made it, the margin would be a scant one. Bill pulled back on his stick so as to save every foot that he could. The plane seemed to be barely moving forward, but they were not dropping so fast.

It was nip and tuck all the way, but they finally cleared the trees along the near edge by inches. Bill tried to pick out the most likely place to land, but it was a problem, for there was no likely place. Large, grotesque, weather-beaten snags stood up everywhere. Then Bill saw a small section with the snags widely separated and made for it. The plane missed some tree trunks, skimmed over the second growth timber for a few yards and then settled down until the wheels hit. When the landing gear became entangled in the small branches, the plane went up on its nose and then dropped down bottom side up.