For the next three days after the boys’ exploit in Canada, it rained. Not gentle showers, but a good stiff down-pour that drenched the land, swelled the Lake, and ruined young crops. Her Highness was kept in the carriage shed under the tool house, because besides raining as if it were never going to stop, there was thunder and lightning, and hours of pitch blackness. Both Jim and Bob would have liked nothing better than to go soaring up and battle with the elements but they knew that such an adventure would cause Mrs. Fenton terrific worry every moment they were out of her sight, so they contented themselves with the radio, phonograph, some jolly old books they found in the attic, and swims between storms. Several times they caught glimpses of the strange boy as he went splashing by to and from the garden, and they watched his run-off with considerable interest.

“If he keeps the water down on that hole land it will save the alfalfa meadow,” Mr. Fenton remarked thoughtfully.

“Does he seem to be doing it, Uncle Norman?”

“So far the water isn’t any higher.”

“Jinks, that’s great,” Jim exclaimed with enthusiasm. He rather envied Corso’s young nephew who disregarded weather and waded barefoot along the road, his overalls rolled above his knees, and not even a splattering automobile racing past him, sending sheets of water from all four wheels, seemed to disturb him.

The morning of the fourth day broke clear and fine, the sky velvet blue, and not a cloud in sight. The step-brothers came down stairs with joyous whoops, and young Caldwell danced his aunt about the kitchen.

“Well, my land, if you want me to dance with you Bob, you will have to make it a reel or a jig—”

“Let it be a jig,” Bob answered promptly and taking her hand he began the clattery dance while Jim played an accompaniment on the mouth organ. But in a few minutes Mrs. Fenton had to stop for breath.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she demanded. “I never supposed that any young one could do it these days.”

“In school,” Bob answered. “You ought to see Jim Highland Fling.”

“What’s all the shouting about?” Mr. Fenton asked. He had just come in with the brimming milk pails.

“Look at the weather,” Jim laughed.

“It’s enough to make an airplane do a tail spin,” Bob added.

“No doubt, but I hope Her Highness doesn’t do any more—”

“More?” The boys chorused.

“Canadian chap telephoned me yesterday to inquire if you live here, and he said that you two had made the country safe for the Mounted Police—”

“Aw, go on,” Bob exclaimed in disgust.

“What did they do that for?” demanded Jim.

“In the course of his duty,” Mr. Fenton smiled. “We’ll be very much obliged if you will give us the details of the war while we breakfast. We want to know all about it. It isn’t every day that exciting things happen around us and we feel that we have been slighted—”

“That’s all right, Mr. Fenton. Bob did most of it. I’ll tell you the whole story—”

“I did not do most of it,” Bob denied emphatically. “If you leave out anything you did, I’ll tell them.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Fenton laughed. “Now sit down, satisfy the first pangs of hunger, then begin,” he ordered, and the boys took their places.

Between the two of them, the Fentons were able to get a fairly interesting account of what happened, and when the story was finished, Mrs. Fenton looked at them soberly.

“My, my, you might both have been killed. That was why you got me those new baskets. I thought there was something queer about your losing it,” Mrs. Fenton exclaimed. “If you had lost it, or forgotten it, I should not have minded one bit; but if you had told me how you happened to throw it overboard, I should have been glad.”

“We wanted to be sure that we had a basket for next time,” Bob grinned cheerfully. “We expect there will be other next times.”

“My land of goodness, there’s the mail man. He looks like a drowned rat. Come right in, Harvey.” The R.F.D. man wore boots that came to his thigh, and even at that he was splashed with mud.

“Got a registered letter, and another one that looks important, so I didn’t put them in the box,” the man explained. “Some rain we’ve had. Did you know, Fenton, that the Carrying Point is covered? The water is going over it like a mill race, and I had all I could do to keep the wheels under me. Loaded the car up with rocks or I’d have been swimming around after the letters.”

“My land sakes alive, is it as bad as that! Here Jim, this letter seems to be for you.” Mrs. Fenton gave Austin a long envelope, which he accepted with surprise. In the corner was a Canadian stamp.

“Looks like it’s from your friends across the border,” Mr. Fenton said. Jim opened it promptly, and scanned the contents, then he smiled with relief that it wasn’t more formidable. The salutation was as he had signed the note he dropped to the Mounties in the Ravine.

‘Flying Buddies.

Gentlemen:

It would give us great pleasure if you will join us in an informal dinner tomorrow evening at seven P.M. In going over the off duty hours, we find that most of the men who participated in the affair at the ravine can be present. You have our solemn word that the dinner is merely a friendly one, and you will not be embarrassed by speeches. As a matter of fact you may be aroused to the fighting point by the uncomplimentary remarks of your hosts. Telephone me if the time is not convenient to you, and believe me,

“Great guns and little fish-hooks, that will be fun,” Bob shouted.

“It means tonight,” Jim reminded his step-brother.

“It says tomorrow.”

“But it’s dated yesterday.”

“That’s so. We’ll get Her Highness diked out, and be ready. Suppose we better wear real clothes under our flying suits—”

“Dinner coats,” Jim agreed. “If it’s informal we don’t have to do more than that—”

“Brush our teeth,” Bob suggested. They showed the letter to the Fentons and the man looked grave.

“I hope they are careful what they say,” he remarked seriously.

“What do you mean?” Bob demanded.

“These international affairs are ticklish things. If you get riled and throw a soup plate, or some little thing like that, it might bring on a war. It doesn’t take much to bring on a war—”

“There isn’t a soup plate handy, Uncle Norman, but I know where Aunt Belle keeps her potato masher. You want to be very careful that you do not start any internal wars; they are the worst sort.”

“Guess I better get outside if that’s the case,” he chuckled, and went for his own high boots.

“Let’s have a look at the world,” Jim proposed, then added, “Old Champlain looks kind of high to me. Is it usually so?”

“Suppose it would be after so much rain,” Bob put in.

“No it isn’t,” Mrs. Fenton answered, and she looked very serious. “It’s higher now than it’s been in years, and with the rain stopped, it will fill more. There are so many streams, some big ones, that empty into it all around.” She went with the boys to the back veranda and glanced across anxiously. “I can’t see Gull Rock at all, and Fisher’s Island looks as if half of it is under water.”

“If it comes flooding too high, we’ll take you and Uncle Norman up in Her Highness out of danger,” Bob promised.

“We can get in the boats if necessary, Bob, and we’ve got a lot of high land for the stock, so that will be all right, but there are many of the people here who have small farms. My land sakes alive, I expect that some of them are in a bad way right this minute. I’ll go telephone.” She hurried into the house, and in a moment the boys heard her talking with some neighbors.

“Let’s have a walk around,” Bob suggested.

“We won’t need to wheel Her Highness out. Look at the carriage shed,” Jim exclaimed as he happened to glance in that direction and saw the water lapping up under the wide doors.

“Cracky. Let’s see if she’s all right.”

“We’ll have to take our shoes off—or get boots.”

“I’ll see if Aunt Belle has any extra pairs around.” He went inside, while Jim surveyed the turbulent waters which had risen several feet and were thrashing up to the edge of Mrs. Fenton’s flower garden, and was more than half way across the lawn when the two boys first saw it.

“Come on,” Bob called, and Jim went inside to the shed. “Here are some boots. Aunt Belle says they are water-proof, but not very handsome. They have been patched.”

“They will be just the thing.” Presently the pair had their feet in boots several sizes too large for them, but they grinned, and went down into the yard. Their first care was Her Highness. The water had run up a little way under her, but she hadn’t suffered any damage. Jim got into the cock-pit and shifted the wheels to the floats, and that done the boys continued the tour of inspection.

“If it rains any more, by George, there will be the deuce to pay.” They went to the edge of the Lake, but could not follow its rim because the inundations were deep and many of them ended in treacherous swampy stretches. Where the cedar-rimmed cliff came close to the lake’s edge, the water pounded high above all previous marks, and some of the lower ones were being undermined by the strength of the waves.

“Looks like a regular ocean,” Jim remarked thoughtfully as they stood on a promontory which jutted out in defiance of Old Champlain’s fury. “Say, where’s that Carrying Point?”

“Further down. About half way to the village. Remember the day we were coming up and you noticed a neck of land, lake on both sides, that connected the two larger sections of North Hero?”

“Oh sure. Little stretch with a beach and roadway.”

“That’s it. Mom told me it got its name from Revolutionary days. Pirates and smugglers coming down from Canada with loads of goods in small boats, carried their boats across this piece and would get away from the officers, or whoever happened to be chasing them. It’s quite historic. A bigger craft coming along would have to go all the way around and by that time the smugglers could lose them plenty. They’d hide among some of the lower islands, or even go on straight.”

“Great old place. Obliging of Champlain to arrange itself so conveniently. Smashing guns, look at that water. It’s hammering in all directions. Too bad if it spoils crops, but it sure looks as if it is going to. Did you hear your Aunt say whether the turkeys are dying off because of the dampness?”

“Hezzy reported a hundred have turned up their toes.”

“Rotten. Why don’t they have a good warm place to keep them when the weather is had?” Jim exclaimed wrathfully.

“That’s the funny part of it, Buddy, they have got a real up-to-the-minute house, brooders and everything,” Bob replied soberly, then added, “Gosh, I do wish we could do something about it.”

“Well, we can’t keep them from dying off, that’s a cinch,” Jim answered. “Let’s take Her Highness and have a look over the place.”

“Right-O, old man.” They turned about away from the destructive waters and hurried as fast as the clumsy boots would permit, to the carriage house, where they floated the plane out, closed the door after them, and piled into the cock-pit. “Got enough gas?”

“Plenty.”

Presently Her Highness was thundering above the lake and after a few circles over the land, which gave the boys an idea of the havoc being wrought among the islands, Jim headed her toward the end of Isle La Motte and in a few minutes they were cruising at low speed above the turkey farm. It too had suffered from the rain, but its buildings were located on high ground which was well drained so that even now it was drying rapidly. The boys could see the turkeys in the run-ways and they knew that until the vicinity was no longer drenched, the delicate birds could not be allowed to roam in the larger pens. As there seemed to be nothing special they could learn, they proceeded to fly across the property, and soon they were above the section where they had seen the men hiking the first day they had attempted to visit Hezzy. Just beyond the strip of forest, which was quite dense, they saw a long, comparatively bare slope toward the opposite side of the Isle and they easily discerned several men moving about as if they were working.

“There’s more turkeys,” Jim remarked through the tube and Bob nodded that he could see them.

“Probably they are fixing a place on this side because it’s more sheltered,” the younger boy suggested. “I see Hezzy down there.” Sure enough the farm’s foreman was striding along the edge of the meadow. He paused suddenly, glanced up at them, then disappeared quickly among the trees.

“I suspect that he doesn’t like us,” Jim grinned, and Bob laughed heartily.

“Sometime we’ll come over and tell him we want to help catch the thieves,” the younger boy suggested.

“Let’s hop down now. We can land on that field.”

“We’d better not. We might land on some small birds,” Bob replied, and Jim agreed that probably it would be safer to wait and have their talk with Hezzy at the house. As there didn’t seem to be much more to see the boys rode on, across to the New York side of Champlain, and before they decided to return they were overtaken by the mail plane. Bob, who was at the controls, waggled his wings, and instantly the other pilot responded. He grinned as he flew by, and they waved as if he were an old friend.

“It’s the guy we saw the other day,” Jim declared, and Bob nodded.

The mail plane went racing north, and the boys started for home. It felt good being in the air again, but they were going to the dinner and they wanted to give Her Highness her weekly inspection, besides replenish the gas supply. That evening, with their best suits under flying togs, they hopped off again, this time making straight north toward the border. They soared grandly beneath a brilliant dome of colors reflected by the setting sun, roared above Canada, and in half an hour came down on the flying field where they found Allen Ruhel and Sergeant Bradshaw, their uniforms swank, and their faces wearing wide grins of welcome.

“Glad you could come,” Ruhel greeted them.

“We surely owe you a swell spread—” Bradshaw began, but the chief interrupted him.

“Perhaps we do, but they are not going to get much more than the usual mess. I had to promise that or they would not have come.”

“How’s Pat?” Bob inquired as they were led toward the long mess hall.

“He’s so set up over my promotion there’s no doing anything with him,” Bradshaw answered soberly. “I may have to trade him off for a yellow cat.”

“Any time you want to trade him, let us know,” Jim put in quickly.

“I know you boys. You’d spoil him more than I have.”

They were ushered into a barracks-like building and were soon in the mess hall where already two dozen of Canada’s finest men were waiting. The boys recognized a few of their faces, though not many, but introductions were gotten over with little ceremony, and the dinner started. Because of the young American guests of honor there was no wine served, but that did not detract from anyone’s good humor, and the party was an enormous success. Bradshaw told the boys that the outlaw gang they had been trying to capture for such a long time, were at last almost all rounded up.

“Thanks to your good help,” he added. “Jinks, wish we could have been down in the battle,” Bob lamented.

“I say, didn’t you have enough of it?” the chief laughed. “It seems to me you were rather in the thick of things, you know. I expected any moment the blighters would turn their guns on your wings. They would have made their get-away if you had not let us know about the hole they were crawling through. Did Bradshaw tell you that it was fitted up like a war-time trench, with living quarters, periscopes and what-not?”

“Great guns—oh, what happened to Pedro?”

“He’s a perfectly good Canuck gone wrong. He’ll pay for his sins with the rest. A couple of them got away, and a few of the ones we caught are Americans.”

“Do you have to send them back?” Jim asked. He rather felt the fellows should take their punishment with their gang.

“Neither your government nor their families have shown any disposition to intervene in their behalf,” the chief smiled, then went on, “As a matter of fact, from their records in the States, I think your Department of Justice is likely to send us a vote of thanks for apprehending them.”

“I hope they do,” Jim responded. After that the courses went on merrily. There were jokes, jolly stories, no end of kidding back and forth, and finally the dessert was served. A few minutes later the chief rose.

“I promised our American friends that there would be no speeches tonight, so I’ve kept my word, but some of the boys will have a presentation. Stand up, you men of Texas, and take your medicine.”

The boys obeyed, and flushed crimson around their collars as the chief made his way to their places. He opened a small box which seemed to have some ribbons on the royal purple velvet surface. The man held them up and solemnly pinned one to each boy’s coat. Each medal was of two ribbons, the American flag and the British, arranged on a bar side by side, and suspended from them was the Mounty Insignia in the middle, a pair of wings, and from the wings hung a tiny basket.

was engraved on the back.

“You can thank your lucky stars that this isn’t the French section of Canada and you don’t have to be kissed,” Bradshaw informed them.

“We’re grateful for that,” Jim laughed in confusion.

“This has been a swell party, but what we did, if it was any good, was as much for our own country as for yours, but let me tell you this, if we ever catch you in Texas, we’ll get back at you—we’ll pin horse-shoes on every one of you,” Bob declared.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both,” Bob laughed.

“My Dad has a sizy sort of ranch. It will hold the whole bunch, so if any of you come to our state we’ll be mortally offended if you don’t show up at our house,” Jim supplemented. He was recovering his poise, and then the Mounties cheered them until the rafters rang. An hour later they were allowed to depart, and every man promised to call for the horseshoe.

“That was a dandy party,” Jim chuckled later as they circled above the field again.

“They are a grand bunch,” Bob declared enthusiastically. He leveled off Her Highness, and started in a southerly course that would take them down over New York state a way, but the wind was from the west and would drive them toward their own goal. The night was starless, although there seemed to be few clouds, and the air was heavy with moisture as if it would be raining before morning. The step-brothers did no more talking. They were both busy with their own thoughts. Their minds were occupied with the evening’s fun, but in a few minutes Bob began to think of his aunt and uncle and wished very hard that he could do something to help them. The rain had ruined a large part of the crops, and although there was time to plant other things, the year promised to be another bad one for the Fentons. The boy resolved to write and tell his mother. Mom somehow always had a suggestion that was worth while. If we could only find out what happens to the turkeys, he sighed and he resolved to pay Hezzy a visit the next day if possible. Suddenly, in the distance they caught a glimpse of a flash of light across the sky. It disappeared almost at once, then they picked it up again.

“Bet it’s the mail plane,” Jim shouted.

“Guess it is,” Bob agreed. He watched the plane getting closer, and presently there was no mistaking the huge machine that came droning toward them. Their altitude was five thousand feet, and the other pilot would pass almost over them. It was mighty chummy to meet a pal of the air, so Bob zoomed up, and soon Her Highness was racing beside the bigger machine. The pilots waved greetings, waggled their wings, then, as the boys had to turn eastward, they waved a good-night, turned abruptly and shot across the other’s course. The man in the cock-pit nodded, and in a minute they were a mile apart, but Jim was watching the diminishing lights with interest. Suddenly he caught his brother’s arm and twisted him around.

“Something’s gone wrong,” he bellowed; He didn’t need to, for Bob could see. At that moment there was a blaze, a leaping tongue of flame and the plane started to totter crazily toward the ground.

“Thundering Mars—he’s on fire!”