Mad Scientists' Club (16 page)

When we finally floated out from under that cloud, we'd taken a bad battering and had lost some altitude, but we were all right. Henry checked the altimeter and the helium gauges and decided to let more gas into the envelope of The Head. I climbed up in the rigging and released the sliding yoke to let the bag expand as the gas flowed into it. Henry let the gas out of the pressure tanks carefully. We just needed enough extra lift to get us back up-into the slipstream. Too much, and we'd rise right through it!

When we had leveled off again, and were getting a good wind, Henry told Dinky to keep his eye on the altimeter. "We're going to start rising again as soon as we dry out and lose some of the water we've taken on. We'll have to pump that extra gas back into the tanks again to stay in the slipstream."

"What about what
I
lost?" asked Dinky.

"Every ounce counts," said Henry. "I'll let you know if we want you to get sick again."

Now that we were out of the squall, we took a quick look around to take stock of the competition. Only three balloons were in sight. One was the Green Onion, far out ahead of us and heading for the hills east of Strawberry Lake. She had either missed the squall completely or just passed through the edge of it. The other two were closer to us and at lower altitude, neither of them moving as fast as we were. One was painted like a top, with red, white, and blue stripes, and the other was the one that looked like a green caterpillar. If there were any others still aloft, they were too far back to worry about.

"That caterpillar will be lucky to make it to the hills," said Henry. "She's been losing altitude ever since we got started, and I'll bet she's already thrown away all her ballast. I saw them dumping sand just before we went into the squall."

"What about the Green Onion?" I asked. "She must be two miles ahead of us."

"I've got an idea!" he answered, while he worked furiously with a pencil on the back of the map board. "Yes, it ought to work. I think we can pass her at Strawberry Lake, if the air currents are moving the way they should be moving."

"I hope you're right," I said. "It looks pretty hopeless right now."

"Gaining altitude, oh Great One!" Dinky Poore sang out. The sunshine and a little fresh air had brought his spirits back.

"Start the compressor!" said Henry. "We'll have to keep pumping a little gas back into the tanks as we dry out."

I cranked up the little gasoline engine and the compressor started to throb. Then I went up in the rigging again to adjust the yoke as the gas seeped back into the pressure tanks.

"Keep your eye on the Green Onion when she reaches the hills this side of the lake," Henry explained. "That ridge of hills creates a tremendous updraft. And when it meets the warm air rising from the lake, it becomes a regular funnel. If the Green Onion tries to cross the ridge in the slipstream, she'll get caught in that funnel and she may zoom up to ten thousand feet. If we play it just right we can slip in under her and beat her across the lake."

"I don't know how you're gonna do it, but I hope you're right!" I said.

"Leave it to Henry!" said Dinky Poore.

"A lot depends on how fast we can pump gas in and out of the bag to vary our lift," said Henry. "We've got to drop down out of the slipstream just before we reach the hills and go in low and heavy. Then, if we're lucky, that updraft should catch us and pop us over the ridge. If it does, we may be home free if we can get enough gas back into the bag fast enough to keep from dropping down the other side and into the lake."

"I hope you know what you're doing," I said, not quite sure of what Henry had in mind.

"Lead on, oh Great One!" said Dinky Poore with supreme confidence.

The Green Onion was now approaching the hills a little over a mile ahead of us. She was sailing high and proud. But Henry had predicted the course of events with uncanny accuracy. Just as she was about to cross the ridge, she veered upward and started to climb at an amazing rate.

"She's caught in the funnel!" Henry shouted. "Start the compressor again, Charlie. I want to lose at least eight hundred feet and come in well under that ridge."

The little gasoline engine whirred again, and soon we were dropping down out of the slipstream. Henry had timed it just right. We still had plenty of forward momentum; but if we continued dropping at the rate we were, we would crash right into the middle of the hills.

"Don't get sick now, Dinky!" Henry warned. "We need all the weight we have for another minute."

Off to our left we could see the big green caterpillar far below us. It bumped into the lower slopes of the hills and slid into a gully, where it stayed, rocking back and forth in the wind, while its crew tried frantically to get it airborne again. The red, white, and blue top was not much better off. The updraft had caught it, but too late, and it crashed into the upper slope of one huge hill, where it snagged itself among the trees.

"They're finished!" said Henry matter-of-factly. "Shut off the compressor, Charlie, and keep your fingers crossed."

I shut off the engine and stood ready at the pressure tanks to let gas back into the envelope if Henry gave the signal. In a few seconds we had stopped losing altitude and were being blown in toward the side of a hill, swinging and swaying crazily. For one brief moment it looked as though we would surely crash. Dinky Poore's eyes were the size of overcoat buttons, and his face looked like white paste. I guess mine did too, but I couldn't see it. Henry stood leaning against the gondola railing with his arms folded, looking intently at the hill rushing toward us. He seemed to be counting to himself under his breath. He was the complete scientist, intent only on the outcome of his experiment.

Suddenly our downward plunge slackened abruptly and we felt the rush of warm air past our faces. We were so close to the face of the hill that we could have jumped out if we wanted to. The gondola swung like a pendulum as we changed direction and started to rise again. We were in the updraft.

"A little gas, Charlie!" Henry shouted, and I opened the valves for a few critical seconds. "That's enough. Knock it off now!" We were climbing steeply, just swinging clear of the treetops. Dinky Poore's eyes started to go back to normal, and we all let out a gasp of relief.

"We've got to watch it at the top," Henry said quickly. "The hill is a lot steeper there, and we don't want to get caught in the mainstream of this updraft. The trick is to just sneak over the ridge as low as we can."

The Green Onion was still sailing upward, caught helplessly in the thermal funnel that roared up from the east end of the lake, but there wasn't time to watch her now. We were too busy saving our own skins.

We were just about a hundred feet from the crest of the hill when we suddenly stopped rising and dipped downward with a jolt. It was like being in a fast-rising elevator when it stops suddenly and the floor drops out from under you.

"We've slipped out of the updraft," Henry shouted. "We're going to --"

But the thud of the gondola as it banged against the steep upper slope of the hill bit the words off in his mouth. The Head bounced away from the slope, swayed drunkenly for a moment, then dipped suddenly again, and banged once more against the side of the hill. This time the gondola bounced and slid crazily down the slope. We were too heavy to stay aloft without the help of the updraft.

Henry grabbed Dinky Poore by the shoulders. "Jump out!" he shouted.

Dinky scrambled over the side and dug his toes and fingers into the shale of the hillside to break his slide. The Head bounced free of the slope once more and hung there precariously for a few anxious seconds. Then, very slowly, it started to drift perceptibly upward. Henry uncoiled the rope ladder hanging on the side of the gondola and flung one end of it over the side toward Dinky.

"Grab that and run up the hill!" he shouted.

Dinky snared one rung of the ladder, hooked it in the crook of his arm, and started clambering over the boulders and scrub growth toward the top of the slope. The Head drifted slowly above him like a huge umbrella, dwarfing his tiny figure with its broad shadow. Henry took his horn-rimmed glasses off and wiped them methodically on the tail of his shirt.

"I think we've got it made," he said, as he put the spectacles back on.

Then he took up the slack in the rope ladder and shouted down to Dinky. "Tie it around you and get ready to climb back up when I give you the signal."

Dinky wrapped the end of the ladder around him and stuck both arms through it, so it was laced across his chest and back. Then he grabbed a rung higher up and stood ready to climb.

"Shoot the gas to her, Charlie, but not too much," Henry told me.

I opened the valves and let more gas back into the envelope. The Head responded and started to climb more rapidly. We had topped the crest of the hill and could see Strawberry Lake on the other side of the next ridge. Dinky came up the ladder like a squirrel, and we heaved him over the side and into the gondola. He was grinning like a circus clown and hollering, "Go get 'em, White Cloud!" We rose rapidly into the slipstream again and picked up speed. We had slipped over the ridge without getting caught in the funnel, and were on the homestretch.

We all looked up now, trying to pick up the Green Onion. She was a tiny speck in the sky far above us, and not much closer to Mammoth Falls. All the time we had been working our way over the ridge, the Green Onion had been going practically straight up. If the wind we were riding held up, we would be 'way out ahead of her in a few minutes. But as it happened, it made no difference.

The speck in the sky suddenly grew larger. The Green Onion had slipped out of the funnel and was plunging toward the earth like a wounded pigeon. Henry grabbed the field glasses out of my hand and tracked the balloon in its descent.

"They're in trouble for sure," he said, after a minute. "Harmon has let too much gas out of the bag. I can tell by the wrinkles in it. That's a bad mistake! When you're caught in an updraft in a free balloon, all you can do is ride it out. If you let a lot of gas escape, you don't have enough lift left to hold you up when the updraft stops pushing you."

"What's gonna happen now?" asked Dinky.

"They'll slow down some, because the farther they drop the denser the air gets. But at the rate they're going, they'll dunk in the lake, for sure!"

Henry called Jeff Crocker on the radio and told him to alert the lake patrol for a possible rescue.

"Start the compressor again," he told me. "We're gonna have to drop down low over the lake, and if we're lucky we might be able to help them."

"Nuts to them!" said Dinky Poore. "We wanna win the race."

"Maybe nobody'll win this race," said Henry. "You start checking the release lines for the life raft. We may have to drop it to them, if we can get close enough."

We had our life raft rigged so we could cut it loose in a hurry if we needed it ourselves or if we wanted to get rid of its weight. The heavy tarpaulin that formed the walls and floor lining of our gondola would serve us well enough if we had to jettison the raft.

We all had our eyes fastened on the Green Onion as we settled down over the lake. Harmon and his crew were throwing everything conceivable overboard in a frantic effort to slow the speed of their descent. Shirts, shoes and socks, and even trousers came flying over the side of their gondola to splash in the lake. But it was all to no avail. The Green Onion plummeted into the water like a dead duck.

The force of the impact toppled the gondola on its side, spilling Stony Martin and Buzzy McCauliffe into the water. Harmon Muldoon clung to the rigging and rode with the balloon as it skidded across the surface of the lake, until the weight of the sunken gondola brought it to a stop. We were heading right for it when I shut off our compressor and we leveled off, drifting slowly about fifty feet above the surface.