The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

Rock, melting like butter on a hot stove! It is hard to believe, but that is what happens on San Luz, a small island off the coast of South America. When Rick Brant and his pal Dan Scott fly to the famous resort island to join Rick's father, head of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation, a seemingly inactive volcano is about to explode in an eruption which could easily blow San Luz off the map.

The immediate threat is to a small town at the foot of the volcano, where the air reeks with the fumes of hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide, and it is here that Rick and Scotty help Dr. Brant and his scientist associates set up headquarters, in the hope of finding a way of controlling an eruption that is growing into a certainty with fantastic speed.

But their efforts to save the island town are hindered by the superior forces of nature, the superstitious fatalism of the people – and sabotage!

With the earth opening up all around them, Rick, Scotty, and the scientists have little hope of preventing a catastrophe, until a decision is made to unleash the awesome power of atomic energy in a desperate last attempt to fight the volcanic eruption.

Jam-packed with excitement and swift, tense action, The Flaming Mountain has all the elements that have made the Rick Brant Science Adventure series a favorite with boys all over the world.

CHAPTER I

Vulcan's Hammer

The entire staff of the world-famed Spindrift Scientific Foundation gathered in the conference room of the big gray laboratory building on the southeast corner of Spindrift Island. It was unusual for the whole staff to be called to a meeting. Even more unusual – not a single member knew what the meeting was about.

Rick Brant, son of the Spindrift Foundation's director, Dr. Hartson Brant, was perhaps even more mystified than the professional scientists. His father had phoned from Florida with brief instructions. "Rick, I want you and Scotty to make a scale model of San Luz Island. It's off the coast of Venezuela. You'll find it on the sailing chart of the area, and there are references in the library. Be as complete and detailed as possible, and have the model ready by Saturday. Pick me up at Newark Airport Saturday noon. I'll have a guest. Ask Hobart Zircon to call a full staff meeting for two o'clock Saturday."

Rick and his pal Don Scott had completed the model, which was now resting on a table at the front of the lab conference room. One hour ago he had flown with Scotty in his plane, the Sky Wagon, to Newark Airport where he had picked up his father and a short, white-haired elderly man by the name of Dr. Esteben Balgos.

Rick, a teen-aged version of his long-legged, athletic father, was consumed with curiosity. He could tell that the scientist was deeply concerned over something. It seemed likely Dr. Balgos was at least involved in that concern, if not the actual cause. But Rick still knew of nothing that would relate Spindrift Island off the coast of New Jersey to San Luz, an island off the coast of northern South America.

The Spindrift scientists were gathering, pausing to examine the model on the table before they took their seats. Hobart Zircon, the huge, bearded senior physicist and associate director of the Foundation, looked at the model in company with Tony Briotti, the youthful staff archaeologist. Dr. Howard Shannon, chief biologist, came in with Julius Weiss, the famous mathematical physicist.

A slender, attractive dark-haired girl, Rick's own age, moved through the crowd to his side. He gave her a smile of welcome. Jan Miller was the daughter of one of the staff physicists, Dr. Walter Miller.

"What's all this about, Rick?" Jan asked. "And where are Barby and Scotty?"

"I wish I knew what it's all about," Rick replied. "Barby and Scotty are at the house with Dad's guest, a Dr. Esteben Balgos. We picked Dad and Balgos up at Newark an hour ago. They'll be over in a few minutes." Rick had come to the lab ahead of the others to be sure there were sufficient chairs set up and that the model was in position on the table.

"You must have some idea," the girl insisted. "You and Scotty made the model."

"Sure we did. But we don't know why. Dad called from the University of Florida and gave instructions, and I didn't have a chance to ask any questions."

"It must be important," Jan commented. "The whole staff hasn't been together since Christmas."

Rick nodded. That had been a social occasion, not business, and on the day after Christmas he, Scotty, and Dr. Parnell Winston had taken off for Cairo where they had become involved in intrigue and a major scientific mystery. The episode was now referred to as The Egyptian Cat Mystery. The boy wondered if this meeting was a beginning of something exciting, too, and in the same instant he was sure that it was.

"Here comes Barby," Jan said suddenly. "Excuse me, Rick."

Barby Brant, Rick's pretty blond sister, paused in the doorway until she saw Jan hurrying to meet her. The two girls conferred briefly, then hurried to take seats in the exact center of the front row.

It was the custom at Spindrift to include the island's young people in staff activities, and Rick had been a part of the various projects and discussions since he could remember. But not until Jan Miller's arrival on the island, during the adventure of The Electronic Mind Reader, had Barby bothered to attend the scientific discussions. Jan, as bright as she was attractive, had succeeded in persuading Rick's sister that science was not only exciting, but understandable.

The buzz of talk in the room stopped as Hartson Brant and his guest entered, followed by Scotty. The husky, dark-haired ex-Marine at once joined Rick. The two had been close friends and constant companions since the day Scotty joined the staff during The Rocket's Shadow project. An orphan, Scotty was now a permanent member of the Spindrift family.

Hartson Brant did not need to rap for attention. There was an expectant hush as he began immediately. "Our guest today is Dr. Esteben Balgos, of whom many of you have heard. Until his retirement a few years ago, he was considered by his colleagues as the dean of South American geophysicists. His primary field of interest was – and still is – volcanology."

Rick leaned forward. Volcanology, study of volcanoes. The mountain that formed the backbone of San Luz had once been a volcano, but it had been dead or inactive since prehistoric times. El Viejo – the Old One – was its name. Rick wondered if it might not be the connecting link between San Luz and Spindrift, but he couldn't yet see how.

"Dr. Balgos reached me at Florida University while I was lecturing there. We talked, and I agreed that we would examine his problem. It is so unusual and challenging that I wanted all of you to hear what he has to say. Rick and Scotty have built a scale model of the island to help Dr. Balgos describe the problem to us."

"So that's why we built it," Scotty whispered. "I've been wondering."

Rick grinned. So had he.

Dr. Balgos acknowledged Hartson Brant's introduction, took a moment to wipe his horn-rimmed spectacles, and got down to business, using a pencil as a pointer. He spoke perfect English with a soft, musical Spanish accent which Rick found pleasant.

"This, young ladies and colleagues, is San Luz. I retired to this island from my native Peru a few years ago, so it is now my home. Its relationship to South America is the same as that of Bermuda to the east coast of your country. In other words, it is an island vacation resort. There are about 32,000 people on San Luz, engaged in caring for tourists, in fishing, in farming bananas and cacao, and in digging and exporting pumice."

Rick knew this from his research. He hoped Dr. Balgos wouldn't linger too long over descriptions.

"The tourist facilities are along the south coast, which is one continuous beach, starting at the main town of Calor, and running to Redondo, a fishing village at the northern tip of the island. There are several excellent hotels and guest homes."

Dr. Balgos pointed with his pencil to a cluster of buildings at the base of the mountain. "The location of this hotel is an exception. It is called the Hot Springs Hotel, and it is one of our biggest. It is named for the hot springs at the base of the mountain. You will see at once that El Viejo – this mountain – is clearly a volcano. The presence of hot springs at its base indicates that it is not entirely dead."

Now they were getting somewhere, Rick thought.

"Starting a few months ago, earthquakes in the vicinity began to increase in frequency. Since we are on the edge of a major geological fault, earthquakes are not at all unusual, and the increase attracted little attention. However, I have corresponded with seismologists throughout the area, and it is clear that the increase is due to activity directly under our island."

The Peruvian scientist held up his pencil, like a teacher addressing a class. "I see that you consider this significant. So do I. There is one other bit of information that is also significant. The flow from the hot springs has changed in character. There is an occasional outpouring of hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide. Also, the average temperature of the springs has gone up several degrees."

The area must smell pretty bad, Rick thought. Hydrogen sulfide was what gave the characteristic aroma to rotten eggs, and sulfur dioxide wasn't exactly perfume. He wasn't surprised when Dr. Balgos added that the hotel had been virtually abandoned.

"My data is not sufficient for any conclusion, but the general one that some kind of volcanic activity is increasing. However, I'm sure most of you depend, as I do, on intuition as well as on data. This intuition is simply the result of years of experience. Mine tells me that El Viejo is about to become active again."

There was a murmur from the scientists.

"I am aware," Balgos went on, "that this is a conclusion which cannot yet be supported. But I am certain in my own mind that such is the case. I do not believe the present mild activity causing the earthquakes will subside. But more than that, I believe the activity will grow in a particularly disastrous way."

The scientist pointed to the volcano. "I have examined this cone. It is ancient, covered with jungle growth. It is clearly stable. The crater is filled in with compacted, weathered lava. If there should be a normal eruption, it would have to vent through the hot springs, which is the only active channel. Notice that the town of Calor would then be right in line with the eruption."

Rick could see it clearly. The contours of the terrain were such that a lava flow of any magnitude would engulf the little city.

"I believe the volcano will vent through the hot springs," Balgos went on. "But my examination of the volcano leads me to expect that it will vent with fantastic violence. The hot-springs channel is purely seepage. There is no open vent. This means the mountain will resist the growing forces under it until it is forced to give with great suddenness. To be as concise as possible, what I see here is another Krakatoa."

There was a concerted gasp from the assembled group. Rick felt his scalp prickle. He had expected nothing like this. Krakatoa, he knew from his reading, had been the greatest cataclysm in recorded history. The volcano, in the East Indies, had blown up with enormous violence. The island on which it was located had been literally blasted to bits; nothing was left. Nearby islands were blazed clean. No one knew how many people had perished instantly. The blast was felt completely around the world, and the dust of Krakatoa had so filled the world's skies that the weather was changed. Winters came earlier and stayed longer, until the dust settled at last.

"This is our problem," Balgos said simply. "It is made more difficult by two things, our people and our politics. The people are superstitious fatalists. I know them too well to expect that they will move from the island. And where would they move? San Luz is claimed by three countries: England, Colombia, and Venezuela. But we consider ourselves independent. We have our own legislature. We cannot go to any one country for help without acknowledging its sovereignty over us. We cannot go to all three at once, because the diplomatic difficulties of getting three nations together would take too much time. Besides, I do not know what any nation could do. And so, I come to you, on behalf of our governor, and of myself."

There was silence when Balgos finished. Then big Hobart Zircon boomed, "If we assume your conclusions are correct, what can be done? There is no way of stopping a volcanic eruption, much less an explosion. Man is helpless before such natural forces. It would be easier to stop a hurricane than another Krakatoa."

Balgos shrugged. "I agree. Yet, can we stand by and wait without even making an attempt?"

"Certainly not," Hartson Brant replied. "First, we must develop more data. Dr. Balgos had said that his conclusions are based on intuition, and not facts. I, for one, trust his intuition. But we must know the exact situation before we can even begin to study the possibilities of doing something."

Tony Briotti objected. "Even with a study, what can be done? I'm not a physical scientist, so this is outside of my field. But I've never heard of anyone even attempting to change the direction of a lava flow, much less control an eruption."

Dr. Balgos spread his hands expressively. "In mythology, Vulcan was the blacksmith, the god of fire and volcanoes. We have grown too wise to believe in myths, but we do believe in the scientific method. I come to you, as some of its most famous practitioners. If anything can be done – and I do not know if it can – then you are the scientific team that can do it. If you can do nothing, then San Luz will die, violently, under Vulcan's hammer!"

CHAPTER II

San Luz

Rick Brant awoke slowly. For a moment he lay with eyes closed while he tried to identify the strange odor that smote his nostrils. It was a noxious combination of medicine, burned matches, and ancient eggs. Then he remembered, and sat bolt upright in bed.

San Luz! The smell of the hot springs burned his nose even through the air-conditioning system. It must be awful outside, he thought. It had been bad enough last night.

He looked over to the other bed in the luxurious room and saw Scotty, wrapped like a cocoon in sheet and blanket. For a moment he was tempted to heave a pillow at the ex-Marine, then reconsidered. Scotty needed sleep. Let him wake up naturally.

Rick lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. He could do with a little more shut-eye himself. So much had happened in the past few days that he was still spinning from the speed of it.

The arrival of Dr. Esteben Balgos had upset Spindrift more thoroughly than anything else Rick could remember. He and Scotty had sat through hours of argument and heated debate. Jan and Barby had given up when the scientific arguments got far beyond their ability to understand. Rick hadn't understood much either, but he had stuck it out to the end.

The conclusion was that probably nothing could be done. There was simply no way to check the eruption of a volcano. If El Viejo was going to blow its top, well.. that was that. But the Spindrift Scientific Foundation was not known for its eagerness to drop seemingly insoluble problems, so the staff had agreed that a study should be made, at the very least.

Hartson Brant had chosen Hobart Zircon and Julius Weiss to work with him, then he had persuaded an old friend, Dr. Jeffrey Williams, to drop his work for a short time and join the party. Dr. Williams was a noted seismologist. From the U. S. Geological Survey, Hartson Brant had borrowed Dr. David Riddle, a geologist with considerable experience in volcanology.

The scientific team departed at once for San Luz, leaving Rick and Scotty to bring up the rear. The boys loaded scientific equipment into the Sky Wagon and took off for San Luz. It took three days for the little plane to make the trip, the longest flight of Rick's flying career. Only once before had he flown so far over water, and then only to the Virgin Islands. The plane had made it easily, but he and Scotty had sweated it out.

Ordinarily, Hartson Brant would have taken the boys by commercial air, but he wanted Rick's plane on hand. Since the senior scientist did not know what difficulties the scientists might encounter, he wanted a way of making aerial surveys and photographs, plus ready communication with the mainland and nearby islands.

The boys had arrived early the evening before, only to be whisked to the Executive Mansion where the governor of San Luz, the Honorable Luis Montoya, was holding a reception for the visiting scientists.

The governor, a charming little man who looked like Rick's idea of a Spanish grandee, knew why the scientists were there, of course. But the secret was confined to the governor himself and to Balgos. Even Jaime Guevara, the lieutenant governor, did not know.

The agreement was that the scientific group would seem to be interested only in the hot springs. The purpose of their visit, the governor had announced to the local press and radio, was to investigate the change in the springs that had ruined a principal San Luz resort hotel.

By ten o'clock, when the reception ended, the boys were exhausted. But the end was not yet. They were riding in Zircon's jeep – five jeeps had been assigned to the party by the governor – and Zircon had to meet the last member of the party, Bradley Connel, a geologist borrowed from an oil company in Caracas, Venezuela, by Dr. Balgos.

It was nearly midnight before the boys got to sleep, after nearly three days with minimum rest. So, both were tired. In the middle of thinking how tired he was, Rick dropped off to sleep again.

He awoke with Scotty's voice in his ears. "Come on, old buddy. Dad's calling a staff meeting in fifteen minutes."

Rick sat up. "How do you know?"

"Didn't you hear the phone ring? Boy, you must be tired! Let's go. Time for a quick shower and coffee. I've had mine."

Rick saw that a breakfast tray was on a bedside table. He had slept through Scotty's arising, shower, and delivery of breakfast. He shook his head, still groggy.

A quick shower woke him up. He sipped coffee and ate toast while getting into his clothes, then the two hurried down the corridor of the luxury hotel to the conference room Hartson Brant had taken over as headquarters.

The scientists were already there, taking seats around the room as the boys walked in.

Rick looked at the new faces. It was the first time he had seen them in daylight. Dr. Jeffrey Williams was a plump, round-faced man with a shock of pure-white hair. Dr. David Riddle was tall, dark, lean, and heavily tanned. He looked like a mining engineer, or perhaps a forest ranger. Bradley Connel was short, heavy set, with straw-colored hair and the kind of complexion that is always sunburned and peeling so long as the days are hot – which meant always, this close to the equator.

"Let's get to work," Hartson Brant said. "It's obvious that visual inspection is not going to tell us much. We'll have to get tracings before we have any real idea of what's going on under us. Dave, have you found anything of importance?"

David Riddle shook his head. "It's a typical formation. Nothing unusual about it at all. El Viejo is simply a dead volcano, its cone filled in, and plenty of jungle on the slopes. The hot springs are just a seepage point, as Dr. Balgos knows. So far as I can tell, they're the weakest point, so if the mountain lets go, that is where the blowoff will come. Of course, this could be wrong and there may be weaker channels we don't suspect. We'll know when we start shooting."

Hartson Brant looked at Dr. Williams. "Anything to add, Jeff?"

"Not much. I've gone over the seismic data Esteben got from the seismologists in the area, and it's clear that the epicenter of most recent earthquakes in the area is right under us. Something is happening down in the earth under the mountain, but I can't say what it is. It may be volcanism or it may be a fault shifting."

Rick knew that a fault was like a great crack in the earth's structure, but he had thought the scientists had agreed that the earthquakes were caused by volcanic action. He asked, "Sir, doesn't the change in the springs mean something?"

"Perhaps, Rick," Dr. Williams answered. "We don't really know. Dr. Balgos thinks they mean a great deal, and I have respect for his opinions. But I'm only a seismologist. I have to depend on traces from earthquakes, and the traces tell us nothing but the single fact that something is going on far below."

Hartson Brant nodded. "The answer will depend on more data, so today we'll start to collect it. Rick and Scotty brought apparatus, and the governor has supplied us with dynamite and two experienced helpers, Ruiz and Honorario."

"How do we split up?" Julius Weiss asked.

"Into firing and recording teams. Since we have only two recorders, we can have only two teams for data collection. But we can have three firing parties. Dave Riddle will work with Honorario, Brad Connel with Ruiz, and Hobart Zircon with Rick and Scotty. Julius, you and I will form one recording party, and Esteben and Jeff will form the other. Each team will have a jeep. Now, if you'll all gather around this model the boys made, we'll pick approximate locations for stations."

The boys had brought the model with them. Now the group gathered around and discussed the best locations for both firing and recording parties.

Dave Riddle was assigned a station on the slope of El Viejo near the town of Redondo on the north end of the island. Brad Connel was given a location on the northwestern slope, and Zircon and the boys were shown a position on the west near the place where pumice, a foamy volcanic rock, was mined. Hartson Brant and Julius Weiss were to place one recording station on the eastern slope of the mountain, while Dr. Williams and Dr. Balgos were assigned a station on the northern coast.

Hartson Brant handed a wrist chronometer to each team leader. Each team was also to have a transit, with which to take bearings for the purpose of locating the stations with precision.

"The hotel restaurant has packed lunches for us," Hartson Brant stated. "If we get under way at once, we can start shooting at one o'clock. Let's try for three shots each this afternoon. Each firing team will move one mile in a clockwise direction between shots, and we'll need to space the shots fifteen minutes apart. Hobart, you'll start shooting at 1:00, Brad at 1:15, Dave at 1:30. At 2:00, we'll start the cycle over again. That should bring us all back to the hotel by suppertime."

Big Hobart Zircon clapped the boys on the shoulder. "Let's get going. Scotty, you pick up our lunches. Rick, we'll load equipment."

The five jeeps were lined up outside. Rick carried out a transit, the tripod slung over his shoulder, and found the two local helpers waiting. Ruiz was a short, swarthy man with gleaming white teeth and a Mexican-style sombrero. Honorario was only slightly taller, and so thin a strong breeze would blow him away. The two San Luzians greeted him courteously. "Buenos días, señor."

Rick knew enough Spanish to be equally polite. "Buenos días, señores. Cómo están ustedes?"

The two switched to English. Rick hoped it wasn't a reflection on his Spanish accent, acquired at Whiteside High School the year before. "We are well, señor," Ruiz answered, and Honorario added, "We hope you will enjoy San Luz, señor."

Rick said that he expected to enjoy it very much indeed. He wondered if the two knew that their mountain was getting ready to blow its top. He asked, "Do you have the dynamite, amigos?"

"In the shed, señor. Also the caps and the detonators. If you will come, I will show you." Ruiz gestured toward a concrete shed that stood some distance away.

"What was the shed used for?" Rick asked as they walked toward it.

"It is a shed for a pump, señor. The pump is for the hotel's water, which must be brought up the hill from Calor."