come back in the dark.”
“How do you know what happens if they go out alone?”
“Suppose you saw tracks leading up to one and no tracks going away?”
“Oh!” Bruce felt silly.
The troop swung into a lope; slowly the hills drew closer and loomed high
into the sky. Mr. Andrews called a halt. “Camp,” he said. “Sam, spot the shelter
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west of that outcropping. Bruce, watch what Sam does.
The shelter was an airtight tent, framed by a half cylinder of woven heavy
wire. The frame came in sections. The Scoutmaster’s huge pack was the air bag.
The skeleton was erected over a ground frame, anchored at corners and over
which was spread an asbestos pad. The curved roof and wall sections followed. Sam
tested joints with a wrench, then ordered the air bag unrolled. The air lock, a
steel drum, was locked into the frame and gasketed to the bag. Meanwhile, two Scouts
were rigging a Sun shade.
Five boys crawled inside and stood up, arms stretched high. The others
passed in all the duffel except skis and poles. Mr. Andrews was last in and closed
the air lock. The metal frame blocked radio communication; Sam plugged a phone
connection from the lock to his helmet. “Testing,” he said.
Bruce could hear the answer, relayed through Sam’s radio. “Ready to
inflate.”
“Okay.” The bag surged up, filling the frame. Sam said, “You go on, Bruce.
There’s nbthing left but to adjust the shade.”
“I’d better watch.”
“Okay.” The shade was a flimsy venetian blind, stretched over the shelter.
Sam half-opened the slats. “It’s cold inside,” he commented, “from expanding gas.
But it warms up fast.” Presently, coached by phone, he closed them a bit. “Go
inside,” he urged Bruce. “It may be half an hour before I get the temperature
steady.”
“Maybe I should,” admitted Bruce. “I feel dizzy.”
Sam studied him. “Too hot?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You’ve held still in the Sun too long. Doesn’t give the air a chance to
circulate. Here.” Sam opened Bruce’s supply valve wider; “Go inside.”
Gratefully, Bruce complied.
As he backed in, and straightened up, two boys grabbed him. They closed his
valves, unlocked his helmet, and peeled off his suit. The suit traveled from hand to
hand and was racked. Bruce looked around.
Daylamps were strung from air lock to a curtain at the far end that shut off
the sanitary unit. Near this curtain suits and helmets were racked. Scouts were
lounging on both sides of the long room. Near the entrance a Scout was on watch at
the air conditioner, a blood-oxygen indicator clipped to his ear. Nearby, Mr.
Andrews phoned temperature changes to Sam. In the middle of the room Chubby had set
up his commissary. He waved. “Hi, Bruce! Siddown-chow in two shakes.”
Two Scouts made room for Bruce and he sat. One of them said, “Y’ever been at
Yale?” Bruce had not. “That’s where I’m going,” the Scout confided. “My brother’s
there now.” Bruce began to feel at home.
When Sam came in Chubby served chow, beef stew, steaming and fragrant,
packaged rolls, and bricks of peach ice cream. Bruce decided that Moon Scouts had
it soft. After supper, the Bugler got out his harmonica and played. Bruce leaned
back, feeling pleasantly drowsy.
“Hollifield!” Bruce snapped awake. “Let’s try you on first aid.”
For thirty minutes Bruce demonstrated air tourniquets and emergency suit
patches, artificial respiration for a man in a space suit, what to do for Sun
stroke, for anoxia, for fractures. “That’ll do,” the Scoutmaster concluded. “One
thing: What do you do if a man cracks his helmet?”
Bruce was puzzled. “Why,” he blurted, “you bury him.”
“Check,” the Scoutmaster agreed. “So be careful. Okay, sports-six hours of
sleep. Sam, set the watch.”
Sam assigned six boys, including himself. Bruce asked, “Shouldn’t I take a
watch?”
Mr. Andrews intervened. “No. And take yourself off, Sam. You’ll take Bruce
on his two-man hike tomorrow; you’ll need your sleep.”
“Okay, Skipper.” He added to Bruce, “There’s nothing to it. I’ll show you.”
The Scout on duty watched several instruments, but, as with suits, the important one
was the blood-oxygen reading. Stale air was passed through a calcium oxide bath,