Part 16 (1/2)
”Oh, there's lots of gold there,” declared the old miner. ”The thing to do is to get it and we can sure do that now.”
The remainder of the day pa.s.sed uneventfully, though Tom cast anxious looks at the weather as night set in, and Ned, noting his chum's uneasiness, asked:
”Worrying about anything, Tom?”
”Yes, I am,” was the reply. ”I think we're in for a hard storm, and I don't know just how the airs.h.i.+p will behave up in these northern regions. It's getting much colder, and the gas in the bag is condensing more than I thought it would. I will have to increase our speed to keep us moving along at this elevation.”
The motor was adjusted to give more power, and, having set it so that it, as well as the rudders, would be controlled automatically, Tom rejoined his companions in the main cabin, where, as night settled down, they gathered to eat the evening meal.
Through the night the great airs.h.i.+p plowed her way. At times Tom arose to look at some of the recording instruments. It was growing colder, and this further reduced the volume of the gas, but as the speed of the s.h.i.+p was sufficient to send her along, sustained by the planes and wings alone, if necessary, the young inventor did not worry much.
Morning broke gray and cheerless. A few flakes of snow fell. There was every indication of a heavy storm. They were high above a desolate and wild country now, hovering over a spa.r.s.ely settled region where they could see great forests, stretches of snow-covered rocks, and towering mountain crags.
The snow, which had been lazily falling, suddenly ceased. Tom looked out in surprise. A moment later there came a sound as if some giant fingers were beating a tattoo on the roof of the main cabin.
”What's that!” cried Ned.
”Bless my umbrella! has anything happened?” demanded Mr. Damon.
”It's a hail storm!” exclaimed Tom. ”We've run into a big hail storm. Look at those frozen stones! They're as big as hens' eggs!”
On a little platform in front of the steering-house could be seen falling immense hailstones. They played a tattoo on the wooden planks.
”A hail storm! Bless my overshoes!” cried Mr. Damon.
”A hail storm!” echoed Mr. Parker. ”I expected we would have one.
The hailstones will become even larger than this!”
”Cheerful,” remarked Tom in a low voice, with an apprehensive look at Ned.
”Is there any danger?” asked his chum.
”Danger? Plenty of it,” replied the young inventor. ”The frozen particles may rip open the gas bag.” He stopped suddenly and looked at a gage on the wall of the steering-tower--a gage that showed the gas pressure.
”One compartment of the bag has been ripped open!” cried Tom. ”The vapor is escaping! The whole bag may soon be torn apart!”
The noise of the pelting hailstones increased. The roar of the storm, the bombardment of the icy globules, and the moaning of the wind struck terror to the hearts of the gold-seekers.
”What's to be done?” yelled Ned.
”We must go up, to get above the storm, or else descend and find some shelter!” answered Tom. ”I'll first see if I can send the s.h.i.+p up above the clouds!”
He increased the speed of the motor so that the propellers would aid in taking the s.h.i.+p higher up, while the gas-generating machine was set in operation to pour the lifting vapor into the big bag.
CHAPTER XIII
A FRIGHTENED INDIAN