Part 22 (1/2)

”We'll jest have t' prospect about a bit,” declared Abe, ”only we'll do it in th' air instead of on th' ground.”

It was dusk when the fruitless search for the map was over, and they sat in the cabin discussing matters. The lights had not yet been switched on, and the RED CLOUD was skimming along under the influence of the automatic rudders and the propellers.

”Well, suppose we have supper,” proposed Mr. Damon, who seemed to think eating a remedy for many ills, mental and bodily. ”Bless my desert-spoon, but I'm hungry!”

He started toward the galley, while Tom went forward to the pilothouse. Hardly had he reached it than there came a terrific crash, and the airs.h.i.+p seemed tossed back by some giant hand. Every one was thrown off his feet, and the lights which had been turned on suddenly went out.

”What's the matter?” cried Ned.

”Have we hit anything?” demanded Mr. Damon.

”Hit anything! I should say we had!” yelled Tom. ”We've knocked a piece off a big mountain of ice!”

As he spoke the airs.h.i.+p began slowly settling toward the earth, for her machinery had been stopped by the terrific impact.

CHAPTER XVIII

A FIGHT WITH MUSK OXEN

”Can I help you, Tom? What's to be done?” demanded Ned Newton, as he rushed to where his chum was yanking on various levers and gear wheels.

”Wait a minute!” gasped the young inventor. ”I want to throw on the storage battery, and that will give us some light. Then we can see what we are doing.” An instant later the whole s.h.i.+p was illuminated, and those aboard her felt calmer. Still the RED CLOUD continued to sink.

”Can't we do something?” yelled Ned. ”Start the propellers, Tom!”

”No, I'll use the gas. I can't see where we're heading for, as the searchlight is out of business. We may be in the midst of a lot of bergs. We were flying too low. Just start the gas generating machine.”

Ned hurried to obey this order. He saw Tom's object. With the big bag full of gas the airs.h.i.+p would settle gently to earth as easily as though under the command of the propellers and wing planes.

In a few minutes the hissing of the machine told that the vapor was being forced into the bag and a little later the downward motion of the s.h.i.+p was checked. She moved more and more slowly toward the earth, until, with a little jar, she settled down, and came to rest.

But she was on such an uneven keel that the cabin was tilted at an unpleasant angle.

”Bless my salt-cellar!” cried Mr. Damon. ”We are almost standing on our heads!”

”Better that than not standing at all,” replied Tom, grimly. ”Now to see what the damage is.”

He scrambled from the forward door of the cabin, no easy task considering how it was tilted, and the others followed him. It was too dark to note just how much damage had been inflicted, but Tom was relieved to see, as nearly as he could judge, that it was confined to the forward part of the front platform or deck of the s.h.i.+p. The wooden planking was split, but the extent of the break could not be ascertained until daylight. The searchlight connections had been broken by the collision, and it could not be used.

”Now to take a look at the machinery,” suggested the young inventor, when he had walked around his craft. ”That is what I am worried about more than about the outside.”

But, to their joy, they found only a small break in the motor. That was what caused it to stop, and also put the dynamo out of commission.

”We can easily fix that,” Tom declared.

”Bless my coffee-spoon!” cried Mr. Damon, who seemed to be running to table accessories in his blessings. Perhaps it was because it was so near supper time. ”Bless my coffee-spoon! But how did it happen?”

”We were running too low,” declared Tom. ”I had forgotten that we were likely to get among tall mountain peaks at any moment, and I set the elevation rudder too low. It was my fault. I should have been on the lookout. We must have struck the mountain of ice a glancing blow, or the result would have been worse than it is. We'll come out of it all right, as it is.”