Part 26 (1/2)

THE LOST MINE

For several moments it seemed as if disaster would overtake the little band of platinum-hunters. In spite of all that Tom and Ned could do, the Falcon was whipped about like a feather in the wind. Sometimes she was pointing her nose to the clouds, and again earthward. Again she would be whirling about in the grip of the hurricane, like some fantastic dancer, and again she would roll dangerously. Had she turned turtle it probably would have been the last of her and of all on board.

”Yank that deflecting lever as far down as it will go!” yelled Tom to his chum.

”I am. She won't go any farther.”

”All right, hold her so. Mr. Damon, let all the gas out of the bag. I want to be as heavy as possible, and get to earth as soon as we can.”

”Bless my comb and brus.h.!.+” cried the odd man. ”I don't know what's going to become of us.”

”You will know, pretty soon, if the gas isn't let out!” retorted Tom grimly, and then Mr. Damon hastened to the generator compartment, and opened the emergency outlet.

Finally, by crowding on all the possible power, so that the propellers and deflecting rudders forced the craft down, Tom was able to get out of the grip of the hurricane, and landed just beyond the zone of it on the ground.

”Whew! That was a narrow squeak!” cried Ned, as he got out. ”How'd you do it, Tom?”

”I hardly know myself. But it's evident that we're on the right spot now.”

”But the wind has stopped blowing,” said Mr. Damon. ”It was only a gust.”

”It was the worst kind of a gust I ever want to see,” declared the young inventor. ”My air glider ought to work to perfection in that. If you think the wind has died out, Mr. Damon, just walk in that direction,” and Tom pointed off to the left.

”Bless my umbrella, I will,” was the reply and the odd man started off.

He had not gone far, before he was seen to put his hand to his cap.

Still he kept on.

”He's getting into the blow-zone,” said Tom in a low voice.

The next moment Mr. Damon was seen to stagger and fall, while his cap was whisked from his head, and sent high into the air, almost instantly disappearing from sight.

”Some wind that,” murmured Ned, in rather awe-struck tones.

”That's so,” agreed his chum. ”But we'd better help Mr. Damon,” for that gentleman was slowly crawling back, not caring to trust himself on his feet, for the wind had actually carried him down by its force.

”Bless my anemometer!” he gasped, when Tom and Ned had given him a hand up. ”What happened?”

”It was the great wind,” explained Tom. ”It blows only in a certain zone, like a draft down a chimney. It is like a cyclone, only that goes in a circle. This is a straight wind, but the path of it seems to be as sharply marked as a trail through the forest. I guess we're here all right. Does this location look familiar to you?” he asked of the Russian brothers.

”I can't say that it does,” answered Ivan. ”But then it was winter when we were here.”

”And, another thing,” put in Peter. ”That wind zone is quite wide. The mine may be in the middle, or near the other edge.”

”That's so,” agreed Tom. ”We'll soon see what we can do. Come on, Ned, let's get the air glider out and put her together. She'll have a test as is a test, now.”

I shall not describe the tedious work of re-a.s.sembling Tom Swift's latest invention in the air craft line--his glider. Sufficient to say that it was taken out from where it had been stored in separate pieces on board the Falcon, and put together on the plain that marked the beginning of the wind zone.

It was a curious fact that twenty feet away from the path of the wind scarcely a breeze could be felt, while to advance a little way into it meant that one would at once be almost carried off his feet.

Tom tested the speed of it one day with a special anemometer, and found that only a few hundred feet inside the zone the wind blew nearly one hundred miles an hour.