"Now
we're safe."
They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had
prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid
the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven's artillery, the
airship forced her way, up and up and up.
Setting the motor controller to give the maximum power until he released
it, Tom hastened to the gas-generating apparatus. He found Ned attending
to it, so that it was now working satisfactorily.
"How about it, Tom?" cried his chum anxiously.
"All right now, Ned, but it was a close shave! I thought we were done
for, platinum mine, rescue of exiles, and all."
"So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?"
"Yes, until the indicator shows that the bag is full. I'm going to the
pilot house."
Running there, Tom found that Mr. Damon and the Russian had about all
they could manage. The young inventor helped them and then, when the
Falcon was well started on her upward course, Tom set the automatic
steering machine, and they had a breathing spell.
To get above the sweep of the blast was no easy task, for the wind
strata seemed to be several miles high, and Tom did not want to risk an
accident by going to such an elevation. So, when having gone up about a
mile, he found a comparatively calm area he held to that, and the Falcon
sped along with the occupants feeling fairly comfortable, for there was
no longer that rolling and tumbling motion.
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