It was like the
time when they had sought for the plain of the great ruined Temple in
Mexico, that they might locate the underground city of gold. Only in
this case they had no such landmark as a great Aztec ruin to guide them.
What they were seeking for was something unseen, but which could be
felt--a mysterious wind--a wind that might be encountered any time, and
which might send the Falcon to the earth a wreck.
The Russian brothers, staggering about in the storm, had seen the mine
under different conditions from what it would be viewed now. Then it was
winter in Siberia. Now it was summer, though it was not very warm.
On and on sailed the Falcon. The weather could not have been better, but
for once Tom wanted bad weather. He wanted a blow--the harder the
better--and all eyes anxiously watched the anemometer, or wind gage. But
ever it revolved lazily about in the gentle breeze.
"Oh, for a hurricane!" cried Tom.
He got his wish sooner than he anticipated. It was about two days after
this, when they were going about in a great circle, about two hundred
miles from the imaginary centre of the district in which the mine lay,
that, as Mr. Damon was getting dinner a dish he was carrying to the
table was suddenly whisked out of his hand.
"I say, what's the matter?" he cried. "Bless my--"
But he had no time to say more.
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