"
"Bless my comb and brush!" 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.
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