"I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the
answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think."
And it was, for with Ned Newton to guide the craft, while Tom did his
best to stop the leak, the craft came gently to earth on the outskirts
of a fairly large Siberian city. Almost instantly the Falcon was
surrounded by a curious throng.
"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr.
Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I
am still sufficiently disguised, I think."
"But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the
gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?"
"Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there
is a large crowd outside."
Tom came from the tank room. There was a despondent look on his face.
"It's all gone--every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop."
"What's gone?" asked Mr. Damon.
"The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all
flowed out while we were flying along."
"Haven't you any more?"
"Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to
civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have
to--"
"Bless my snow shoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say we'll have to stay
here--in Siberia! Don't say that.
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