“Ring up the curtain, and let’s see what’s left.”
I braced my back against whatever was above me and it rose. Then the light came under, and I saw Gale. Together we pushed and pulled up the boat and righted it. Under the boat with me had fallen both Mr. Sturritt and Ferratoni. The latter was gasping and getting his wind. The former was white and senseless, but opened his eyes almost immediately, and sat up. Gale, who had rolled out behind into a comfortable drift, was quite merry.
“Look yonder,” he laughed.
I looked to the south and upward, as he pointed, and saw a dark spot against the sky. It was the bag of the Cloudcrest.
“If you get there before we do,” sang Gale.
“Chauncey Gale,” I said, “if every exploring party had a man like you along there would be no such thing as failure.”
“I think we’d better talk a little to Johnnie if the telephone’s working,” he said. “She may think we’ve gone to sleep.”
We found the apparatus buried in the snow, but apparently uninjured. The little bell on it rang as soon as the snow was poked away.
“Hello,” called Gale, “that you, Johnnie? Matter? With us? Why, nothing. We’ve been busy, that’s all.—No, not quite so loud as it was.—Yes. Bell didn’t ring, maybe.—Noise you heard? Oh, slacking down the propeller I guess. Or maybe Nick singing. We’ve camped for the night.—No. Nick thought it best now we’ve got where it’s warm. Didn’t know what we might get into, you know.—Yes, bully!—Yes, had to let out some gas. We’ll have to throw out ballast of course in the morning.—Good place? Oh, yes,—nice and clean.—No, not too warm.—No, no trees yet.—Oh, why—we—we hitched it to—that is—we tied it to—to”—Gale slipped his hand over the transmitter and turned to me helplessly. “Nick, what under heavens did we hitch the balloon to, for the night? Tell me quick!”
“A—a peculiar petrified formation,” I said hastily. “Might have been a tree, at one time, you know.”