The plane droned on, in and out of cloud banks, above valleys filled with mist. Fortunately, no more mountains rose into their path, but clouds were thickening up ahead and the plane was not responding properly.
"We're almost over the northern range," Uncle Charlie said. "But tackling those cloud banks would be risky, and turning back would be worse. We'll do better making a forced landing in one of those forgotten valleys."
"Provided the visibility is good enough at landing level," put in
Muscles. "We may encounter ground fog."
"That's the chance we take," Uncle Charlie conceded. "But I don't think it has settled deeply yet."
Coolly, Charles Keene zoomed over two low-lying mountain ranges, then banked his plane toward a wide space where a trace of green showed deep beneath the gathering mist. The white blanket thickened as he approached it, and the plane, as it descended, was swallowed completely in those swirling folds. The roar of the motor was muffled; then it, too, faded entirely.
Silence reigned again above the mist-filled valleys of the Himalayas, the strange, mysterious stillness that the mightiest of mountains had known since the dawn of time.
XV
The Caravan Halts
"So this is Srinagar!"
Biff Brewster spoke from the bow of a narrow, rakish craft known as a shikara, as two turbaned oarsmen propelled it along the River Jhelum through the heart of Kashmir's capital city. Between Biff and the stern, where both paddlers were seated, was a large canopy mounted on ornamental poles. Reclining beneath it were Chandra, Kamuka, and Mike Arista.
The front of the canopy bore the boat's name, Happy Daze, for these gondolas of the Himalayan Venice were particularly popular with American visitors. As they swept along beneath the ancient wooden bridges that spanned the Jhelum, the boys waved to passengers in passing shikaras with signs bearing such varied titles as Hot Dog, The Big Mo, and Chattanooga Choo Choo.