“Drop down into it!” exclaimed the prospector, for he had not yet gotten used to hearing Jerry and the others speaking so naturally of a “drop” from the clouds.
“Well, that is, drop gently,” explained Jerry, with a smile.
This plan appealed to all as a good one, and it was adopted. That day they skimmed along, not going at any great speed after they had left Noddy and his cronies behind. At night, to prevent being blown too far off their course, in case a wind should spring up, they descended into a little valley, where they anchored. Harvey Brill recognized the place as one where he had once prospected without results.
“We’re not many miles, as the crow flies, from the Border valley,” said the old prospector, as he looked about him; “though it took me a good while to make that distance, traveling on foot.”
The night passed uneventfully, but, when morning dawned, they found that a stiff gale was blowing. Sheltered as they were, they did not realize the strength of it, but, when they ascended, the Comet was almost pitched on her “beam ends” once she was above the shelter of the hills.
“Say, this is fierce!” cried Ned, who was in the pilot house, helping Jerry, while Bob attended to the engine room. “We’d better go down, Jerry!”
“I think so—myself!” panted the tall lad, struggling to pull over the lever of the deflecting rudder. “I want to—but this is stuck!” he cried. “It’s gotten jammed in some way!”
“What can we do?”
“Scud along—that’s the only chance until the wind slackens. Then, when there isn’t so much pressure on the planes, I can work the rudder.”