“Lost Valley? Are we there?” cried Ned, as he threw the propellers out of gear.
“We’re almost there,” replied the former hermit.
A moment later the curtain of mist was brushed aside by the wind, and [the travelers saw below them a long, narrow valley] held between sheer cliffs of great height. It was no wonder that escape from it was almost impossible. An instant later the airship had swung farther over the deep chasm, and then the white vapor was once more brushed across the valley, shutting it from view.
“The fog served us a good turn,” said Jim Nestor. “It will prevent the Indians from sighting us.”
“We’ll descend now,” decided Jerry, “anchor for the night, and then decide what is best to do.”
[CHAPTER XXIII]
THE FLICKERING LIGHTS
Wild and desolate was the region in which the adventurers now found themselves. They were in the midst of the mountains, seemingly with no civilization near, yet they knew that within a few miles of them was the remains of an intrepid body of whites and a band of savage Indians.