The young aeronauts had the choice of only two expedients in this desperate emergency. They could keep on going as they were, trusting to luck; or they might shut off the gas supply and take a chance of having the Flyer turn on its back. Their chances of coming right-side-up were better now; there was no air-movement in this high altitude. But suddenly Buck made a discovery that made a choice unnecessary.
“Look, fellows!” he cried, pointing at the gauge which showed the angle of flight. “Sure as you live, her nose is dropping every second.”
Ned nodded his head gravely. “I’ve been hoping for that. The air’s getting too thin to give the rudder enough resistance. Our speed’s lessening every minute. We’ll soon be on an even keel—and then we at least stand a chance.”
“Won’t we just drop like a rock?” gasped Alan in dismay.
“Why no. Not if we keep our engines going. We simply won’t gain any ground. I’ll give you an exhibition of fancy flying about that time. We’ll try ‘dodging.’”
“Play tag with the clouds?” grinned Buck.
“We’ll play tug-o’-war with our rudder. We’d naturally drop headfirst without the propellers. We’ll use our power just often enough and strong enough to keep level. In other words, we’ll jump down.”
“And where will we land?” asked Buck. “We’re headed west, aren’t we?”
“We won’t be in Belgium when we see terra firma, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got pretty well across Germany—”
“We can’t land there.”