“Well, come on, let’s look and know the worst. I guess it’s good-by to my money now.”
Linda did not reply, but dashed back to the autogiro to examine it for damages. The propeller was all right, and the rotor blades—thank goodness—for evidently the “Ladybug” had struck on her side. But one wheel and one wing were damaged.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” remarked Helen, as she watched Linda anxiously. “Can you make it fly again, or shall we have to stay here the rest of our lives?”
Linda laughed good-naturedly.
“Oh, somebody’d rescue us before that. Ralph Clavering, probably—Aunt Emily told him just where we were going. But that isn’t going to be necessary, because I can fix it.”
“Can you really, Linda? Even that broken wheel?” demanded the girl, in awe.
“Yes. I carry an extra wheel and material to mend the wings. But it’s going to take time.”
Helen’s smile faded; she knew what this meant. They would be too late to catch her uncle!
“Well, it can’t be helped,” she remarked, with a sigh of resignation. “We’re lucky that we got out alive.”
Linda looked about her, surveying the landscape. It was a lonely place, with no house anywhere in sight. Trees and bushes covered the mountainside sparsely, and below in the valley a stream was running. But there was no shelter anywhere from the storm.