“Why not drop to earth right now? It’s all flat country hereabouts,” said Jack.
“In the first place, the sand would blind us and we would crash to earth and be wrecked, in all probability. In the second place, if even a little sand got into our engine it would ruin it,” rejoined the officer.
Jack said no more. He felt rather ashamed, in fact, of having showed his agitation so plainly. After all, the officers knew far more about aeroplanes than he did, and perhaps there was a chance that they would get through safely yet, He fervently prayed that they might.
Lieut. Diaz sat grimly at the wheel, driving the aeroplane ever upward. Jack watched him admiringly. Not a trace of fear or of any other emotion had flickered across his steadfast countenance since the battle with the storm had begun.
They had driven their way far above the yellow sand fog and were battling with the wind at an altitude of almost seven thousand feet, when Lieut. Diaz gave a sudden gasp. He turned deadly pale and lurched forward in his seat. Had not Lieut. Sancho caught him, he would have toppled off into space. The aeroplane, released from a controlling hand, gave a sickening dash downward.
“Wha–what has happened?” gasped Jack, genuinely alarmed now.
“It’s air sickness! Seize that controlling handle and do just as I tell you. All our lives may depend on it!”