CHAPTER XII
A LEAP FROM THE SKIES
GRACE HARLOWE regarded him calmly, rather to the surprise of the balloonist, for he had feared a different attitude.
“What are the probabilities, sir?” she asked.
“Oh, we are certain to get down, Mrs. Gray.”
“But—” She smiled doubtfully.
“We are getting higher all the time, and I am in hopes that we shall run into a counter-current that will drive us back over our own lines. Once there we can come down with nothing more than a shaking up. We can do that anyway if we do not become mixed up with more currents.”
“But, sir, I do not see how getting back to our own lines is going to be of much assistance to us. Granting that we reach a current of air that will take us over our lines, haven’t we got to pass through the present level to get down, and will not that level blow us toward the Rhine again? We might keep on seesawing indefinitely, it appears to me.”
“You surely have a head on your shoulders, young woman,” answered the major laughingly. “This being the case I’ll tell you the truth. We are in a fix. The best we can do at the moment is to let the bag drift where it will, hoping for the best. Provided it doesn’t carry us too far away, the wind probably will at least moderate by sundown, then I shall liberate some gas and we will make a landing. To try it in this wind would mean that the ship surely would be torn to pieces and that quite probably we would share a similar fate.”
“How long can the balloon be depended upon to stay up?”
“Until sometime to-morrow morning. Of course if it takes a great altitude it is liable to burst, but I shall try not to let it get up that high.”