CHAPTER XI.
IN DIREST PERIL.
“Oh, if we could only work round and land on the point,” exclaimed Peggy. “There’s a fine, smooth field there; in fact, it’s all bare ground, without rocks or trees.”
“Yes, and Jeff Stokes is wireless operator there, too,” rejoined her brother. “Hullo,” he exclaimed an instant later, “the wind is shifting a bit. I almost got her head round that time.”
“Then there is a chance, Roy!”
“Yes, sis, but don’t count too much on it.”
Like a skillful jockey handling a restive horse, Roy worked the Golden Butterfly about on the shifting air currents. If once he could turn her nose toward the land he was sure that he would be able to make the ground by driving the aeroplane down on a slanting angle.
Once or twice, while he strove with hand and brain against the elements, he caught his breath with a gasping intake—so near had they come to overturning. But, thanks to the wind eddies of the point, it was possible, after a deal of breathless maneuvering, to get the aeroplane headed for the land.
The instant he found himself in this position Roy threw on all his power and then, “bucking” the wind, like a ship beating up to windward, he rushed down through the night upon the point. As he did so the rays of the slowly revolving light flashed brightly upon the laboring aeroplane. In the radiance it looked like some struggling night bird beating its way against the storm and darkness.
As Peggy had said, the point was clear of rocks or brush, and a landing was made without much difficulty once the aeroplane had been turned. Just as a ship can face the waves with comparative security, so an aeroplane, being driven into the teeth of a gale, is secure so long as she does not “broach to”; in other words, get sidewise to the blast. It was touch and go with the Golden Butterfly for several minutes, though, during that struggle with the elements, and two more thankful young hearts rarely beat than Peggy’s and Roy’s as they stepped from the machine and made it fast by pointed braces provided for the purpose.