‘It’s grown very cold all of a sudden,’ remarked Lucius, as Ephraim hunted round for the lantern he had brought. ‘And wet, too. Oh!’ as the Grizzly drew the slide and flashed the light here and there. ‘It’s raining hard, and never a sound on the balloon. How very odd.’
‘Hyar’s the rope,’ exclaimed Ephraim at this juncture. ‘Ketch hold on the light, Luce, while I cut her through.’
He handed the lantern to Lucius, and having opened a formidable clasp-knife, put his hand through the cords which rose from the car, and laid hold of the detaining rope.
Instantly an exclamation of deep surprise escaped him. The rope was slack.
‘What’s wrong now?’ inquired Lucius, still occupied in wondering why the rain had made no sound. ‘It has stopped raining. I can see the stars again.’
For answer Ephraim broke into peal after peal of laughter. ‘Co’se ye kin! Co’se ye kin!’ he shouted. ‘Why, don’t ye know ye must be nigh on a mile nearer ter ’em than when ye started. Ho! ho! ho!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucius. ‘We can’t have gone up so high just since you cut the rope.’
‘Cut the rope!’ cried Ephraim. ‘I never did cut the rope. See hyar.’ He hauled in the slack and flung it on the floor of the car. ‘While us two fust-class samples er prize ijots hez been growlin’ and howlin’, ole Blue Bag hyar hez been cuttin’ through space like a wheel-saw goin’ through a block er pine.’
‘My!’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘Then the torches were not put out by the men?’
‘Not them,’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘The old balloon jest lit out fer the sky and left ’em.’