"Guess we're all with you in that wish, old man," agreed Jack.
As he spoke, the wind-blown figure of the professor hove into view from the small, sheltered cabin. He glanced at the various indicators and the compass in front of Jack.
"We are all in safety yet; are we, boys?" he queried.
"If you can call being driven helplessly before such a gale and about a mile above the earth safe," retorted Mark.
"Surely not as high as that," exclaimed Professor Henderson. He examined the instruments again, and said, quickly: "We are descending! How is that, Jack?"
"Not with my knowledge, sir," returned the boy aviator. "I think we have remained on the thousand-foot level since crossing the Rocky Mountains."
"I believe you have been faithful, my boy," returned the professor, quickly. "But the earth is certainly less than three hundred feet below us—ah! see that? The indicator registers 250 feet. Now 240!" "We are falling!" cried Mark.
"No!" said the professor. "The earth is rising. We are being blown against the mountainside. We must be within a few hundred miles, at least, of our destination. Those are the Endicott Mountains yonder," and he waved a hand at the darkness to the south of them.
"Hark!" cried Andy Sudds, suddenly.
There was a momentary lull in the wind. From below came the broken crowing of a cock in answer to the Shanghai's challenge. Then a dog barked.