"Look! Look!" he whispered. "Another candle! Someone—someone is searching for us! We are saved!"
"It may be the police!" said Ned.
"That is not a candle," spoke the Russian in hollow tones as he looked to where Tom pointed, to a little glimmer of light. "It is a star. Friends, we are saved, and by Providence! That is a star, shining through the opening of the mine. We are saved!"
Eagerly they pressed forward, and they had not gone far before they knew that the exile was right. They felt the cool night wind on their hot cheeks.
"Thank heaven!" gasped Tom, as he pushed on.
A moment later, climbing over the rusted rails on which the mine cars had run with their loads of salt, they staggered into the open. They were free—under the silent stars!
"And now, if we can only find the airship," said Tom faintly, "we can—"
"Look there!" whispered Ned, pointing to a patch of deeper blackness that the surrounding night. "What's that."
"The Falcon!" gasped Tom. He started toward her, for she was but a short distance from a little clump of trees into which they had emerged from the opening of the salt mine. There, on the same little plane where they had landed in her was the airship. She had not been moved.
"Wait!" cautioned Ivan Petrofsky. "She may be guarded."