Desperately he tried to picture to himself the grounds surrounding the lake. He was trying to decide whether there was a field big enough in which to bring the Hummer to a regular gliding landing. If there was, nothing more would happen than always happened when an aeroplane landing is made.
But, as Tom recalled it, there were only scattered farms about the lake, and none of these was suitable for a landing field. Adjacent to the lake were picnic grounds, but these were covered with scattered trees and buildings.
“The open lake is my only chance,” decided Tom. “But can I reach it? That’s the question.”
He could see, shimmering in the sunlight ahead of him, Lake Carlopa. But he also became aware that his machine was steadily going down. He tried to figure out whether he could gain enough horizontal distance in proportion to his vertical drop to make the lake. And as he looked at the distance separating him from the body of water, it was with a sinking sensation in his heart that he answered himself in the negative.
“It can’t be done!” Tom told himself.
This being the case, he must pick out the next best expedient.
“We’ve got to crash, and soon,” he reasoned. “I’d better pick out a big, soft tree. The upper branches will give a little and bring us up gradually. A tree’s better than the ground with its underbrush.”
After her first spasm of terror Mary had become calm, and was sitting tensely in her seat waiting for Tom to bring her out of the danger.
It was not the first time she and the young inventor had been in desperate plights, and always before this Tom had come out ahead of the game in taking chances with death. Of course there could be one last time, but Mary was not thinking of that.
“It looked as desperate as this on Earthquake Island,” she told herself. “Yet we got off, thanks to Tom.”