The sentence was not completed. The tempest increased with irresistible fury, and shot them down obliquely, catching the starboard wing, and with weird, demoniacal power whirled the plane over and over in a rush of air that the propellers were unable to stop.
Joan was hurled into Epworth’s arms, and both were tossed up and down in their seats, and against the light cowling. Each second they expected to be hurled out of the cabin. In order to lessen the danger Epworth shut off the engine. At least there would be no fire.
“We must jump,” he explained briefly. “The plane is whirling over and over and will strike a peak soon.”
“Small chance for an umbrella in a storm like this,” Joan returned quite calmly. “It will be whipped into strips.”
“Yet the parachute is our only hope.”
He hooked the package around her shoulders and adjusted it carefully. Then he put one around his own shoulders, and handed her a package that he took from a pocket in the fuselage.
“Some useful articles, and a little food and water,” he informed her. “May come in useful. We can’t tell what is ahead of us.”
“Good bye, sister.”
“Good bye, brother.”
They smiled at each other, and jumped.