When he looked around the blizzard seemed to be losing its force. He understood the reason. They had been blown over the top of the mountains and were falling on the opposite side, and the mountains shut off the wind. As they fell steadily and their parachutes became more stable he realized that so far as the storm was concerned they were safe.
But what would they fall into? He could not look down and see but presently they slipped into a deep recess in the mountains, and the noise of the blizzard slackened materially, and they began to descend faster. Epworth felt as if he wanted to guide the things that were holding them up to a soft spot—if there was such a thing in this wild, terrible country—but he was helpless. All he could do was to hold his sister, and look wild-eyed in all directions.
They were laced together beyond separation, and this gave him comfort. They would land together; they would meet the same fate; and perhaps he might be able to save her from death after all.
Now he looked toward the north, and saw some mountains free from snow. How could this be in this land of perpetual ice? He glanced down, and discovered that they were falling into a valley several miles long protected by four immense peaks. As they descended lower the air became milder, the intense cold, which almost froze his face, decreased perceptibly, and the wind stopped entirely.
Looking upward he saw the blizzard covering the sky with a sheet of snow; looking down he saw green spruce trees, and a stretch of sand.
“Snap into it, Joan!” he exclaimed cheerfully, sweet hope springing up in his heart. “We are going to make a safe landing.”
Joan opened her eyes and shivered.
“A-a-are—we—dead?” she gasped. “This is too awful for life.”
She lifted her head and looked around, and when she saw the rugged mountains she blanched, but made no comment. He caught her suddenly in his arms and lifted her above his head.
“W-w-what are you doing?” she whispered faintly. “Let me——”