Down, down, down went the RED CLOUD, in the midst of the hail storm.
But if the gold-seekers had hoped to escape the pelting of the
frozen globules they were mistaken. The stones still seemed to
increase in size and number. The gas machine register showed a
sudden lack of pressure, not due to the shutting off of the
apparatus.
"Look!" cried Ned, pointing to the dial.
"Yes--more punctures," said Tom, grimly.
"What's to be done?" asked Mr. Damon, who had finished the task Tom
allotted to him. "Bless my handkerchief! what's to be done?"
"Seek shelter if the storm doesn't stop when we get to the earth
level," answered Tom.
"Shelter? What sort of shelter? There are no airship sheds in this
desolate region."
"I may be able to send the ship under some overhanging mountain
crag," answered the young inventor, "and that will keep off the
hailstones."
Eagerly Tom and Ned, who stood together in the pilothouse peered
forward through the storm.
The wind was less violent now that they were in the lower currents
of air, but the hail had not ceased.
Suddenly Tom gave a cry. Ned looked at him anxiously. Had some new
calamity befallen them? But Tom's voice sounded more in relief than
in alarm. The next instant he called:
"Look ahead there, Ned, and tell me what you see.
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