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The Red Cloud was swiftly gliding downward on a slant, straight toward a dark mass of vapor, that seemed to be rolling first one way, and then another, while as Mr. Damon had said, there was a low rumbling proceeding from it. "That doesn't seem to be a thunder storm," spoke the balloonist, with a puzzled air. They all regarded the dark mass of vapor intently for a few seconds.
If we sought to tell others, what the wiser were they? Suffice it, that here at the summit you and I stand. Does any balloonist, does the outlooking man in the moon, take a broader view of space? Much thus, one fancies, looks the universe from Milton's celestial battlements. A boundless watery Kentucky. Here Daniel Boone would have dwelt content.
He brought the unconscious man into the cabin, and then, quickly returning to the platform, he detached the piece of scarf from the propeller blade. Next he started the motor, and also turned on the gas tank, so that the airship, in a few minutes, could float in space without motion. "You needn't steer now, Tom," said the balloonist. "Just give me a hand here."
"Blow out!" yelled Tom desperately, steering to one of the several repair stations on the inner side of the track. "Be ready with the extra wheel, Mr. Sharp!" "Right you are!" cried the balloonist. The car was scarcely stopped when he had leaped out, and had the lifting jack under the left rear wheel, where the tire had gone to the bad.
"Well, you can get above rain, but you can't get below it, with the law of gravitation working as it does at present. How's the gas generator, Tom?" "Seems to be all right," replied the young inventor, who had relinquished the wheel to the balloonist.
"One of the forward planes is smashed, but we can rise by means of the gas, and float down. Is all clear, Mr. Sharp?" "All clear," replied the balloonist, for the airship had now been wheeled back from the entanglement with the chimney. "Then here we go!" cried Tom, as he and the aeronaut entered the craft, while Mr. Jackson descended through the scuttle.
I meant to bring it from Shopton, and I didn't." "Maybe I can get it in Atlantis," suggested Tom, naming the coast city nearest to them. "I'll take a walk over. It isn't far." "Will you? I'll be glad to have you," resumed the balloonist. "A gallon will be all we'll need." Tom was soon on his way.
No Martial balloonist, much less any Martial mountain-climber, has ever, save once, reached a greater height than 16,000 feet the air at the sea-level being scarcely more dense than ours at 10,000 feet. Kevimâ indicated one spot in the southern range of remarkable interest, associated with an incident which forms an epoch in the records of Martial geography.
The balloonist glanced at several gauges near the steering wheel. "A little short of three thousand feet," he answered. "Do you want to go higher?" "No no I I guess not," was Tom's answer. He halted over the works, and his breath came in gasps. "Don't get alarmed," called Mr. Sharp quickly, noting that his companion was in distress because of the high altitude.
But, contemporaneously with these attempts, certain feats with the rival aerostat the balloon were accomplished, which will be most fittingly told in this place. It will have been gathered from what has been already stated that the balloonist is commonly in much uncertainty as to his precise course when he is above the clouds, or when unable from darkness to see the earth beneath him.
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