Joan was caught in the mighty whirl of the blizzard, her parachute opened with a spurt, and she was jerked back and forth like a feather while large chunks of ice shot against her face with sufficient force to lacerate the skin. She was a brave girl but now a great fear overpowered her, and she sent out a wild cry of terror.

Her scream reached the ears of her brother over the howling storm, and his heart went dead. What was happening to Joan? Would it be possible that she could still have a thread of her parachute left, and that the wind was ripping it apart?

With feverish eyes he sought in every direction. He could not see her. Then he realized how puerile his thoughts were. If he chanced to see her there was nothing that he could do to aid her.

Both parachutes had been made to stand up against hard storms, and they held notwithstanding the fact that they were whirled over and over in the rushing air.

After that one wild shout of fear Epworth heard nothing more from Joan, and now his own danger was such that he had little time to worry about her. He had to give his own chute all his mind. Drifting swiftly he was held up by the wind that got under his parachute. Frequently the umbrella tilted and he thought that it would turn inside out but his weight held it down in proper shape, and he raced onward. Suddenly a mountain of snow and ice shot up in front of him. He was on the peak so quickly that he had little time to think or act. Would he be slammed against a jagged rock by the terrible wind, and his head smashed, or would he be dropped into a deep crevasse from which there would be no possible escape—a place where he would freeze quickly or else starve?

He was blown over the summit with a scarce twenty feet to spare, and felt himself falling. He had not fallen far before he discovered that the mountain sheered off at this point with a deep precipitous cliff. This cliff shut off the wind, and he began to fall slowly. Looking down he saw no bottom. He was still in the air.

A sudden gust of wind, a wild shriek and something bumped against him. Before he realized what was taking place a pair of arms passed around his waist, and clutched him spasmodically. He recovered his surprise instantly, and in turn threw his arms around Joan in order that they should not be separated. The two parachutes had bumped together in an eddy, and now the ropes were entangled so that they could not separate if they desired. With a gentle hand he pulled the girl up to his level.

“Oh, very well,” she said calmly, when she discovered the situation, “we will die together. It is best.”

She was cold, wet, frightened, but was taking her medicine like a soldier.

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——”

They landed on a stretch of soft sand before she finished her remark, and he ran with her for a few steps and stopped. Then, still holding her, he cut the cords that bound them to the two parachutes. Relieved of their burden the parachutes tumbled away and disappeared.

When they were able to stand steadily they discovered that they had stopped just in time to keep from going over and down another steep precipice.

“I see,” Joan grumbled, “trying to keep me from being hurt. I will have you know, Mister Man, that I take my share of all the dangers.”

Epworth did not answer. He was looking down into a deep valley alive with men, women and children—a valley heated by slow, spluttering volcanic fires that came up out of the earth. While he was still staring there came a muffled explosion, a humming noise, and there flashed into the sky a streak of bright aluminum. It shot upward with such swiftness that it was barely visible for a fraction of a second, leaving behind a somewhat lurid trail that hung in the air for a second and then disappeared.

“W-w-what was it?” Joan gasped.

Epworth gave no heed to the question. He was staring, open-mouthed at the spot where the cylinder came from. He was still staring when it seemed to him that the earth opened, and another flash of aluminum shot into the sky, followed by a muffled explosion.

“W-what the Sam Hill?”

Epworth could get no farther. His astonishment choked him.