Here was a condition the boys had never foreseen; they were undoubtedly “rattled.” At their present high speed the wings were folded in their utmost. Let the speed be reduced, the planes would automatically expand; they were headed into the wind—an extra inch of surface to catch the terrific pressure might cause the Flyer to turn turtle.

The only possibility that remained for those on board to save Bob was the desperate chance that they might be able to haul the ladder in, hand over hand, until the boy was near enough to crawl into the hull himself. None of the boys had much hope of being able to accomplish the feat, and indeed the first minute of tugging on the rope ladder convinced them that it was an utter impossibility to haul it in against the terrific wind current created by the machine.

“No hope!” sighed Buck, wiping the perspiration from his face.

“Wait! I have it! Rig up that windlass in the storeroom. I’ll bet we can haul him in on that,” exclaimed Alan.

The windlass was brought and the loose end of the ladder finally lashed to it. The barrel crank of the windlass they attached to one of the machines in the engine room, and then the previous ladder attachments were cut loose. Buck started the donkey-engine, and all were delighted to see that with each chug of the engine another lap of the ladder was dragged aboard and wound about the windlass.

Buck speeded the little engine up faster and the clinging figure below rapidly rose from sixty to fifty, to forty, to twenty, to ten, to two feet of the porthole, when strong, eager arms were outstretched to drag him aboard. Poor Bob was so numb with cold and so exhausted from the frightful strain he had undergone, that he collapsed almost as soon as he found himself in safety.

“Safety” is, however, no word to describe the situation of the Flyer’s crew. The big airship was shooting on, on, on at an abrupt angle up into uncharted space, the limits of which are beyond the deductions or comprehension of science. The highest cloud strata had been surmounted long since; a strange darkness seemed to close over them, making it necessary to turn on the electric lights.

The Ocean Flyer was passing into a region of the most intense cold. First frost appeared on the plate glass of the portholes; then this rapidly thickened to a thick coating of ice which prevented all view of the outside. Even the wind funnel device on the Flyer’s prow, which had in past flights proved practical in keeping the interior heated, was now inadequate. The ship became so cold that the boys’ breath steamed; their hands turned blue and their noses reddened. Soon it even became necessary for them to put on their heaviest underclothing and fur overcoats. They had to huddle close together for warmth.

The altitude gauge began acting queerly; it had long since passed the ten-mile mark.

The young aeronauts had the choice of only two expedients in this desperate emergency. They could keep on going as they were, trusting to luck; or they might shut off the gas supply and take a chance of having the Flyer turn on its back. Their chances of coming right-side-up were better now; there was no air-movement in this high altitude. But suddenly Buck made a discovery that made a choice unnecessary.

“Look, fellows!” he cried, pointing at the gauge which showed the angle of flight. “Sure as you live, her nose is dropping every second.”

Ned nodded his head gravely. “I’ve been hoping for that. The air’s getting too thin to give the rudder enough resistance. Our speed’s lessening every minute. We’ll soon be on an even keel—and then we at least stand a chance.”

“Won’t we just drop like a rock?” gasped Alan in dismay.

“Why no. Not if we keep our engines going. We simply won’t gain any ground. I’ll give you an exhibition of fancy flying about that time. We’ll try ‘dodging.’”

“Play tag with the clouds?” grinned Buck.

“We’ll play tug-o’-war with our rudder. We’d naturally drop headfirst without the propellers. We’ll use our power just often enough and strong enough to keep level. In other words, we’ll jump down.”

“And where will we land?” asked Buck. “We’re headed west, aren’t we?”

“We won’t be in Belgium when we see terra firma, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got pretty well across Germany—”

“We can’t land there.”

“Well, we can’t land here, that’s sure. We’ve got to take a chance. Me to the engines—we start dropping in five minutes.”

The floor of the cabin was nearly level; then it began to rock violently. From the alternate hum and silence of the engines, the others knew that Ned had begun the descent. Aside from that, the airship was as steady as ever.

In the meantime Buck busied himself in the cook’s galley, and when he finally emerged carrying steaming hot pots of coffee and savory-smelling victuals, you may well believe that the half frozen boys greeted him with enthusiasm. They shouted up to Ned through the speaking-tube:

“Lash the plane gears fast where they are and come on down. Buck’s got ready a fine lot of stuff for us to eat.”

“You boys go ahead and enjoy it without me for a little while,” Ned answered from his place in the pilot house. “I’m going to have just one more try at that broken lever.”