CHAPTER XIX
LOST IN A SALT MINE
The blow had descended so suddenly that it was paralyzing. Tom and his friends did not know what to do, but they saw the wisdom of the course of leaving everything to Ivan Petrofsky. He was a Russian, and he knew the Russian police ways—to his sorrow.
"I'm not afraid, said Tom, when they had been locked in a large prison room, evidently set apart for the use of political, rather than criminal, offenders. "We're United States citizens, and once our counsel hears of this—as he will—there'll be some merry doings in Oskwaski, or whatever they call this place. But I am worried about what they may do to the Falcon."
"Have no fears on that score," said the Russian exile. "They know the value of a good airship, and they won't destroy her."
"What will they do then?" asked Tom.
"Keep her for their own use, perhaps."
"Never!" cried Tom. "I'll destroy her first!"
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