slant, with the propellers stationary, the shifting planes and rudders alone guiding it.
As the craft fairly slid down out of the sky, like a sled on a bank of fleecy snow, Tom, who was peering ahead, with his hand on the steering wheel, cried out:
"I say! It looks as if we were going to run into a thunder storm!"
"How's that?" inquired Mr. Sharp, poking his head from the motor compartment.
"He says there's a big storm ahead," repeated Mr. Damon, "and I guess he's right. I see a big bank of dark clouds, and there is a roaring in the air."
Mr. Sharp, who had been making some adjustments to the motor went forward to take a look. 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. Tom had brought the airship to a more level keel, and it was now spinning along under its own momentum, like a flat piece of tin, scaled by some lead. But it was
