Bloody Gulch are we up ag'in'?" demanded the old miner, springing to his feet.
"We're going down—that's all," answered Tom, calmly, but he was far from feeling that way, and he had grave fears for the safety of himself and his companions.
Down, down, down went the Red Cloud, in the midst of the hail storm. But if the gold-seekers had hoped to escape the pelting of the frozen globules they were mistaken. The stones still seemed to increase in size and number. The gas machine register showed a sudden lack of pressure, not due to the shutting off of the apparatus.
"Look!" cried Ned, pointing to the dial.
"Yes—more punctures," said Tom, grimly.
"What's to be done?" asked Mr. Damon, who had finished the task Tom allotted to him. "Bless my handkerchief! what's to be done?"
"Seek shelter if the storm doesn't stop when we get to the earth level," answered Tom.
"Shelter? What sort of shelter? There are no airship sheds in this desolate region."
"I may be able to send the ship under some overhanging mountain crag," answered the young inventor, "and that will keep off the hailstones."
Eagerly Tom and Ned, who stood together in the pilothouse peered forward through the storm.
