A Flashing Cylinder
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.