The Jaws of Death
A light breeze was already blowing, and amid cries of farewell and
encouragement from those on the ground the boys headed their aeroplane
into this and took off to a perfect start just as the rim of the morning
sun appeared over the horizon. The glorious beams flooded the beautiful
green landscape below them, and the boys felt a wonderful surge and
uplift of spirit that matched the upward flight of the aeroplane as it
climbed swiftly toward the clouds. Higher and higher they went, until
the little group of waving figures became mere dots, and then were
entirely lost to sight.
The motor roared its rhythmic speed song as Phil opened the throttle bit
by bit, until their instruments registered an altitude of a thousand
feet and a speed of ninety miles an hour. This was not by any means the
maximum speed of which the machine was capable, but they were not out to
break speed records, and preferred to save both gasoline and excessive
wear on the engine.
The light breeze with which they had started freshened after awhile, but
it was steady, and so did not interfere with their progress as an
unsteady, puffy breeze would have done. The sun climbed higher in the
heavens, but the wings of the plane protected them from the intensity of
its rays, and they could not have been more comfortable nor felt more
secure had they been seated in rocking chairs at home.
After they had been traveling a few hours, however, the weather became
somewhat hazy, and suddenly, before Phil could change his course, they
had run into a solid bank of dense gray fog that shut off the genial
rays of the sun and sprinkled them liberally with moisture.
“Good night!” exclaimed Dick. “I hope it doesn’t take us long to get out
of this, Phil. It’s as damp and cold as a vault.”
“You don’t want to get out any more than I do,” returned Phil. “About
the only thing we can do is hold our course and hope that the fog belt
isn’t very wide. Chances are we’ll run out into the sunshine within a
few miles.”
This prediction proved to be far too optimistic, however, for after they
had traveled half an hour the fog seemed even more dense than before,
and at last Phil decided to descend and try to get under it. Piloting an
aeroplane in a fog is almost as bad as trying to walk blindfolded on the
ground; one never knows what unexpected object he is going to collide
with.
Phil’s instruments told him that he was several hundred feet above the
earth, but he knew that they were flying above hilly country, and it
does not take a very pretentious mountain to be five hundred or so feet
high. However, something must be risked in order to win clear of that
clammy, clinging fog, so Phil headed the plane steadily earthward. At
length the boys could see a lightening of the fog, upon which they all
gave three lusty cheers. A few moments later they swept out into
dazzling sunlight, but what they saw struck the shouts of gladness from
their lips.
Directly in their line of flight towered a high and threatening wall of
rock, so close that Dick and Tom gripped the sides of the aeroplane with
every muscle tense, waiting for the crash to come.
On every hand rose other jagged peaks, so that to veer away from that
grim wall ahead was useless, even had they had time. The last chance
left them was to rise—to soar up and over that formidable barrier of
weather-worn rock. To fail meant instant death against the cliff or
among the tumbled boulders at its base.
Phil tugged desperately at the elevating controls, and opened the
throttle wide. The aeroplane responded instantly, sweeping up with a
rush and roar. But they were terribly close to the cliff now, and the
boys held their breath in an agony of suspense. Could the trusty machine
make it, or would their trip end so quickly in black tragedy?
The cliff overhung at the top, and was fringed with a dense growth of
scrub and small trees. Had it not been for this they would probably have
won clear, but as it was, as they swept up, the wheels and framework
under the fuselage caught in the dense undergrowth, and the boys could
feel their speed suddenly slacken. The heavy pull underneath dragged the
nose of the machine down, which caused the propeller to become entangled
also. Phil tried desperately to get the machine clear of the tenacious
brush and creepers, but finally he saw that they were hopelessly
entangled. Fortunately, they were over the edge of the cliff, at any
rate, and on a small fairly level plateau at the top of the mountain.
Phil shut off the motor, in order to keep the propeller from getting
broken, and the aeroplane crashed down among the bushes and floundered
to a standstill.
The boys gazed ruefully at each other, and for a few moments no one
spoke. Then Phil climbed slowly from his seat, and dropped to the
ground, the others following suit.
“We’re in a fine mess now,” he remarked. “It looks to me as though this
is about as near Texas as we get this trip.”
“I don’t care,” said Tom, mopping big drops of perspiration from his
face. “I’m glad enough to be right here. I don’t mind admitting that I
thought we were all goners a few minutes ago. I don’t know yet how you
got us over the edge, Phil.”
“Neither do I,” said Dick. “We must have gone pretty near straight up,
Phil, to do it.”
“I guess we did,” nodded Phil. “It was the good old machine that did the
trick, though, not I. But never mind about that now. Who can tell me how
we’re going to get away from here?”
“Is the machine damaged much?” inquired Dick. “I suppose we’d better
make an examination and find out what’s broken before we figure how to
get away.”
Fortunately for the boys, the aeroplane had suffered only minor
injuries. Both rubber tires on the landing wheels were punctured, and
some of the framework supporting the wheels was badly bent, but there
was no damage done that they could not repair on the spot.
“It might have been a lot worse,” said Phil, at length. “I guess we’d
better break out our axes and clear a space where we can work. After
we’ve fixed the machine, I don’t see anything for it but to chop a clear
space big enough to get started in. And that’s going to be some job,
too, believe me.”
“It certainly looks as though it might be,” said Tom, gazing ruefully at
the tangle of bushes and vines. “But before we start in, why not have
something to eat. I’ve got a feeling that it’s way past lunch time right
now.”
This suggestion met with instant approval, and they all ate with
appetites unimpaired by their recent narrow escape. Having finished,
they rested for a brief spell, and then, getting out their axes,
attacked the thick undergrowth in earnest. After an hour’s hard labor,
they had a space cleared under and around the aeroplane, and then
proceeded to straighten the bent framework and repair the tires. They
worked fast, and in a surprisingly short time had everything in good
shape. Then they turned their attention to clearing a path sufficiently
long to allow the aeroplane to gather speed for its take-off. But here
they found themselves in a quandary. Less than three hundred feet from
the edge of the precipice there were a number of large trees, and to cut
these down and level off the ground there was out of the question.
Toward the brink of the cliff there was only the underbrush, but to
take-off in that direction was perilous in the extreme. It meant heading
straight for the edge of the abyss, and what if the aeroplane could not
gather sufficient speed in that short distance to rise? In that event
they might plunge downward, and so meet the very death that they had so
lately avoided.
They fell to work on the stubborn undergrowth, but although they worked
with desperate haste and energy, the sun was close to the horizon before
they were finally ready to take their hazardous start.
“Well, fellows, I guess we’ve done all we can,” said Phil at length,
mopping at a countenance that was fiery red from sunburn and exertion.
“We’ve done our part, and now it’s up to the old machine. If it rises,
all right, if not—” he shrugged his shoulders.
The boys climbed to their places in the machine with grave faces. Phil
ran the motor until it was thoroughly warm, and then, with lips grimly
set, opened the throttle.