them.

What they were seeking for was something unseen, but which could be
felt--a mysterious wind--a wind that might be encountered any time, and
which might send the Falcon to the earth a wreck.

The Russian brothers, staggering about in the storm, had seen the mine
under different conditions from what it would be viewed now. Then it
was winter in Siberia. Now it was summer, though it was not very warm.

On and on sailed the Falcon. The weather could not have been better,
but for once Tom wanted bad weather. He wanted a blow--the harder the
better--and all eyes anxiously watched the anemometer, or wind gage.
But ever it revolved lazily about in the gentle breeze.

"Oh, for a hurricane!" cried Tom.

He got his wish sooner than he anticipated. It was about two days after
this, when they were going about in a great circle, about two hundred
miles from the imaginary centre of the district in which the mine lay,
that, as Mr. Damon was getting dinner a dish he was carrying to the
table was suddenly whisked out of his hand.

"I say, what's the matter?" he cried. "Bless my--"

But he had no time to say more. The airship fairly stood on end, and
then, turning completely about, was rapidly driven in the opposite
direction, though her propellers were working rapidly.

"What's up?" yelled Ned.

"We are capsizing!" shouted Ivan Petrofsky, and indeed it seemed so,
for the airship was being forced over.

"I guess we've struck what we want!" cried Tom. "We're in a hurricane
all right! This is the place of the big wind! Now for my air glider, if
I can get the airship to earth without being wrecked! Ned, lend a hand!
We've got our work cut out for us now!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LOST MINE

For several moments it seemed as if disaster would overtake the little
band of platinum-hunters. In spite of all that Tom and Ned could do,
the Falcon was whipped about like a feather in the wind. Sometimes she
was pointing her nose to the clouds, and again earthward. Again she
would be whirling about in the grip of the hurricane, like some
fantastic dancer, and again she would roll dangerously. Had she turned
turtle it probably would have been the last of her and of all on board.

"Yank that deflecting lever as far down as it will go!" yelled Tom to
his chum.

"I am. She won't go any farther."

"All right, hold her so. Mr. Damon, let all the gas out of the bag. I
want to be as heavy as possible, and get to earth as soon as