And then, even as he looked, the higher peak of the mountain appeared directly underneath; and, with instinctive recklessness, he gave the “Steering-lever” a yank which turned the machine “on its tail” at a sharp right-angle--missing a spill by a fraction of a hair--jerked another lever which tipped it into a practically-perpendicular “nosedive,” snapped that lever back again and righted himself, shoved down the helicopter lever and touched the button which shot that corkscrew-like device aloft going at “Maintenance-of-Altitude” speed, yanked back the lever of the rear propeller which brought that instrument rattling back into its pocket where it roared in a harmless fury--and, with a jolt, came to a full stop; while beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead at his narrow escape, though a triumphant smile played about his lips as he thought of the sensation he would create in the next “Aerial Olympic,” and his brain registered the mental note for future reference that it was his rear propeller going full speed “in reverse,” that had held him and saved a spill on that acute, right-angle turn. * * * * * A glance at his “Electro-visional” showed that he was parallel with, and but a few feet away from, the top of the cliff above Parker Pass; and the first thing he saw was Esmeralda’s biplane with its nose buried in a cake of ice. But its “Spark-screen Broadcaster” was humming merrily, and its rear “spot-light” revealed the details below, behind the “screen,” in vivid detail. Directly below the wrecked biplane, he quickly discovered his beloved Esmeralda standing waist-deep in the snow, with one arm raised as if to repel an expected attack, and still clad in the “picture-frame” costume which had caused their row. A glimpse at his “Exterior Temperature” indicator which registered “60° below zero,” caused a fleeting fear of dire results from her bare-skinned exposure; but a reflection on the proven ability of the “female of the species” for facing wintry blasts in scanty attire, quickly chased his fears away, and he turned his attention to the direction indicated by her upraised, protesting arm. And then--TO AN ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY, HE DISCOVERED THE FIGURE OF A MONSTROUS ROYAL BENGAL TIGER ON THE LEDGE ABOVE HER, WHICH WAS POISED IN THE ATTITUDE FOR ITS FINAL, FATAL SPRING UPON ITS PREY! With frantic energy he “yanked-down” the “Landing” lever of the helicopter, grabbed the parachute, pushed the button which “unstoppered” the “bottle,” and jumped--making the descent in “record” time, but landing so violently that he was buried in the snow, because, in his panic, he forgot to pull the string of his parachute until he was two-thirds down. A momentary fear of being smothered in the snow, was followed by a spasm of skilled “football” tactics in “bucking” and squirming his way out; and, floundering frantically towards his beloved, he yelled at the top of his voice: “Esmeralda! My darling! I am here!”