Every now and again there would come a sudden burst of vicious fury, and once or twice it actually appeared as if the great air craft would be ripped in pieces. But so far every wire and brace and turnbuckle in her construction had held bravely. Jack watched the engine anxiously, attending to the lubricating devices and adjusting the gas mixers. The machine was behaving splendidly, and Jack felt that if only the connections between the gas bag and the car would hold they might still weather the fury of the gale. He knew that these tropical hurricanes while furious are often not of very long duration. He stuck to his post, keeping hope alive in his heart, while the others pluckily enough endured the situation without flinching. All at once, the wind stopped as suddenly as if it had been cut off at a gigantic spigot. The calm, after that raging, furious gale, was positively startling. “Is the storm over?” asked Ned. “No. It’s only just beginning,” was the alarming response from Captain Andrews. “I understand you now,” came from Mr. Jesson suddenly; “it’s a circular storm.” “That’s it, sir. In a few minutes it will be blowing just as hard out of the west as a few minutes ago it was blowing from seaward.” “We’d better put the craft about,” said Tom. “Yes; bring her round as quick as you can,” said Jack. “Goodness! how queer this sudden calm feels.” It was indeed an uncanny feeling. So still had the air become that a candle might have been lighted and its flame would hardly have flickered. Through this stagnant atmosphere the Flying Road Racer was worked around till her bow was pointing seaward. “Gracious!” exclaimed Tom, “if the wind doesn’t come from the quarter Captain Andrews expected we’ll be blown to bits.” Jack said nothing. Any reply he might have made was, in fact, cut short at this moment by a moaning sound from the direction of the mountains. It was caused by the wind sweeping through the canyons and deep abysses that scared them. “Put on full speed, Tom,” urged Jack; “the faster we are going when that wind strikes us the less chance there will be of our being ripped to bits.” The greatest speed of which she was capable was placed on the Flying Road Racer. The indicator showed in turn fifty, sixty, sixty-five and then seventy miles! Just as she attained this remarkable speed the wind struck the straining air craft with its full velocity. “Fo’ de Lawd’s sake!” shrilled out Jupe, “we done bin gone dis time fo’ shoh.” But he was wrong. The stout fabric of the wonderful craft withstood even the terrific assault now made upon her. But her forward motion suddenly ceased. Caught in the vortex created by the meeting point of the two conflicting storms, she was whirled round and round as if she had been gripped in a maelstrom of the winds.