The storm-beaten air craft, with its heavy human freight, was now being driven almost due north along the coast. Tom kept the prow pointed so as to bring the course almost parallel with the coast. All the time both he and Jack kept a keen lookout for a possible landing place. But none appeared. The wind, instead of dying down, grew stronger as the day went on. “What will be the end of this?” was the thought that crossed the minds of all of them in one form or another. The sun was obscured by scudding clouds, below them rolled the dismal, desolate expanse of salt water, for by this time they had passed over the peninsula of Yucatan and were out over the open gulf. In the distance to the westward, however, lay a dim coast line, and Tom steered toward it. Suddenly there came a loud, ripping, crashing sound. As he heard it Jack gave a cry of dismay. It was echoed by Tom and Ned, who both instantly guessed what had occurred. The rudder had given way under the strain. Looking over the side of the car they could see it being swept away by the wind, while astern of the tonneau hung a mass of tangled wreckage. “Good heavens! This is the worst yet,” groaned Captain Andrews. “Adrift in an airship without a rudder! What under the starry dome can we do now?” “Nothing but hope and pray for the best,” rejoined Jack. “We are helpless indeed without the rudder.” Fortunately, however, the propeller still worked, and Tom, abandoning the now useless steering wheel, gave all his efforts to aiding Jack in attending to the engines. The aerial screw helped to keep the Flying Road Racer on a straight course, and onward she flew, a disabled but still staunch craft. “Is there anything that we can do to help you?” asked Professor Chadwick, after a while. “Dere ain’t nuffin’ would help now but about a squar’ mile ob good dry lan’,” gloomily remarked Jupe. Tom shook his head, and so did Jack. “No, Father,” said the latter, “there isn’t a thing to be done. So long as we can keep the engine going, though, we can manage, at least, to keep before the wind.” “We’re getting closer to the coast,” cried Mr. Jesson suddenly. They were indeed. The forms of distant hills and forests could now be made out, and hope began to revive that they might, after all, find a spot to make a safe landing. “The wind has shifted again,” announced Captain Andrews, glancing over Tom’s shoulder at the compass. “It’s blowing out of the east now, and if it holds will drive us upon the Mexican coast.” Hardly had he made this announcement than there was an alarming cracking, snapping sound from the bow of the Flying Road Racer. A dark, sharp-pointed object whizzed through the air, and the next instant there came a sudden sound of ripping fabric, followed by a hissing noise as of escaping steam. “Great jumping sea serpents, what’s happened now?” bellowed Captain Andrews. “A blade of the propeller has torn loose from its hub and pierced the gas bag,” shouted Jack in an alarmed tone.