Speech was utterly impossible under the circumstances, and the fate-tossed voyagers could only cling fast to the hand-rail, and hold those precious air-tubes in readiness for the worst. Never before had either of the trio heard such a deafening crash and uproar, and little wonder if they thought this surely must herald the crack of doom! The tornado seemed to reel backward, as though repulsed by an immovable obstacle, and then, while the din was a bit less deafening, Professor Featherwit contrived to make himself heard, through screaming at the top of his voice: “The mountain range, I fancy! It's a battle to the--” That sentence was perforce left incomplete, since the storm-demon gave another mad plunge to renew the battle, bringing on a repetition of that drunken swaying so upsetting to both mind and body. A few seconds thus, then the tornado conquered, or else rose higher in partial defeat, for their progress was resumed, and comparative quiet reigned again. The higher clouds curved backward, affording a wider view of the heavens far above, and, as all eyes turned instinctively in that direction, Bruno involuntarily exclaimed: “Still daylight! I thought--how long has this lasted?” “It's the middle o' next week; no less!” positively affirmed his brother. “Don't tell me! We've been in here a solid month, by my watch!” Instead of making reply such as might have been expected from one of his mathematical exactness, Professor Featherwit gave a cry of dismay, while hurriedly moving to and fro in their contracted quarters, for the time being forgetful of all other than this, his great loss. “What is it, uncle Phaeton?” asked Bruno, rising to his knees in natural anxiety. “Surely nothing worse than has already happened to us?” “Worse? What could be worse than losing for ever--the camera, boys; where is the camera, I ask you?” Certainly not where the professor was looking, and even as he roared forth that query, his heart told him the sad truth; past doubting, the instrument upon whose aid he relied to place upon record these marvellous facts, so that all mankind might see and have full faith, was lost,--thrown from the aerostat, to meet with certain destruction, when the vessel first came within the tornado's terrible clutch. “Gone,--lost,--and now who will believe that we ever--oh, this is enough to crush one's very soul!” mourned the professor, throwing up his hands, and sinking back to the floor of the flying-machine in a limp and disheartened heap for the time being. Neither Bruno nor Waldo could fully appreciate that grief, since thoughts and care for self were still the ruling passion with both; but once more they were called upon to do battle with the swaying of the winds, and once again were they saved only through that life-giving cylinder of compressed air.