"Where are we headed for?" asked Jim. I pointed to the Laurentian Mountains which extend along the Labrador coast. "Anywhere the other side of those." Jim whirled the propeller and kicked the blocks from in front of the wheels. Then he climbed on board. We should have had skids on the undercarriage instead of wheels, to land on the snow, but we would have to do the best we could with what we had. The roar of the motor brought some of the inhabitants out-of-doors, and they watched us, wonderingly, as we took off into the night with that sinister orange moon gazing down at us. The mountains are not high and we crossed them without difficulty. Presently the sky became gray in the east, and the moon, still in the sky, looked menacing. By the time the sun rose over the horizon we were almost cheerful. I had been looking for a place to land, and decided to take a chance on the broad plateau at the top of the northern end of the mountain chain. Here the rocks were not old Laurentian but sandstone. The place we came down on was as flat as a table top and had been blown clear of snow by the wind, which had become high enough to make landing difficult. There was no shelter on the plateau, and we had to hang on to the wings of the plane to steady it. Finally we reached a little rocky valley. It was really only a depression in the surface of the mountain, but it was deep enough to shelter the plane and us from the increasing fury of the wind. We anchored the plane as well as we could, and then made a breakfast on canned beans. "What next?" asked Jim when we had finished. "Maybe you'd better try to get some sleep while I watch." I shook my head. "We'll both try to sleep now. There's nothing to watch for, and tonight we'll probably both want to be awake." We crawled into our sleeping bags and the last thing I remember was the thought that the increasingly shrill screeching of the wind was an improvement on the noise made by the sirens of the New York Fire Department. I do not know what wakened me. I instinctively looked at my watch and saw it was three o'clock. At first I was not sure whether I was awake or whether I was in the middle of one of the half-waking nightmares we sometimes have. Lying in the depression in the mountain, I could see neither horizon but only the sky overhead. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. * * * * * Nearer and Nearer Instead of the usual blue, the sky was a burnished copper. The wind was blowing a hurricane with a steady intensity from east to west. All aviators are able to judge wind velocities pretty accurately, but this was something entirely beyond my experience. I had felt a hundred-and-fifty mile an hour gale during the Miami hurricane, but this was vastly greater.