railway there was not likely to be such a spot. And a landing in this wind would mean that the basket would be dragged hundreds of feet over rough ground, dashed against cement-hard anthills and big rocks, and both basket and boys would probably be ground into mincemeat.
Or they might come down into a surprised herd of elephants or irritable rhinos, or hungry hyenas. Lions too were on the prowl at this time of night.
Every minute was taking them farther away from camp. But how about that other camp, the Kitani Safari Lodge? This was an east wind. Hal figured it should be carrying them almost straight west along the valley of the Tsavo River and perhaps over the Lodge itself.
They might already be above the cabins and tents of the Lodge. He turned his flashlight on the great bag over his head. He desperately hoped they would see it. But be knew in his heart that the chances were a hundred to one against it. The warden and his rangers and guests did not make a practice of wandering around outside after nightfall when wild animals made a parade ground of the camp.
But he kept his light on the bag. Then he saw a glimmer below. That was light shining from cabin windows.
‘Shout.’ he said to Roger. They shouted loud enough to wake the dead. Their shouts were carried away on the wind. In ten seconds they were swept beyond the camp and over some of the wildest country of East Africa. There was now nothing but blackness below.
And blackness ahead. It loomed into the sky, shutting off the stars. Away at the top of this great tower of blackness was something white, like a white roof, or a white cloud in the night sky.
What could it be, this black tower with a white roof? Hal tried to reconstruct the map in his imagination. What was the country like straight west of Kitani?
Then it came to him. The mountain!
His heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his voice calm. T’m afraid we’re in for a bad time. Kilimanjaro -straight ahead. We’re bound to smash into it.’
Roger peered at the black monster with the cap of white.
‘Can’t we go around it?’
‘No chance. You’re not in an aeroplane. No way to steer this thing.’
‘How about going over it?’
‘Nineteen thousand feet high. The highest mountain in all Africa. We might leap-frog over a six-thousand-foot peak. But even if we threw out every ounce of sand I don’t see how we could climb to nineteen thousand.’
‘Well, if we do strike it,’ said Roger, ‘perhaps we’ll get off with a few bruises. Then we can walk down the slope and find a village.’
Hal laughed bitterly. ‘Slope, the man says. What slope? Don’t you remember how this side of the mountain looks through your binoculars? A straight up-and-down cliff of solid rock. When we crash, don’t try to get out of the basket. There’ll be nothing to get out on. If-the balloon holds its gas, and if we aren’t knocked into the next world by the blow, we may stick there until we…’
‘Until we starve?’
‘Until the wind changes and blows us off.’
‘That’s not likely,’ Roger said. ‘You know this is a trade wind.’
‘Right - and it blows pretty steadily from east to west most of the year. Still, miracles do happen. Let’s hope for one.’
Hal had a scientific mind, but in the excitement of the moment he could hardly be expected to remember all the laws of nature. Roger beamed a flashlight ahead. The cliff could be plainly seen. But the Jules Verne was not approaching it at forty miles an hour.
‘We’re slowing down,’ Roger said. ‘How could that be?’
Hal guessed the reason. ‘The cliff blocks the wind so perhaps we’ll strike without having the breath knocked out of us.’
But they did not strike. Instead, the cliff began to slide down before their eyes. Or so it seemed. It took a moment to realize that it was hot the cliff that was dropping but the balloon that was going up. Why should it suddenly start to climb?
Hal looked at the altimeter. Five hundred feet, a
Or they might come down into a surprised herd of elephants or irritable rhinos, or hungry hyenas. Lions too were on the prowl at this time of night.
Every minute was taking them farther away from camp. But how about that other camp, the Kitani Safari Lodge? This was an east wind. Hal figured it should be carrying them almost straight west along the valley of the Tsavo River and perhaps over the Lodge itself.
They might already be above the cabins and tents of the Lodge. He turned his flashlight on the great bag over his head. He desperately hoped they would see it. But be knew in his heart that the chances were a hundred to one against it. The warden and his rangers and guests did not make a practice of wandering around outside after nightfall when wild animals made a parade ground of the camp.
But he kept his light on the bag. Then he saw a glimmer below. That was light shining from cabin windows.
‘Shout.’ he said to Roger. They shouted loud enough to wake the dead. Their shouts were carried away on the wind. In ten seconds they were swept beyond the camp and over some of the wildest country of East Africa. There was now nothing but blackness below.
And blackness ahead. It loomed into the sky, shutting off the stars. Away at the top of this great tower of blackness was something white, like a white roof, or a white cloud in the night sky.
What could it be, this black tower with a white roof? Hal tried to reconstruct the map in his imagination. What was the country like straight west of Kitani?
Then it came to him. The mountain!
His heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his voice calm. T’m afraid we’re in for a bad time. Kilimanjaro -straight ahead. We’re bound to smash into it.’
Roger peered at the black monster with the cap of white.
‘Can’t we go around it?’
‘No chance. You’re not in an aeroplane. No way to steer this thing.’
‘How about going over it?’
‘Nineteen thousand feet high. The highest mountain in all Africa. We might leap-frog over a six-thousand-foot peak. But even if we threw out every ounce of sand I don’t see how we could climb to nineteen thousand.’
‘Well, if we do strike it,’ said Roger, ‘perhaps we’ll get off with a few bruises. Then we can walk down the slope and find a village.’
Hal laughed bitterly. ‘Slope, the man says. What slope? Don’t you remember how this side of the mountain looks through your binoculars? A straight up-and-down cliff of solid rock. When we crash, don’t try to get out of the basket. There’ll be nothing to get out on. If-the balloon holds its gas, and if we aren’t knocked into the next world by the blow, we may stick there until we…’
‘Until we starve?’
‘Until the wind changes and blows us off.’
‘That’s not likely,’ Roger said. ‘You know this is a trade wind.’
‘Right - and it blows pretty steadily from east to west most of the year. Still, miracles do happen. Let’s hope for one.’
Hal had a scientific mind, but in the excitement of the moment he could hardly be expected to remember all the laws of nature. Roger beamed a flashlight ahead. The cliff could be plainly seen. But the Jules Verne was not approaching it at forty miles an hour.
‘We’re slowing down,’ Roger said. ‘How could that be?’
Hal guessed the reason. ‘The cliff blocks the wind so perhaps we’ll strike without having the breath knocked out of us.’
But they did not strike. Instead, the cliff began to slide down before their eyes. Or so it seemed. It took a moment to realize that it was hot the cliff that was dropping but the balloon that was going up. Why should it suddenly start to climb?
Hal looked at the altimeter. Five hundred feet, a
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