Mark nodded his head. "Can't you pull the lever over faster?" he asked.

"I don't dare," replied his chum. There was nothing to do but to wait
and gradually slow up the projectile as much as possible. The boys
could hear the professors in the pilothouse shifting gears, valves and
levers to change the course of the projectile. Andy Sudds and
Washington White, with fear on their faces, looked into the engine
room, waiting anxiously for the outcome.

"Hab--hab we hit it yet?" asked Washington, moving his hands nervously.

"I reckon not, or we'd know it," said the hunter.

"No, not yet," answered Jack, in a low voice. "How much are we making
now, Mark?"

"Only thirty a second."

"Good! She's coming down."

Hardly had he spoken than there sounded a noise like thunder, or the
rushing of some mighty wind. The projectile, which was trembling
throughout her length from the force of the motor, shivered as though
she had plunged into the unknown depths of some mighty sea. The roaring
increased. Mark and Jack looked at each other. Washington White fell
upon his knees and began praying in a loud voice. Old Andy grasped his
gun, as though to say that, even though on the brink of eternity, he
was ready.