a dizzy sickness overcame him, but this passed away. Again
he struggled to gain the platform above. This time he was successful.

Even here he did not abandon caution. The straps were still about his
waist. One of these he fastened to a rod. Then with one hand he clung to
the framework before him, while with the other he worked at the task of
adjusting instruments.

"Slow business," he murmured. "Maybe it won't work when I get through.
Maybe too damp. Maybe it--"

Suddenly he found himself floating in air, like the tail of a kite. Only
the strap and his viselike grip saved him. The plane had struck another
pocket.

He was at last thrown back upon the platform with such force as dashed
the air from his lungs and a large part of his senses from his brain.

After a moment of mental struggle he resumed his task. He worked
feverishly now. The fear that he might be seriously injured before he
had completed it had seized him.

"Now," he breathed at last, "now we'll see!"

His hand touched a switch. The motor buzzed.

"Ah! She works! She works!" he exulted.

Then with trembling fingers he sent out the signal of distress. He
followed this with their location, also in code. Three times he repeated
the message. Then snapping on his receiver, he strained his ear to
listen.

"Ah!--" his lips parted. He was getting something. Was it an answer? He
could scarcely believe his ears. Yet it came distinctly:

"Yacht _Kittlewake_, Curlie--"

Just at that moment the plane gave a sickening swerve. Caught off his
balance, the boy was thrown clear off the platform. The receiver
connection snapped. He hung suspended by the single strap. Madly his
hands flew out to grasp at the pitching rods. Just in time he seized
them; the strap had broken.

With the agility of a squirrel he let himself down to his old place
behind his companion. To buckle on the remaining straps was the work of
a moment. Then, in utter exhaustion and despair, he allowed his head to
sink upon his chest.

"And I was getting--getting an answer," he gasped.

His companion had seen nothing of his fall. Glancing behind him for a
second, he saw Vincent in his seat in the fuselage.

"What'd you come down for?"

"Got shaken down."

"Get anything?"

"Was getting. Queer thing that! Got the name of my father's yacht and
the word 'Curly.' Then the plane lurched and spilled me off. Jerked the
receiver off too. Queer about that message! Thought I saw the
_Kittlewak