ich faded, only to reappear again, like the
trail of some gigantic cut-worm, mark above mark, as it circled the
smaller hills, cut into the higher ones, was lost at the edge of some
great beetling rock, only to reappear once more, hundreds of feet
overhead. The eyes of Barry Houston grew suddenly serious. He reached
into the toolbox, and bringing forth the jack, affixed the chains,
forgetting his usually cheery whistle, forgetting even to take notice
when an investigative jay scrambled out upon a dead aspen branch and
chattered at him. The true meaning of the villager's words had come at
last. The mountains were frowning now, instead of beckoning, glowering
instead of promising, threatening instead of luring. One by one he
locked the chains into place, and tossing the jack once more into the
tool-box, resumed his place at the wheel.

"A six per cent. grade if it's an inch!" he murmured. "And this is
only the beginning. Wonder what I'm stepping into?"

The answer came almost before the machine had warmed into action. Once
more the engine labored; nor was it until Barry had answered its
gasping plea by a shift to second gear that it strengthened again. The
grade was growing heavier; once Barry turned his head and stared with
the knowledge that far beneath him a few tiny buildings dotted what
seemed to be a space of ground as level as a floor. Dominion! And he
had barely passed outside its environs!

He settled more firmly in his seat and gripped hard at the steering
wheel. The turns had become shorter; more, Barry found himself
righting the machine with sudden jerks as the car rounded the short
curves where the front wheels seemed to hang momentarily above
oblivion, as the chasms stretched away to seemingly bottomless depths
beneath. Gradually, the severity of the grade had increased to ten, to
twelve and in short pitches to even eighteen and twenty per cent! For
a time the machine sang along in second, bucking the raises with almost
human persistence, finally, however, to gasp and break in the smooth
monotony of the exhaust, to miss, to strain and struggle vainly, then
to thunder on once more, as Houston pressed the gears into low and
began to watch the motormeter with anxious eyes. The mercury was
rising; another half-hour and the swish of steam told of a boiling
radiator.

A stop, while the red, hissing water splattered from the radiator cock,
and the lifted hood gave the machine a chance to cool bef