ling wind, bringing upon its
breast the cutting assault of sleet and the softer, yet no less vicious
swirl of snow. Quickly the radiator was drained and refilled. Once
more, huddled in the driver's seat, Barry Houston gripped the wheel and
felt the crunching of the chain-clad wheels in the snow of the roadway.
The mountains had lured again, only that they might clutch him in a
tighter embrace of danger than ever. Now the snow was whirling about
him in almost blinding swiftness; the small windshield counted for
nothing; it was only by leaning far outside the car that he could see
to drive and then there were moments that seemed to presage the end.

Chasms lurked at the corners, the car skidded and lurched from one side
of the narrow roadway to the other; once the embankment crumbled for an
instant as a rear wheel raced for a foothold and gained it just in
time. Thundering below, Barry could hear the descent of the dirt and
small boulders as they struck against protruding rocks and echoed forth
to a constantly growing sound that seemed to travel for miles that it
might return with the strength of thunder. Then for a moment the sun
came again and he stared toward it with set, anxious eyes. It no
longer was dazzling; it was large and yellow and free from glare. He
swerved his gaze swiftly to the dashboard clock, then back to the sun
again. Four o'clock! Yet the great yellow ball was hovering on the
brim of Mount Taluchen; dusk was coming. A frightened glance showed
him the black shadows of the valleys, the deeper tones of coloring, the
vagueness of the distance which comes with the end of day.

Anxiously he studied his speedometer as the road stretched out for a
space of a few hundred feet for safety. Five miles--only five miles in
a space of time that on level country could have accounted for a
hundred. Five miles and the route book told plainly that there were
four more to go before the summit was reached. Anxiously--with a
sudden hope--he watched the instrument, with the thought that perhaps
it had broken, but the slow progress of the mile-tenths took away that
possibility. He veered his gaze along the dashboard, suddenly to
center it upon the oil gauge. His jaw sagged. He pressed harder upon
the accelerator in a vain effort. But the gauge showed no indication
that the change of speed had been felt.

"The oil pump!" came with a half gasp. "It's broken--I'll have to--"

The sentence was not finished.