heavy
smell of burnt oil drifted back to the nostrils of Barry Houston; but
there was nothing that he could do but grip the steering wheel a bit
tighter with his numbed hands,--and go on.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the indicator of the speedometer measured off a
mile in dragging decimals. The engine boiled and Barry stopped, once
more to huddle against the radiator, and to avail himself of its
warmth, but not to renew the water. No stream was near; besides, the
cold blast of the wind, shrilling through the open hood, accomplished
the purpose more easily. Again a sally and again a stop. And Barry
was thankful, as, huddled and shivering in his light clothing, he once
more sought the radiator. Vaguely there came to him the thought that
he might spend the night somewhere on the Pass and go on with the flush
of morning. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came; there was
no shelter, no blankets, nothing but the meager warmth of what fire he
might be able to gather, and that would fade the minute he nodded.
Already the temperature had sunk far beneath the freezing point; the
crackling of the ice in the gulleys of the road fairly shouted the fact
as he edged back once more from the radiator to his seat.

An hour--and three more after that--with the consequent stops and
pauses, the slow turns, the dragging process up the steeper inclines of
the road. A last final, clattering journey, and Barry leaped from the
seat with something akin to enthusiasm.

Through the swirling snow which sifted past the glare of his
headlights, he could discern a sign which told him he had reached the
summit, that he now stood at the literal top of the world.

But it was a silent world, a black world, in which the hills about him
were shapeless, dim hulks, where the wind whined, where the snow swept
against his face and drifted down the open space of his collar; a world
of coldness, of malice, of icy venom, where everything was a
threatening thing, and never a cheering aspect except the fact that the
grades had been accomplished, and that from now on he could progress
with the knowledge that his engine at least need labor no longer. But
the dangers! Barry knew that they had only begun. The descent would
be as steep as the climb he had just made. The progress must be
slower, if anything, and with the compression working as a brake. But
it was at least progress, and once more he started.

The engine clanked less now, the air seemed