a feverous night-mist, stretched before them. McKinnon knew that no courier could overtake them. He remembered that no wires ran from Puerto Locombia inland, that the coast was cut off from the hinterland, that they were comparatively safe until they had climbed the Height of Land and Guariqui itself came in sight. Then there would be the Liberal army's lines to run, De Brigard's sentinels to pass. Then, if all went well, their journey would be at an end. Getting into Guariqui would mean one last risk and one last fight; but in the meantime they were safe.
He lessened the mad speed of the car a little, wondering, for the first time, if they carried enough gasoline to see them to their journey's end. The more he thought over that problem of gasoline supply the more it disturbed him. With his tank once empty they would be stranded in a hostile country, in which there would be no hiding, from which there could be no escape. The mere terrifying thought of such a contingency caused him to throw out the speed-lever a notch or two. He noticed, as they plunged on and on through the quietness of the night, that his hands were cut and scratched, that his face was caked with dried blood, that his body was sore and stiff. But deep with in him was a persistent and unquenchable glow
