and up until they could see behind them the vague glimmer of the Caribbean, and the starlight grew so clear that McKinnon could make out the woman's locked hands in her lap at his side. He felt her shiver with the cold, and forced her to drink a little of the liquor from his brandy-flask. Then he groped about, looking for a covering, for he knew that as the altititude grew greater the cold would increase. Under the seat-cushions he found an oilskin coat, and helped her into it. The coat was much too large for her, but he doubled it over, in front, and held it in with a cushion-strap about her waist.
He noticed, for the first time, that they were both hatless. And as he began to feel the penetrating chill creep into his own bones, he swallowed a mouthful of brandy and buttoned his coat close up to his throat. But they were still racing on, up and up toward the Cordilleras. And he thanked what gods he thought were watching over him that the gasoline had held out, and that the car had kept to its tracks.
A cluster of three or four lights showed ahead, on their left, and brought a little cry from the girl.
"That's Paraiso!" she called out to him. "The road divides here. We must take the track to the right."
