CHAPTER XXX
THE LAST DITCH
McKinnon's ears were ringing, and his head still swam a little, as he climbed into the track-motor's driving-seat. He noticed, too, as they gathered speed, that he was wet with sweat, and that the cool mountain air was sending a chill into his very bones.
"Look! It's daylight coming!" cried the girl at his side. He peered out through the phantasmal grayness that lightened about them, and a new anxiety crept and corroded through all his aching body. There would be no appreciable period of friendly twilight. The tropics, he knew, would explode the full light of day on them like a rocket. And between him and safety still lay seven miles of track.
"It will have to be full speed now—to the end," he told the girl.
She called back, "Yes—I know," as the lever went to the last notch and the car racked and pounded along the uneven rails. The forest fell
324
