"Don't worry, lady," he said. "We'll get there sure."
And even as he spoke the car gave a roar of rage and came to a dead stop.
"Oh, dear—what is it now?" cried the girl.
"Acts like the train," commented Minot.
The driver got out and surveyed the car without enthusiasm.
"I wonder what she's up to now?" he remarked. "Fifteen years I drove horses, which are supposed to have brains, but this machine can think of things to do to me that the meanest horse never could."
"You promised, driver," pleaded the girl. "We must reach San Marco on time. Mr.—er—your watch?"
"Twenty-five past twelve," smiled Minot.
The native descended to the dust and slid under the car. In a moment he emerged, triumphant.
"All O. K." he announced. "Don't you worry, lady. It's San Marco or bust"
"If only something doesn't bust," Minot said.
Again they were plowing through the sand. The girl sat anxiously on the edge of the seat, her
