TIBERIUS SMITH
cried, 'Forgive me, Billy, but it was the wrong road. This will never take us to De Pasco.'
"His lament was caused by our dipping down a slight grade, where the path ended apparently in a dull brown morass, with the way between horribly peppered with bowlders. And then I surrendered silver-lined hope and realized the swift-footed banditti behind would surely bag us before night.
"‘Swamp?' I gurgled.
"‘No; lava!' barked Tib.
"And that's what it was—a sea of lava, furnishing moderately smooth tracking where the main stream had poured down from a near-by baby volcano. On either side of this gloomy aisle the lava blocks were huddled like crouching demons torn from a kid's nursery book of horrors.
"And while dodging the gauntlet of slag and snags in reaching it we saw our pursuers were gaining and were spreading out to prevent our making a détour.
"As if a flank movement in the Bloomer were possible in that stone jungle! But maybe they expected us to try flying.
"‘The only way,' cried Tib, renewing his grip and advancing the spark to the limit as he held her nose straight for the frozen river-bed that led up into the crater.
"Dear, dear! but it was fearsome.
"All my canny Scotch courage dwindled away to
248
