FOR THE ZAPOPAXI CUP
to loosen my grip and could realize the car was riding easier.
"‘She's made a mile in forty-three,' shrieked Tib. 'Lucky the top's off.'
"Then I began to use my eyes, and saw the lava made a decently smooth race-track, although at the outer curve, opposite the opening, there was a bunch of lava slags, or bowlders, that necessitated our rising a bit. I would fix my eyes on that, and, whiz!—we had passed it.
"‘Low bridge!' mumbled Tib, as our wheels flirted a shower of ashes in the chief's face.
"And sure enough, when we darted by again a cloud of spears cut the track behind us and flew towards the mouth of the crater.
"‘Hip-pocket,' hoarsely reminded my patron, and I had sense enough to reach forward and relieve him of a blessed revolver.
"When we next cut the opening I precluded any more target-practice by pumping in three shots.
"This caused all spectators to leave the track-side and crouch behind bowlders. I reckon, sir, their hiding-places gave them a suggestion.
"For on the next whirl around, the father of the amiable family thoughtfully rolled a four-foot bit of lava across the cinders. I could have sworn we were all in when I saw the morsel bounding down.
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