TIBERIUS SMITH
"He passed the exit for what I believed was the last time, and his manœuvring of the bowlders was far from his usual form. I doubted if he could hold the narrow ribbon back to the opening again, but the olives were dropped in place.
"‘Dark!' I cried, for it suddenly fell very gloomy.
"‘Sulphur!' he boomed, ripping by the avenue of escape without trying to land it.
"‘Next time,' he warned, settling lower over the wheel, while the shadows in the cup seemed to render the track a matter to be taken largely on faith.
"And the fumes of sulphur as we passed the bowlders on our farewell visit were fearful. We appreciated the darkness, and a dull rumbling sound, now swelling and rolling on our nearly deaf ears, was not thunder, but one of those kindly earth vibrations, so common in Peru, that cause diminutive volcanoes, no matter how long extinct, to occasionally blow sulphur and accentuate the general cussedness of the region.
"Now we were at the opening, and with a choking, hysterical sort of a tearful hoot we turned the corner, the blessed old car prancing along for thirty feet on two wheels before we struck an even keel and likewise a group of the Huancas. Tib had mechanically sounded the honker when we wheeled towards freedom, but the warning bleat had con-
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