Tiberius Smith/Chapter 13
XIII
FOR THE ZAPOPAXI CUP
"NOTHING would tempt us to follow any more of Santos's suggestions, and we left him at Vista to take advantage of the company of several Bolivians who were returning home. For the last time Tib and I passed up the awful waters, only now we were not alone and unarmed; nor did we pause until we had entered Bolivia. At La Paz our friends said good-bye and we jogged on to Arica, the port they borrow from Chile. There we picked up a coastwise steamer and glided up to Callao. Of course we were not capering around with no set purpose.
"It was this: Tib decided he must have been fed on four-leaf clovers when an infant and had been inoculated with much good luck. Else why our diamonds and the two recent evasions of a tropical grave? He insisted that if I'd stick to him I would live forever. Only he was too wise to try diamonds again, or to carry his pitcher too often to any other Brazilian well. And now his heart was full of Peru and its treasures. But it was not until we had hit the stubby Central Railroad at Callao for a one-hundred-and-thirty-six-mile ride over a tunnel-infested route across the Central Cordilleras to Oroya that he opened his heart and explained we were bound for the Cerro de Pasco silver-diggings. He had learned in port that several English nabobs were kicking because they suspected somebody was passing things out of the window in their absence. So Tib intended to loll about in the middle distance and get a bird's-eye view of the situation, and then hop in at the right moment and plank down our baseball receipts and buy out the disgruntled capitalist, and then camp right there and watch the investment grow.
"You see, the mines in the Cerro district separate mother-earth from about a million ounces of white junk every year, and if any speculator should decide his share of the loot was too microscopic we stood a chance of buying into a good thing.
"Thus we jumped the stunted railroad and were pleased on reaching Oroya to find a choice and convivial cluster of Yankees and Johnny Bulls, all civil engineers, busily endeavoring to explain to the directorate of the Peruvian Company why vast sums of coin spent in an attempt to connect Oroya with the Pichis River had failed of any radical results. I'll talk guide-book sufficient to say the Pichis is the head of navigation leading to Iquitos on the upper Amazon, and freight was then being carted from Oroya to the Cerro diggings, some fifty miles, by llamas and mules.
"When we bobbed into the spirited debate, Tib, of course, must expand and peddle out a little wholesome advice to the isosceles triangle sharps. He'd never studied engineering, he modestly confessed; but he insisted that a man who had routed big shows through the cotton belt, who had collected admittance fees from gun-laden mountaineers, and who knew just how much English to put on an elephant's head when that animal is butting the beast wagons out of South Carolina mud, ought to be able to sprinkle a few germs of helpful thought on almost any perplexing situation. Well, they certainly took to him and his sparkling, brown-eyed ways, and an English tea-prince named Breusy was so captivated that he swore we should make the trip to the mines in his ninety-horse-power, six-cylinder, swifter-than-chain-lightning touring-car, the Bally Bloomer.
"‘But can you chauff?' I asked, suspiciously, after drawing Tib aside.
"He looked at me regretfully for a moment, and then sighed, 'Child, after you've once laid a gasolene trail with me and have seen my lily-like form drooping over the rudder, you'll never ride behind another pathfinder.'
"And as it resulted, he came near to being a prophet; for during several hours in the immediate future I was destined to abandon the anchor of hope and anticipate only a nameless grave. But his hearty assurance stilled my throbbing temples and I went with him to inspect the machine.
"The Englishman had sent it up by train, intending to astonish the natives with a few hill-side stunts. But after soberly scanning the repulsive foreheads of several adjacent mountains he changed his mind, discarded the gingerbread top and two of the three seats, and contented himself with rushing his dismantled car over a few fast miles in a little less than nothing on the decent five-mile stretch of highway that subsequently leads to Tarma.
"‘I'll fetch it back in a few days,' said Tib, as we jumped into the remaining seat and the descendant of an Incan emperor meekly lashed my shot-gun and the lunch-hampers on behind.
"‘Keep away from the east,' warned Breusy, as Tib gracefully gave her the slow speed. 'We hear the Huancas have been seen near Pasco.'
"‘Tut, tut,' smiled Tib, gliding into the middle speed and worrying the wheel.
"‘Toot, toot,' said the announcer, and amid a friendly salvo of wine-incited cheers we were off for a sixty-six-mile spin over the remains of an ancient road-bed thrown together probably by the Incas.
"In spots the trail was good, but generally we were kept busy dodging five-ton blocks of lava that were scattered munificently over the landscape. For you can't throw your hat anywhere in that region without tagging a volcano.
"‘Simply great!' cried Tib, as he reversed a lever and stopped so quickly that our machine boldly kissed the brow of a gigantic pill we unexpectedly met in gracefully slinking around a curve.
"‘Sure we're going right?' I queried, as my eye caught what seemed to be a forking of the highways.
"He asked me if I trusted him, or not, and I said I did at times; and to show his disdain for my personal opinion he chucked us into the third speed and took advantage of a long, narrow ribbon of turnpike to the right to test the Englishman's eulogiums on the car. I began to wish we'd taken the other branch, but his round face and bright brown eyes looked so merry as we scampered along I forgot it all.
"Then the grandeur of the thing stole into my veins as I gazed at the papa and baby mountains on all sides and realized it was given to us to be the original motor-car Columbuses to travel a path that had required several generations of aborigines to construct.
"Just think of them working for us! Actually exceeding union hours that Tib Smith and a Campbell might zip along on the decayed results. Then I remembered we had been fracturing the scenery for more than an hour without once veering to the north, and I sought to dig my companion out of his joyous reverie by pointing at the sun.
"‘Of course it can't always last,' he sighed. 'We'll turn about soon.'
"As he surrendered something spluttered villanously, and he stopped the car so suddenly that I was snatched to my feet and found myself gracefully hanging head-down over the cow-catcher.
"‘Tire busted?' I cried; for all I knew about motor-cars you could brusquly thrust into the bandaged eye of an invalid and cause no hurt.
"He grumbled something about a disconnected wire and the contact-box and hopped out to burrow lovingly under the car and to tickle the mechanism.
"‘Two things I never understood,' his muffled voice panted. 'One is a woman and the other is an auto. Gimme the wrench.'
"‘Maybe these folks behind can help us,' I suggested, innocently, as my eye caught sight of a clump of men afoot just surmounting a rise.
"And, great Scott! If you could have only heard him give a series of farewell taps with the wrench and could have seen him shoot from under that vehicle and balance his round form on the back of the seat!
"‘Help us, child!' he groaned. 'They are sure cure for the auto mania. They're Huancas!'
"You could have balanced an unabridged dictionary on the tips of my upstanding hair, sir, as I heard those fearful words. And I never saw a person so thoroughly emulate the snail as did Tib when he descended and slowly adjusted a pair of blinders.
"‘Don't bother to do that,' I stuttered, as he stepped in front and began cranking.
"My remonstrance was followed by a shout from behind, and I knew the children of ill-nature had spotted us; and as they shouted they halted and leaned negligently on what I took to be spears.
"‘They've probably been following the gasolene smell and are surprised to find such queer game at the end of the run,' gasped Tib, dropping again to crawl under the wagon.
"‘She won't go?' I asked.
"‘I'm not doing this because of a love for mechanics,' his voice murmured. 'Sound the honker if they start for us.'
"He had hardly spoken before the statuettes awoke to manly vigor and began to trot slowly forward. I turned on a few hoarse bleats and was overjoyed to see them turn to stone again.
"‘Guess they're afraid,' I said, hopefully.
"‘They'll get used to us in time,' growled Tib, dragging himself out and jumping for the crank.
"‘They have,' I shrieked, as with one accord the intruders leaped forward, permitting us to see they were big, brown men with the bump of benevolence entirely wanting, and that their breakfast-food biceps enabled them to toy with their spears most gracefully.
"‘Good -bye, old man,' I sobbed, mechanically trying to loosen my shot-gun.
"‘Chug-chug,' went the dear old machine, and Tib yelled, 'A11 aboard, you idiot!'
"As he dragged me to the seat and jerked on the animation the head idol hurled a trident that just nicked the tail of the car. I'll swear it was as large as a telegraph pole.
"Then with a recklessness that seemed a sure promise of ruin my old patron yanked the vehicle in and out among the bowlders as deftly as you'd steer the baby's go-cart along the asphalt. And every second I expected to hear the dull protest of a wounded tire.
"‘We'll leave 'em,' I mumbled, in his ear.
"‘Runners!' he choked, swallowing his share of a collection of ashes. 'Trained runners! Beat—horse.'
"I turned, expecting, despite his ipse dixit, to find us drawing wholesomely away from them, but to my horror beheld the strained, triumphant face of one demon within twenty feet of our hind wheels, and his firm gaze sent my timid orbs to the right-about.
"Actually, sir, I was frozen. Then I gave one piercing yell, so shrill and touching that the head-man nearly stumbled, while Tib, thinking I had been punctured, moved to throw us into the low speed. Then he appreciated the cause of my inquietude, and gluing his eyes on the train let out about seven notches.
"How we bounced! How I poured out fervid thanks for the brave American tires! For, although the Bally Bloomer was a French car with an English master, her rubbers were bought over here.
"Of course it wasn't on the cards that any man could hurdle a car as Tib was doing without going to join all of his departed forebears. We both knew it, and yet the old sport kept up the pressure and grazed chunks of lava slag by the width of a rooster's eyebrow.
"‘Can I chauff!' he choked, hysterically, bowing his bare head so the whistling wind parted his brown locks at the crown and revealed a dollar-sized piece of his scalp.
"I turned again and saw we had left them some distance, and was beginning to cheer when Tib 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 the size of a pin-head as we shifted to the slow and breasted that grade. Tib said it was about a fifteen-per-cent. grade, but I'll make my affidavit it was at least a million.
"Breusy hadn't said, however, that the Bally Bloomer could climb up the side of a house for nothing, and I could have hugged her as she swarmed up the ascent with the hostile demons in our wake running as steadily and easily as automatons.
"‘This is Zapopaxi,' bawled Tib. 'A cup-cone and extinct.'
"‘In?' I yelled.
"He darted one last look behind him, and although the goggles hid his eyes, I knew by the shrug of his shoulders he believed he had played his last card.
"‘We go in. Too bad!' he cried.
"And the wind whimpered so I could barely catch it. He recklessly released one hand from the wheel long enough to give my clammy palm a farewell morituri squeeze.
"Then as the heathen gave a yowl of amazement we careened over the top and were at the mouth of the juvenile crater.
"Then, sir, as Tib gave a whoop I nearly fell from the swerving, bouncing seat. For the crater was very small and for all the world like the saucer track we occasionally see at the Garden for endurance races. Midway between the crumpled, weathered edges and the mouth of the pit, where the sides broke off and descended abruptly, was a ribbon of lava that apparently formed a complete circle.
"To revert to Tib's war-cry, no sooner had he given it than he slowed up in the short passageway leading to the track and commanded me to get to the rear on the luggage. As I mechanically obeyed and knit my hands into the ropes, the bewildered Huancas appeared in view and drew up to see our finish.
"There was no room to turn about, else we'd have rammed 'em. Tib saw the situation in a glance, and, bracing his feet and sparking up, shot us forward as if out of a gun, to be plastered against the slanting walls of the crater. It simply took 'em off their feet, sir. For never having seen an auto, or the saucer-track stunt, they simply had to write us down as tinsmiths or fairies. Yet they had their ancestors' nerve and were determined to see the performance out.
"I could never decide how many laps it was to a mile, or whether it was so many miles to a lap. Tib afterwards said the track was under two thousand feet in diameter. I only know we had whizzed the circumference twice, with as many momentary views of the brown men's astounded faces, before I dared 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.
"But by a hair-breadth it cleared us, and Tib yelled, 'Shot-gun!'
"As I was now used to the motion and felt safe in lying on my stomach, I managed to work the double-barrel piece clear, and as we hummed along for the next lap I enfiladed the nearest fortress with a goodly pinch of shot.
"You know, sir, you can't do any trap-shooting when skimming in a dizzy circle in excess of express-train speed on a track so steep that to slow up means to roll into a sewer. But the weapon made a goodly noise, sounding like several thousand cannon as the black walls caught the detonation and gleefully played ping-pong with the echo, while the shot scattered and ricocheted. The great danger was I'd ignite the trail of gasolene vapor, now encircling the track, and burn or blow us up.
"‘What next?' I bawled, creeping to the back of his seat.
"‘Down!' He slumped forward and I fell prostrate just as a rope swished over the car.
"And hang me, sir, if one of those track stewards, concealed with a bolo at the opening, hadn't been childish enough to try and net us. By good luck his first cast missed, else there would have been a broken neck in the family. As we pounded around for the next circuit I reclined jauntily on my side and rested the revolver on the edge of the car.
"Just as I picked the trigger he made the throw. And, dear, dear! the rope caught around a four-inch projection where the top had fitted on, and it was just the same to him as if he'd snared the Fast Mail. He didn't know what to do with us once he'd got us. As a compromise he went sailing over our heads for the hospitable mouth of the crater. I didn't see him land.
"Then for the first time I raised my head and took a long look through the vapor and dust at the old boy.
"He was only half seated. One knee was on the bottom of the car, and his round form was humped in a huddling posture over the wheel. The back of his neck showed blood-red as the sun cut through the clutter and kept tabs on our whizzing.
"I began to realize it must be nerve-destroying to keep the eyes focussed on that terrible spoor, let alone being annoyed by the grandstand, and I also appreciated it was only his steady hand and sure orbs that were intervening between me and the crater on one hand, and the spectators on the other.
"‘Can you hold out?' I cried.
"He bowed his head for answer, until his forehead almost touched the rim of the wheel, and I believed he was slipping away, but when we reached the bowlder he skirted it as neatly as of yore, though every swish threatened to tear the tires loose.
"‘Hang on! New wrinkle!' he warned, as we left the menace.
"The new wrinkle was to ascend still higher when we next reached the bowlders and glide out on a narrow shelf, smooth of surface, that dribbled along for some thirty feet before dipping again.
"And in that brief environment the king of all chauffeurs stopped the Bloomer and for the first time he rested.
"Directly across was the exit from the track, and Tib panted that he had observed the switch when passing that opening the last time.
"‘It looked good to me,' he gurgled. 'I had to take the chance. Bloomer's a great actor, eh? Find a bottle of lime-water, or oil—anything that's wet.'
"‘You're simply great,' I blubbered, as I pawed over the hamper. 'Simply great. I'd rather be killed with you than any man I know of.'
"And he certainly looked heroic in my dependent eyes as he found his mouth through the dirt, then paused and passed the drink over to me. Yes, I drank first. I was that dry I'd have stolen the cup from the parched lips of my great-grandfather.
"Yet, it wasn't all selfishness. He was older than I, and had always looked after me like a cat after a new kitten, you know. Besides, I knew he'd never dampen his throat until I had set the example.
"‘You're all there is and seven over,' I choked.
"And the smile that cracked his incrusted face was beautiful to see, sir. Honestly, it almost made me forget the Huancas, who were now howling in a frenzy of excitement at our radical defy to all the natural laws they were ever acquainted with.
"And the style of him, as he staggered about the machine, toying with the sparker, tapping this and trying that, but pausing in it all to pat my cowardly back.
"‘Never loosen your grasp on Hope,' he croaked. 'We'll have the cup yet. Can I chauff?'
"‘Stay here all night?' I asked. For it was mighty comforting to be quiet, now that the scenery had stopped rushing around and my head began to get normal.
"‘About five seconds,' he growled, hopping to his seat and pointing above.
"There, just along the sky-line, a fine dust of ashes was floating up, and a few bits of slag were beginning to rattle down.
"‘They've arrived,' he shouted. 'All aboard!'
"And as a shower of rocks and spears punctuated the position we had been loafing in, he gave her the chug, and we began to roll to the end of the shelf.
"It was horrible, you see, for we didn't know whether there was a final drop or a gentle decline, until we reached the limit. Then a steep path leading down to the track welcomed our questioning gaze, and Tib gave her the limit, so we hit the raceway like a bullet. Next, it was turn almost a square corner and clutch the wall of the circle.
"My hands formed three links in the ropes over the luggage, but my feet were free and towered above my patron, as I neatly balanced on my neck, giving the foiled foe the impression I was standing on my head.
"In fact, the manner of our going dazed the enemy to such an extent that we whirled by their new position twice before they bethought themselves to resume the spear-hurling pastime. With the same kind of an encore at the mouth of the exit, life was fast assuming a dubious tinge.
"‘Shot-gun!' exploded Tib, hardly audible above the fearful rush of the dust-laden wind and the panting of the car.
"‘Shot too fine. No good,' I cried, almost whimpering.
"He straightened with all his old-time grace and threw back his shoulders, and I knew by the tilt of his dust-covered brown face that he was pleased with some inspiration; then above the yelling of the natives, now intent on the dual bombardment, I caught the one word, 'Olives!'
"‘He's daffy, dear old chap!' I sobbed.
"‘Olives!' he repeated, loud and clear.
"And as I dusted my eyes and tore up a few brain tissues I saw a light.
"Olives! To be sure. And rip! my right hand had torn open the hamper. Ping! this very carefully, so as to jolt no glass on the track, and I had cuffed off the head of a bottle of the bitter, green balls. They were small and hard and each contained a flinty interior.
"Say, sir, you never saw a neater fit for my double-barrel than that same acrid fruit. In a thrice I had one crouching in each tube on top of a shell of shot, and as the chief, now more audacious, arose to his feet above our late resting-place, holding a rock the size of his ugly head, I banged away with both barrels, and by luck, or good intention, nailed him through the shoulder.
"My scorched throat endeavored to set up a feeble cheer, but Tib stopped me by hitching nervously in his seat and nodding his head for me to crawl forward. I did so, and he cried:
"‘Gasolene—nearly—gone. I'm—all in. Can't—follow—track—any longer. Load, we'll—try the—pass. Rain—drops—thunder—big—storm—rotten—track.'
"Well, it had to come to that. We couldn't keep up that careening around forever. I was so stupid I had not realized it.
"We must quit, cup or no cup.
"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 conveyed no intelligence to the ignorant ears of the bare-breasted besiegers.
"Thus with fair warning and a double bang from the gun we taught them a new experience as the Bally Bloomer tossed them aside on either hand. It simply took them off their feet, sir.
"And say, if a merry-hearted chauffeur enjoys running across his friends in town and would drain the goblet to the dregs, he ought to plough a furrow through a brown bunch of sinewy-built Huancas.
"Of course it jolted the car horribly, but Tib's grasp was now iron as we emerged into a patch of clear air and took the jaunt down the hill-side to the lava-beds in a rush.
"The machine was now making just one long, smooth purr, working as slick as silk, and I had just proclaimed we had won the Zapopaxi Cup for sure, when I not only heard, but also felt, a dull rumble. I turned round and saw a cloud of yellow dust hanging over the baby's head.
"My first thought was the crater had come to life, but Tib bowed his brow and cried, 'Earthquake.'
"And such a jolt as followed!
"It struck us just as we reached the top of the ascent leading to the ancient road. Our pathway rolled and shook like a carpet, and the car in conquering the summit groaned and racked fearfully. Across the lava-bed, behind, the earth yawned in a long, black, steaming fissure, and the whimsical smile, I was joyous to observe, separated us and the paralyzed Indians.
"Doubtless they believed their assaults on the Puff-Puff god were to blame for it all, and I'll wager if one of the startled devils could get a sniff of gasoline to-night he'd kowtow and expect his native soil to corrugate in extreme displeasure.
"And the Bally Bloomer through it all seemed to pick her own way, and well she need, for the dust was something almost beyond all endurance. My eyes quickly grew punk, and only the goggles saved Tib. Why we didn't bump into an obstacle will never be known. Everything was sicky and hazy, and I can only remember hearing Tib shout:
"‘About ten miles left in her. We've got—'
"But what we were to do was never finished, for with a flare the machine became enveloped in flames, and I found myself astride of Tib's back as he retained the wheel and the blaze strung out behind us. Then we jumped for our lives, and the Bally Bloomer boomed sturdily into a convenient ton of slag, gave a choking sigh, and flopped over.
"I could have wept, if my entire system hadn't been so dry, to see the faithful old lass give up the fight. I forgot the natives in sadly gazing on the ruins. If they saw the combustion I reckon they put it down to our devilish way of making an exit. Anyway, they did not come near to disturb us.
"Three days later two hungry and begrimed men staggered into Oroya, and the rotund one, approaching Breusy at the door of the club, extended the blackened wheel and wearily said, 'I thought you'd care to have this to remember her by.'
"‘Breusy gravely adjusted his glass and scanned us closely, and then tenderly examined the relic.
"‘Aw, thanks, fearfully,' was all he said.
"But after we'd told our story and were voted to be the winners of the Zapopaxi Cup, breaking all crater records, he gave it to us as a trophy. Incidentally, we lost the diamonds, which I had been wearing about my waist in a belt, and so it was farewell to any hopes of becoming bloated capitalists.
"But somewhere up there in the débris of the Zapopaxi table-land, in the shadow of a naughty baby cone that sometimes smokes, is the twisted gear of what once was a bully racer, whose skeleton in future ages may puzzle some astute archæologist, who never so much as heard of a crater endurance-race.
"And thus Tib and I wearily returned to Callao on borrowed money, possessing nothing but the knowledge that the Vermont man was a ribbon-winner of the major magnitude and had lowered all auto records from the old earth's belt-line to the ultimate seal-covered bit of ice. And because of it all you may possibly realize that my soul ever since has abhorred the innocuous asphalt spin about the village green, and that after that experience I have no heart to honk into any picayune collisions.