There was no doubt about it; this river was deep. Though a cart might ford it safely, and have the flood of rippling silver no higher than the axles, it was different with an automobile. I wondered bleakly what would happen to the silencer if its mass of heated metal were suddenly plunged into cold water, and what would happen to the commutator.
“When in doubt, play a trump,” said Dick. “And I guess that camel-backed bridge is a trump, if it's only a knave—or the deuce.”
It was true, there was a narrow erection which might pass as a bridge, if one wished to pay a compliment. It was of stone, and came to a steep point at the apex, like a “card tent” when two cards receive support from one another. It was the question of a fraction of an inch, if the Gloria were to squeeze over; but between the danger of a jam and the danger of a burst cylinder, I decided to risk playing Dick's trump.
First I got out and unscrewed the wheel-caps to give more clearance, then in again for the trial, while Dick walked, ready to offer aid if it were needed. I had rasped through to the top, and the Gloria had actually started on the down grade, when she gave a grinding scream, and stuck between the parapets.
I tried to move, and could not. The car was hopelessly jammed.
“Nice fix,” said Dick. “If I was writing a book, I'd say, ‘this route only suitable for hundred horse-power cars, built in small sections, and carrying cheerful passengers.’ Now, we were cheerful once—and may be again. Chuck me over the key of the tool-box, will you?”
[pg 299] I did so without a word, lest if I uttered any they should be too strong. But curiosity overcame me when I heard a metallic chinking, then the blows of a hammer.
“Only knocking down a bit of this old parapet,” was the calm answer to my question. “Some of it's gone already; why not more? I bet future generations will thank me—as it's certain never to be mended.”
As he spoke, there was a great splash, when a piece of the parapet, already weakened by years of storm and stress, plumped over into the river. The car was released, and slid down the other slope of the camel's back.
Now it did seem that we might safely thank San Cristóbal, since nothing could well be worse than the pass from which he had just delivered us, scratched, bruised, yet unbroken. We had but to scramble out of the rough river-bed, bump over the level crossing of a railway, to come out upon a broad, smooth highway like a road to paradise. Ready to shout with joy, I put on speed, and the Gloria sprinted over the white and silent way as if she were happy to turn her back upon Inferno.