FOR THE ZAPOPAXI CUP
"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.
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