With a muffled roar they entered the long tunnel through the mountain. All but Gilda sang merrily as they bounded through the cavernous depths of this giant undertaking. On they sped with a recklessness that fascinated Gilda and at last, alarmed the landlady. With a final plunge they were out again into the open, but Gilda's mind was distracted in spite of the devilish excitement of this mad "joy-ride." How could she get rid of that hated Apache man seated behind? He was so near to her. Had he recognised her yet? She hoped rather than felt that he had not. She was thankful for the reckless exploits of the now thoroughly excited chauffeur. It distracted attention from her, and they were rapidly approaching the goal she had aimed for. Here and there the groups of Italian and French guards had eyed, with indulgent smiles, the mad career of this strange family party. Even Gilda's face was illumined with a wan smile, as she realised the incongruity of this scene. It was merry, in spite of the fact that it was fraught with such danger for her. A few more bends in the road on the steep side of the mountain, and they would be there, for good or evil, as destiny might decide. "Oh! la-la!" cheerily shouted the landlord. "One more glass of the good wine." He poured it out. The chauffeur gazed in front of him with a bright yet glassy stare, as he realised the dangers of the precipitous road. The landlady passed him a glass, laying her hand on his shoulder. He turned to take the glass. There was a sharp skid of the wheels that sounded like a hiss. A moment of lull, an eternity of despair, a loud, shrill shriek from the landlady--the car and its occupants had mounted a steep bank and lay overturned on its side. All was now silence, and Gilda did not know how long the silence had lasted. It was quite quiet when, with difficulty, she extricated herself from the twisted mass of debris. The other merry occupants remained silent, and the quiet of it was appalling. She muttered to herself and stifled her sobs, which were half groans. With much labour and difficulty she mounted the fateful bank and clambered to the roadway. The sun had gone down, a golden ball of fire, set in a bank of purple cloud edged with a brilliant orange. It was now dark and a sense of oppression seemed to pervade the place. Gilda's mind worked rapidly. The necessity for action was immediate. Where was that Apache man, and had he survived? The zealously guarded frontier road was not to be left long without a passer-by, and soon the measured tread of feet announced the approach of a patrol.