His tone is entirely too dictatorial. I close my hand firmly round the iron rail and lean out further still. At that instant, as ill-luck would have it, the train encounters some obstruction on the track, something is struck, and there is a jolt and concussion. Before I have time to recover myself I feel my hand wrested from the iron, and a powerful arm is closed around me, but instead of being drawn back, I am held out in the very position I myself had taken. Bewildered and frightened, I give one scream "on account" and turn my head with an endeavour to grasp the horrible situation. The Peruvian is holding to the rail with one hand and has me grasped under one arm as an inconsiderate child holds a kitten. "Let me go!" "I ask you before dthat you lean not out--but if you vill, I must zee dthat you fall not." "I tell you I'll come back, let me go!" and I glance out shudderingly. We have passed over the obstruction, whatever it was, and are running along the side of a steep descent. "I am sorry you dthink my hands zo weak, for if dthey fail ve bodth go down." "Oh, please, please!" I gasp. "Now ve come to a baranca. I am curious to zee vill you like a 'baranca.'" The wretch speaks as calmly as if we sat in a Pullman car. Through all my fright and indignation I wonder what on earth's a "baranca"--and forget to scream. "Now, Senorita, if I hold you not zo far out as you like, tell me." I look down, and under my very eyes the solid ground ends, my horrified vision drops hundreds of feet to the bottom of a mighty gash in Cordilleras' flank, and for one sick instant I shut my eyes. "How like you a baranca?" Is it the wind jeering after me as I drop down, down, down? With a supreme effort I turn to see if that face is behind me, and behold! the Peruvian calmly meets my eyes with actually a smile on his lips. He is still holding me jauntily over the platform steps, and it was only my giddy fancy that fell so far. We have passed the gorge, and, looking back, I see the "narrow-gauge" track lying across the chasm like a herring-bone over a hole. "Ve haf more barancas if you like dthem." "Oh, Guillermo," I say, "please let me go in!" "Not for my sake! I can hold you here von hour vidth dthese 'gude-for-nodthing' hands." "Oh, I don't doubt it; you're the strongest man I ever knew, but I don't like barancas. Please, _please_, Guillermo!" He draws me back on the platform, and without asking my pardon or looking the least bit penitent, he opens the door for me to go inside. Mrs. Steele looks away from her window as we take our former seats. "How deliciously cool it's grown," she says. "What makes you so white, Blanche?" "Vas it not for dthat she ees call Blanca?" "What is it, child? Are you faint?" "Yes, a little," I answer, wondering whether I had better tell how that Peruvian monster has been behaving.