Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/330

 of exhilaration, something more than mere speed-drunkenness and mere thankfulness for delivery from past dangers.

It was the world-old and primordial joy in accomplishment, the intoxication of conquest implanted in him by a thousand fighting ancestors. And he felt at his side the tired and overtaxed body of the woman for whom he was battling; and as she swayed there with the swaying of the car, letting her weight fall against his shoulder and then recede from it, this feeling that might have been nothing more than pagan exultation was touched and transformed into something higher. The air beat against their faces, side by side; nocturnal moths flattened against their clothing and were held there by the wind.

McKinnon could see that they were beginning to climb, now that the swamp-land had been left behind, and that leaves and palm-fronds were rustling on either side of them. The air seemed to grow clearer, the darkness less abysmal. He could see that they were at last on the edge of the banana-belt, still climbing and pounding and swaying upward. Their path was now a lonely aisle through the forest of rustling greenery that crowded up to the very track-edge; sometimes a leaf swept the car-roof. At times they could hear the ripple of water in the