It would be less of a hardship to make the fight to reach the bottom of the Pass than to attempt to spend the night in this flimsy contraption.

In travel there would be at least action, and Barry clambered down the hill to his machine.
Again he started, the brake bands squeaking and protesting, the machine sloughing dangerously as now and again its sheer weight forced it forward at dangerous speeds until lesser levels could be reached and the hold of the brake bands accomplish their purpose again.

Down and down, the miles slipping away with far greater speed than even Barry realized, until at last-- He grasped desperately for the emergency brake and gripped tight upon it, steering with one hand.

For five minutes there had come the strong odor of burning rubber; the strain had been too great, the foot-brake linings were gone; everything depended upon the emergency now! And almost with the first strain-- Careening, the car seemed to leap beneath him, a maddened, crazed thing, tired of the hills, tired of the turmoil and strain of hours of fighting, racing with all the speed that gravity could thrust upon it for the bottom of the Pass.

The brakes were gone, the emergency had not even lasted through the first hill.