Then suddenly appeared an entrance booth of the national park, and we, sighing with relief, surrendered a dollar apiece. However, another hour of travel passed before we saw the first sequoia.

"Look, look!" cried Mrs. Adams, stopping the automobile.

At first we could not notice anything. On a level with the road immovably stood an entire forest of coniferous tree-tops, the trunks of which grew out of the sheer inclines below our level. But one tree-top mixed in with them was somehow distinct from the others. Looking closely, we noticed that the needles of this conifer were darker and somewhat differently shaped. Cautiously we looked down. While the trunks of the other trees ended quite close, growing crookedly into the inclines, this trunk, as thick as a tower, plunged straight into the abyss, and it was impossible to discover where it began.

"Well, what do you say to this?" Mr. Adams crowed. "Didn't you ask me where the sequoias were?"

"Look, look!" Mrs. Adams cried again.

But this time we had to look not down, but up. Right beside us, out of the earth, rose the trunk of another gigantic tree. It is not at all surprising that we did not notice it at once. It was too great, too abnormal among the customary trunks of firs and pines that surrounded it, for an eye, trained to the natural difference between large and small, to be able at once to notice this phenomenon.

We drove slowly from tree to tree. We soon learned that the first two before which we stopped in astonishment were the very smallest of the species. Now we were driving through an ancient darkened forest, a fantastic forest, where the word "man" ceases to sound proudly and only one word sounds proudly, the word—"tree." Sequoias, which according to the restrained expression of the scientists, belong to "the family of the conifers," grow alongside of ordinary firs and pines, and astonish man as much as if he were suddenly to see among chickens and pigs a living pterodactyl or a mammoth.

The very largest tree is four thousand years old. It is called "General Sherman." Americans are intensely pragmatic. Near "Sherman" hangs a little sign which with the greatest precision informs you that out of one such tree it is possible to build no less than forty five-room houses and that, if you were to lay that tree beside a Union Pacific train, it would be longer than the train. But, looking at this tree, looking at all this transparent yet dark forest, we did not want to think of five-room houses and of Union Pacific trains. We wanted to pronounce dreamily the words of Pasternak, "cathedral darkness wreathed the forest," and tried as calmly as possible to envisage this "coniferous family" growing peacefully before the world had seen not only Columbus but even Caesar and Alexander of Macedon and even the Egyptian tsar, Tutankhamen.

Instead of five minutes we spent nearly two hours in the forest, until the darkness became thicker than ever. We could not even think of dinner before returning into the valley. The best thing we could have done was to turn back without further delay. But at this point the Adamses suddenly looked at each other, and on their faces appeared two identical, ill-boding smiles. It was clear to us what our kind friends had in mind. In vain did we plead with them to bethink themselves, to consider their baby. But the Adamses were implacable. Taking each other by the hand, they went off to get information. It was our luck that they returned very quickly, since there was absolutely no place where they could get information, except perhaps from "General Sherman." The forest had been deserted long ago. It became very cold.

"Well, now, I`m glad of that. We'd better turn back to the old road."

"We`ll have to go back," Mrs. Adams said with a sigh, starting the motor.

"It would be well," said Mr. Adams, "to find out whether there is some other road into the valley."

"Why do we need another road? We have the excellent road over which we have come here."

"A little additional information never hurts."

At this point, to our horror, we saw the figure of a warden. He had nothing to do, he was in an excellent mood, and he was whistling gaily. The Adamses pounced upon him like werewolves.

"How do you do?" said Mr. Adams.

"How do you do?" replied the warden.

And the questioning began. No less than fifty times the warden said: "Yes, ma'am," and the same number of times: "No, ma'am."

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, resuming his place in the machine. "We have found a new road. Right past 'General Grant.' It is near here, about fifty miles away."

"But it is already dark. We won't be able to see anything, anyway."

"Don't say 'we won't see anything.' You must not talk like that."

Before finally starting on our journey, Mrs. Adams decided to verify the correctness of the information she had received, and again called the warden over.

"So we must go straight ahead?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Until we reach 'General Grant'?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And then turn to the right?"

"No, ma'am. To the left."

"And not to the right?"

"No, ma'am."

"To the third crossing?"

"No, ma'am; to the fourth crossing."

"Thank you very much!" cried Mr. Adams.

And thus began the great campaign of the night, from the heights of the Sierra Nevadas to the California Valley. For nearly two hours we drove in complete darkness. We did not see what grew around us, and no doubt will never see it again. It is possible that " General Grant" was there and "General Lee," and maybe even a score of other generals of the North and of the South. At each turn the light of our headlights glided over smooth chalky cliffs. To the left was a deep black ravine. Far below a few lights were dimly gleaming. Suddenly our machine tugged and the rear wheels began to slide. We remembered at once the day of mishaps, the Rocky Mountains, Gallup, and we held our breath. The automobile, losing direction, turned on its own hub for some distance, skidded backward, and finally stopped a few inches from the edge of an abyss.

"No, no," muttered Mr. Adams, trying to get out of the machine and striking his elbow on the window. "Be calm, calm ... Yes, yes, yes... It's all over now!"

We stepped down into the road and saw that we were standing on ice.

One cabin was in order. We put it on, and carefully began to push our machine. Mrs. Adams opened up skilfully and the automobile gingerly moved ahead. It had become a habit with us when suffering heavily on the road to maintain a proud silence. We were silent on this occasion too. Only Mr. Adams whispered passionately:

"Becky, Becky! No more than five miles an hour! No, seriously. You must understand that it is no joke to fall off the Sierra Nevadas!"

Among the tree-tops of the firs hanging over the abyss a large red moon appeared.

The descent down the icy road continued for a long while. We lost all sense of time while our stomachs lost all conception of food. Finally the icy stretch ended. But a new misfortune confronted us. The red column of the meter which indicated the level of the petrol in the tank went down to the limit and was scarcely noticeable.

"Our petrol has gone to the devil!" Mr. Adams exclaimed in elation and horror.

We drove for a short while longer, listening to the sound of the motor and trying to figure out how we would spend the night when the petrol would give out and the machine stopped.