nd Jane went with Bill and Oscar for an automobile
ride over the desert. The two women sat in the tonneau, Oscar in front
with Bill. The desert road was rough, full of bowlders and ruts. But
neither Oscar nor Bill was hampered by roads. Whenever some distant spot
roused their curiosity, the machine left the road and plunged madly
across the desert, through cactus thickets and yucca clumps, through
draws and over sand drifts.

Oscar and Bill kept up a shouted conversation with each other. But Pen
and Jane each clutched a side of the machine, braced their feet and
gave their entire attention to keeping from being flung bodily from the
car. Forewarned for miles, no living creature crossed their path. The
din and the dust, the hairbreadth escapes made the discomfort of the
ride for the two women indescribable.

When Bill finally drew up before the ranch house door with his usual
flourish of staccato explosions, Oscar alighted and watched Pen and his
wife crawl feebly from the tonneau.

"_Caramba!_" he said. "That was a fine ride! I've been wanting to get a
look at that country and a talk with you, Bill, for a month. I feel well
rested."

Pen and Jane looked at each other and at the two men's grins of
complaisance. Then, without a word, the two women sank against each
other on the doorstep and laughed until the men, bewildered and
exasperated, took themselves off to the barn. Finally Jane rose and
wiped her eyes.

"There's not an inch on my body that isn't black and blue," she said
weakly.

Pen pulled herself up by clinging to the door knob. "That was a real
'pleasure exertion,'" she whispered feebly. "But I'd do it twice over
for a laugh like this. I haven't laughed so for eight years."

Jane gave Pen a kitchen apron and tied one on herself while she nodded.
"Thank heaven! I always could laugh. It's saved my reason many a time. I
don't want you to do a thing about getting supper, but you'll be sitting
round in the kitchen and that'll keep your skirt clean."

Pen picked up a pan of cold boiled potatoes and began to peel them with
more good will than skill. "I do like you, Jane Ames," she said. "Two
people couldn't laugh together like that and not have been meant to
understand each other."

Jane set the tea kettle firmly on the stove. "We'll see each other a lot
if we have to walk. Peel them thin, dear child. I'm a little low on
potatoes."

"I'm not very expert," apologized Pen. "Sara is putting up with a good
d