journey to
the Bar Nothing, Robert Grant Burns had come unwarned upon that sandy
hollow which experienced drivers approached with a mental bracing for
the struggle ahead, and with tightened lines and whip held ready. Even
then they stuck fast, as often as not, if the load were heavy, though
Bar Nothing drivers gaged their loads with that hollow in mind. If
they could pull through there without mishap, they might feel sure of
having no trouble elsewhere.

Robert Grant Burns had come into the hollow unsuspectingly. He had
been careening along the prairie road at a twenty-mile pace, his mind
fixed upon hurrying through his interview with Carl Douglas, so that he
would have time to stop at the Lazy A on the way back to town. He
wanted to take a few exterior ranch-house scenes that day, for Robert
Grant Burns was far more energetic than his bulk would lead one to
suppose. He had Pete Lowry, his camera man, in the seat beside him.
Back in the tonneau Muriel Gay and her mother, who played the character
parts, clung to Lee Mulligan and a colorless individual who was Lowry's
assistant, and gave little squeals whenever the machine struck a bigger
bump than usual.

At the top of the hill which guarded the deceptive hollow, Robert Grant
Burns grinned over his shoulder at his character-woman. "Wait till we
start back; I'll know the road then, and we'll do some traveling!" he
promised darkly, and laid his toe lightly on the brake. It pleased him
to be considered a dare-devil driver; that is why he always drove
whatever machine carried him. They went lurching down the curving
grade into the hollow, and struck the patch of sand that had worn out
the vocabularies of more eloquent men than he. Robert Grant Burns fed
more gas, and the engine kicked and groaned, and sent the wheels
burrowing like moles to where the sand was deepest. Axles under, they
stuck fast.

When Jean and Lite came loping leisurely down the hill, the two women
were fraying perfectly good gloves trying to pull "rabbit" brush up by
the roots to make firmer foothold for the wheels. Robert Grant Burns
was head-and-shoulders under the car, digging badger-like with his paws
to clear the front axle, and coming up now and then to wipe the
perspiration from his eyes and puff the purple out of his complexion.
Pete Lowry always ducked his head lower over the jack when he saw the
heaving of flesh which heralded these resting times, so that the boss
could not catch h