on a mud bank.

"Say, how about some lunch?" he demanded. "Maybe you fellows can get
along on whisky and sandwiches, but I'm doing the work; and if you
notice, I've been doing it for about twelve hours now without any
let-up. There's a town ahead here a ways--"

"Drive around it, then," growled Foster, lifting his chin to stare ahead
through the fogged windshield. "We've got hot coffee here, and there's
plenty to eat. Enough for two meals. How far have we come since we
started?"

"Far enough to be called crazy if we go much farther without a square
meal," Bud snapped. Then he glanced at the rumpled newspaper and added
carelessly, "Anything new in the paper?"

"No!" Mert spoke up sharply. "Go on. You're doing all right so
far--don't spoil it by laying down on your job!"

"Sure, go on!" Foster urged. "We'll stop when we get away from this darn
burg, and you can rest your legs a little while we eat."

Bud went on, straight through the middle of the town without stopping.
They scurried down a long, dismal lane toward a low-lying range of hills
pertly wooded with bald patches of barren earth and rock. Beyond were
mountains which Bud guessed was the Tehachapi range. Beyond them, he
believed he would find desert and desertion. He had never been over this
road before, so he could no more than guess. He knew that the ridge road
led to Los Angeles, and he did not want anything of that road. Too many
travelers. He swung into a decent-looking road that branched off to the
left, wondering where it led, but not greatly caring. He kept that road
until they had climbed over a ridge or two and were in the mountains.
Soaked wilderness lay all about them, green in places where grass would
grow, brushy in places, barren and scarred with outcropping ledges,
pencilled with wire fences drawn up over high knolls.

In a sequestered spot where the road hugged close the concave outline of
a bushy bluff, Bud slowed and turned out behind a fringe of bushes, and
stopped.

"This is safe enough," he announced, "and my muscles are kinda crampy.
I'll tell the world that's been quite some spell of straight driving."

Mert grunted, but Foster was inclined to cheerfulness. "You're some
driver, Bud. I've got to hand it to you."

Bud grinned. "All right, I'll take it--half of it, anyway, if you don't
mind. You must remember I don't know you fellows. Most generally I
collect half in advance, on a long trip like this." Foster's eyes
opened, but he