ho
was afraid of their running off the road, and suggested resuming the
wheel.

Seven times that day Milt tried to lose him. Once he stopped without
excuse, and merely stared up at rocks overhanging the hollowed road.
Pinky was not embarrassed. He leaned back in the seat and sang two
Spanish love songs. Once Milt deliberately took a wrong road, up a
mountainside. They were lost, and took five hours getting back to the
highway. Pinky loved the thrill and--in a brief address lasting fifteen
minutes--he said so.

Milt tried to bore him by driving at seven miles an hour. Pinky
affectionately accepted this opportunity to study the strata of the
hills. When they camped, that night, Pinky loved him like a brother, and
was considering not stopping at Blewett Pass, to see his gold-mine and
Dolores the lady-wife, but going clear on to Seattle with his playmate.

The drafted host lay awake, and when Pinky awoke and delivered a few
well-chosen words on the subject of bird-song at dawn, Milt burst out:

"Pinky, I don't like to do it, but---- I've never refused a fellow a
lift, but I'm afraid you'll have to hike on by yourself, the rest of the
way."

Pinky sat up in his blankets. "Afraid of me, eh? You better be! I'm a
bad actor. I killed Dolores's husband, and took her along, see? I----"

"Are you trying to scare me, you poor four-flusher?" Milt's right hand
expanded, fingers arching, with the joyous tension of a man stretching.

"No. I'm just reading your thoughts. I'm telling you you're scared of
me! You think that if I went on, I might steal your car! You're afraid
because I'm so suave. You aren't used to smooth ducks. You don't dare to
let me stick with you, even for today! You're afraid I'd have your
mis'able car by tonight! You don't dare!"

"The hell I don't!" howled Milt. "If you think I'm afraid---- Just to
show you I'm not, I'll let you go on today!"

"That's sense, my boy. It would be a shame for two such born companions
of the road to part!" Pinky had soared up from his blankets; was
lovingly shaking Milt's hand.

Milt knew that he had been tricked, but he felt hopeless. Was it
impossible to insult Pinky? He tried again:

"I'll be frank with you. You're the worst wind-jamming liar I ever met.
Now don't reach for that gat of yours. I've got a hefty rock right here
handy."

"But, my dear, dear boy, I don't intend to reach for any crude lethal
smoke-wagon. Besides, there isn't anything in it. I hocked the she