pours came riding on the wind, lashing the clouds with
lightning.

Far ahead of Casey such a storm rolled in off the barren hills to the
south. "She's a-wettin' up that red lake a-plenty," observed Casey,
squinting through the dirty windshield. "No trail around, either, on
account of the lava beds. But I guess I can pull acrost, all right." Doubt
was in his voice, however, and he was half minded to turn back and take
the straight road to Vegas, which had been his first objective. But he
discarded the idea.

"No, sir, Casey Ryan never back-trailed yet. Poor time to commence, now
when I got the world by the tail and a downhill pull. We'll make out, all
right--can't be so terrible boggy with a short rain like that there. I
bet," he continued optimistically to the Ford, which was the nearest he
had to human companionship, "I bet we make it in a long lope. Git along,
there! Shake a wheel--'s the last time you haul Casey around. Casey's
goin' to step high, wide and handsome. Sixty miles _an hour_, or he'll ask
for his money back. They can't step too fast for Casey! Blue--if I get me
a lady friend with yella hair, mebby she'll show up better in a blue car
than she will in a white-and-red. This here turnout has got to be tasty
and have class. If she was dark--" He shook his head at that. "No, sir,
black hair grows too plenty on squaws an' chilli queens. Yella goes with
Casey. Clingin' kinda girl with blue eyes--that's the stuff! An' I'll sure
show her some drivin'!"

He wondered whether he should try and find the girl first and buy the car
to match her beauty, or buy the car first and with that lure the lady of
his dreams. It was a nice question and it required thought. It was
pleasant to ponder the problem, and Casey became so lost in meditation
that he forgot to eat when the sun flirted with the scurrying clouds over
his wind-torn automobile top.

So he came bouncing and swaying down the last mesa to the place called Red
Lake. Casey had heard it spoken of with opprobrious epithets by men who
had crossed it in wet weather. In dry weather it was red clay caked and
checked by the sun, and wheels or hoofs stirred clouds of red dust that
followed and choked the traveler.

Casey was not thinking at all of the lake when he drove down to it. He was
seeing visions, though you would not think it to look at him; a stocky,
middle-aged man who needed a shave and a hair-cut, wearing cheap,
dirt-stained overalls and a blue shirt and sq