r buying that dress. But on the lower floor he noticed
a telephone booth and saw a way to make up the time.

"Hello!" he called, pitching his voice to a treble. "This is Banks, the
miner you was trying to talk into buying that little red car last week;
roadster I think you said 'twas. Well, I want you to fire up and run down
to the Rainier-Grand quick as you can."

He listened a moment, then: "Yes, likely I'll change my mind, if I get
so's I can drive her all right by three p.m. I'm going east of the
mountains, and if I buy I've got to ship her on the four-ten train--Yes, I
mean the little one with a seat to accommodate two, with a place to carry
a trunk behind. Now get busy and rush her down. I've got some errands to
do, and I want you to hurry me around; then we'll get away from the crowd
out on the boulevard where I can have a clear track to break her on."

The sale was made, and the mining man must have applied himself
successfully to his lesson, for the following morning, when the red car
spun out of Wenatchee and up the lifting valley road, a snug steamer-trunk
was stowed in the box behind, and Banks at the steering gear was traveling
alone. To be sure the rising curves were made in sudden spurts and jerks,
but his lack of skill was reinforced by a tireless vigilance gathered
through breaking days of driving and mushing over hazardous trails. And he
had made an early start; few wayfarers were yet astir. But at last, high
up where the track doubled the summit of a slope that lifted in a bluff
overhead, and on the other hand dropped precipitously to the river, the
little man barely averted catastrophe. The driver and the vehicle were
hidden by the curve, but at his warning honk, two percherons that blocked
the way halted and, lunging at his repeated note, crowded back on the team
they led. Then a woman's voice shrilled: "I've got the heaviest load; you
give me right of way."

Banks sprang out and ran forward past the horses. The driver, dressed in a
skirt and blouse of khaki, was seated on a load of lumber. She held the
reins high in yellow-gauntleted hands, and a rope of loosened red hair
hung below a smart campaign hat. "I can't back," she exclaimed
aggressively. "You got to give me right of way."

"Ain't there a man with the outfit?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," she snapped. "Do I look like I need one?" But she hurried on
tremulously: "My husband's running the mill night and day, and Bryant,
down the valley,