Cabin Fever

"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 reached obediently inside his coat. Mert growled

inaudible comments upon Bud's nerve.

"Oh, we can't kick, Mert," Foster smoothed him down diplomatically.

"He's delivered the goods, so far. And he certainly does know how to put

a car over the road. He don't know us, remember!"

Mert grunted again and subsided. Foster extracted a bank note from his

bill-folder, which Bud observed had a prosperous plumpness, and held it

out to Bud.

"I guess fifty dollars won't hurt your feelings, will it, brother?

That's more than you'd charge for twice the trip, but we appreciate a

tight mouth, and the hurry-up trip you've made of it, and all that It's

special work, and we're willing to pay a special price. See?"

"Sure. But I only want half, right now. Maybe," he added with the

lurking twinkle in his eyes, "I won't suit yuh quite so well the rest

of the way. I'll have to go b'-guess and b'-gosh from here on. I've got

some change left from what I bought for yuh this morning too. Wait till

I check up."