If so many of the race of kind advisers of tourists had not warned her
about it, doubtless she would have gone over the pass without
difficulty. But their voluntary croaking sapped her nerve, and her
father's. He kept worrying, "Do you think we better try it?" When they
stopped at a ranch house at the foot of the climb, for the night, he
seemed unusually tired. He complained of chill. He did not eat
breakfast. They started out silent, depressed.
He crouched in the corner of the seat. She looked at him and was
anxious. She stopped on the first level space on the pass, crying, "You
are perfectly miserable. I'm afraid of---- I think we ought to see a
doctor."
"Oh, I'll be all right."
But she waited till Milt came pit-pattering up the slope. "Father feels
rather sick. What shall I do? Turn round and drive to the nearest
doctor--at Cashmere, I suppose?"
"There's a magnolious medico ahead here on the pass," Pinky Parrott
interrupted. "A young thing, but they say he's a graduate of Harvard.
He's out here because he has some timber-claims. Look, Milt o' the
Daggett, why don't you drive Miss Boltwood's 'bus--make better time, and
hustle the old gent up to the doc, and I'll come on behind with your
machine."
"Why," Claire fretted, "I hate----"
A new Milt, the boss, abrupt, almost bullying, snapped out of his bug.
"Good idee. Jump in, Claire. I'll take your father up. Heh, whasat,
Pink? Yes, I get it; second turn beyond grocery. Right. On we go. Huh?
Oh, we'll think about the gold-mine later, Pink."
With the three of them wedged into the seat of the Gomez, and Pinky
recklessly skittering after them in the bug, they climbed again--and lo!
there was no climb! Unconsciously Claire had hesitated before dashing at
each sharp upsloping bend; had lost headway while she was wondering,
"Suppose the car went off this curve?" Milt never sped up, but he never
slackened. His driving was as rhythmical as music.
They were so packed in that he could scarcely reach gear lever and
hand-brake. He halted on a level, and curtly asked, "That trap-door in
the back of the car--convertible extra seat?"
"Yes, but we almost never use it, and it's stuck. Can't get it open."
"I'll open it all right! Got a big screwdriver? Want you sit back there.
Need elbow room."
"Perhaps I'd better drive with Mr. Pinky."
"Nope. Don't think better."
With one yank he opened the trap-door, revealing a folding seat, which
she meekly took. Back there, she reflected, "How strong his back looks.
Funny how the little silvery hairs grow at the back of his neck."
They came to a settlement and the red cedar bungalow of Dr. Hooker
Beach. The moment Claire saw the doctor's thin demanding face, she
trusted him. He spoke to Mr. Boltwood with assurance: "All you need is
some rest, and your digestion is a little shaky. Been eating some pork?
Might stay here a day or two. We're glad to have a glimpse of
Easterners."