een
driving on manual; he dared not risk automatic-drive, not since his
wreck. He was not quite as alert as he might have been. The strain was
beginning to slow his reactions.

The curve was sharper; ahead, a hair-pin turn. Walt swung out to pass
her and force her to stop or plunge over the side into the deepening
valley. It was the maneuver he had seen the policemen perform.

The headlights of the early farmer with a heavy load of milk suddenly
exploded at the curve.

Julia gasped and slammed on her brakes.

Walt jerked his eyes from Julia's car an instant before the crash.

* * * * *

"Crazy God damned fool," the farmer said as he crawled painfully from
the wreckage of his pick-up truck. "Crazy God damned fool!" He clutched
at his arm; it was broken and bleeding. "Passing on a curve! God damned
fool, passing on a curve!"

Julia had stopped her car. She ran toward the two wrecks.

"Any kid knows better, any two year old kid," the farmer said; he
stared, unbelieving, at his arm. He sat down and was sick.

It was growing lighter. Mist lay over the valley. The air was damp with
fading night.

Julia's feet made harsh clicks on the road.

At Walt's car she stopped. The farmer watched her with mute pain behind
his eyes.

Reaction set in. She thought she was going to be sick, herself. She
leaned against the wrecked car.

"We better get him out," the farmer said dully.

Julia nodded.

Between the two of them, they forced the door open and lifted Walt out
to the pavement.

"Easy," the farmer said.

Julia stood over Walt's limp body. His jaw was broken and twisted to
one side. His chest was bloody; blood trickled from his nose; his hair
was matted with blood.

"He's still breathing," the farmer said hoarsely.

He looks so boyish, she thought. I can't believe ... he doesn't seem a
killer. I hate whoever made a killer out of him.

Walt's chest rose and fell; his breath entered his body in tremulous
gasps.

She wanted to bathe his face with cool water and rest his head on her
lap. She wanted to ease his pain.

She turned away.

In the tool compartment of the wreck she located a tire iron. She
brought it back.

Her hand was slippery around the icy metal.

He's dying anyway, she thought. It doesn't have to be my hand that kills
him. Tears formed in her eyes.

Walt moaned.

Julia's hand tightened on the tire iron.

But the risk ... she thought: if he should wake up