I help you?" he said politely. "A big tire is rather hard to
handle."

Sophie bestowed another level look upon him as she straightened up from
her task. A puzzled expression showed briefly in her gray eyes. But she
handed him the wrench without parley.

"Thanks, if you will," she said. "These rim bolts are fearfully stiff. I
daresay I could manage it though. I've done it on a lighter car. But
it's a man's job, really."

Thompson laid off his coat and set to work silently, withholding speech
for a double reason. He could not trust his tongue, and he was not given
to inconsequential chatter. If she did not recognize him--well, there
was no good reason why she should remember, if she chose not to
remember. He could lend a hand and go his way, just as he would have
been moved to lend a hand to any one in like difficulty.

He twisted out the bolt-heads, turned the lugs, pulled the rim clear of
the wheel. He stood up to get the spare tire from its place behind. And
he caught Sophie staring at him, astonishment, surprise, inquiry all
blended in one frank stare. But still she did not speak.

He trundled the blow-out casing to the rear, took off the one ready
inflated, and speedily had it fast in its appointed position on the
wheel.

And still Sophie Carr did not speak. She leaned against the car body. He
felt her eyes upon him, questioning, appraising, critical, while he
released the jack, gathered up the tools, and tied them up in the roll
on the running board.

"There you are," he found himself facing her, his tongue giving off
commonplace statements, while his heart thumped heavily in his breast.
"Ready for the road again."

"Do you remember what Donald Lachlan used to say?" Sophie answered
irrelevantly. "Long time I see you no. Eh, Mr. Thompson?"

She held out one gloved hand with just the faintest suggestion of a
smile hovering about her mouth. Thompson's work-roughened fingers closed
over her small soft hand. He towered over her, looking down wistfully.

"I didn't think you knew me," he muttered.

Sophie laughed. The smile expanded roguishly. The old, quizzical twinkle
flickered in her eyes.

"You must think my memory poor," she replied. "You're not one of the
peas in a pod, you know. I knew you, and still I wasn't sure. It seemed
scarcely possible. It's a long, long way from the Santa Clara Valley to
Lone Moose."

"Yes," he answered calmly. "A long way--the way I came."

"In a purely geographical sense