omeone
comes along; or, if you are doubtful of that miracle, you walk to the
nearest team and rope. And never, never, never are you caught again! A
detour of fifty miles is nothing after that!

While Bill manipulated the makings, I examined the prospects. This was
that kind of a wash; no doubt of it!

"How far is the nearest crossing?" I asked, returning.

"About eight feet," said he.

My mind, panic-stricken, flew to several things--that bottle (I regret
that I failed to record that by test its contents had proved genuine),
the cornered rock we had so blithely charged, other evidences of Bill's
casual nature. My heart sank.

"You ain't going to tackle that wash!" I cried.

"I shore am," said Bill.

I examined Bill. He meant it.

"How far to the nearest ranch?"

"'Bout ten mile."

I went and sat on a rock. It was one of those rainbow remnants of a
bygone past; but my interest in curios had waned.

Bill dove into the grimy mysteries of under the back seat and produced
two blocks of wood six or eight inches square and two strong straps with
buckles. He inserted a block between the frame of the car and the rear
axle; then he ran a strap around the rear spring and cinched on it until
the car body, the block, and the axle made one solid mass. In other
words, the spring action was entirely eliminated. He did the same thing
on the other side.

"Climb in," said he.

We went into low and slid down the steep clay bank into the waiting
sand. To me it was like a plunge into ice water. Bill stepped on her. We
ploughed out into trouble. The steering wheel bucked and jerked vainly
against Bill's huge hands; we swayed like a moving-picture comic; but we
forged steadily ahead. Not once did we falter. Our wheels gripped
continuously. When we pulled out on the other bank I exhaled as though
I, too, had lost my muffler. I believe I had held my breath the whole
way across. Bill removed the blocks and gave her more water. Still in
low we climbed out of the malpais.

It was now after two o'clock. We registered 29,328. I was getting humble
minded. Six o'clock looked good enough to me now.

One thing was greatly encouraging. As we rose again to the main level of
the country I recognized over the horizon a certain humped mountain.
Often in the "good old days" I had approached this mountain from the
south. Beneath its flanks lay my friend's ranch, our destination. Five
hours earlier in my experience its distance would have app