f the bereaved man had been given, and Bud's
heart had given a flop when he read it. The details of the theft had not
been told, but Bud never noticed their absence. His memory supplied all
that for him with sufficient vividness.

He rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and with the paper stuffed carelessly
into his pocket he went to the car, climbed in, and drove on to
the south, just as matter-of-factly as though he had not just then
discovered that he, Bud Moore, had stolen a six-thousand-dollar
automobile the night before.

CHAPTER FIVE. BUD CANNOT PERFORM MIRACLES

They went on and on, through the rain and the wind, sometimes through
the mud as well, where the roads were not paved. Foster had almost
pounced upon the newspaper when he discovered it in Bud's pocket as he
climbed in, and Bud knew that the two read that feature article avidly.
But if they had any comments to make, they saved them for future
privacy. Beyond a few muttered sentences they were silent.

Bud did not care whether they talked or not. They might have talked
themselves hoarse, when it came to that, without changing his opinions
or his attitude toward them. He had started out the most unsuspecting
of men, and now he was making up for it by suspecting Foster and Mert of
being robbers and hypocrites and potential murderers. He could readily
imagine them shooting him in the back of the head while he drove, if
that would suit their purpose, or if they thought that he suspected
them.

He kept reviewing his performance in that garage. Had he really intended
to steal the car, he would not have had the nerve to take the chances
he had taken. He shivered when he recalled how he had slid under the car
when the owner came in. What if the man had seen him or heard him? He
would be in jail now, instead of splashing along the highway many miles
to the south. For that matter, he was likely to land in jail, anyway,
before he was done with Foster, unless he did some pretty close
figuring. Wherefore he drove with one part of his brain, and with
the other he figured upon how he was going to get out of the mess
himself--and land Foster and Mert deep in the middle of it. For such was
his vengeful desire.

After an hour or so, when his stomach began to hint that it was eating
time for healthy men, he slowed down and turned his head toward the
tonneau. There they were, hunched down under the robe, their heads drawn
into their collars like two turtles half asleep