hurrying, not to overhaul Casey, but to arrive soon
after him.

Women drivers loved to pass other cars with a sudden spurt of speed, he
had found by experience. They were not, however, consistently fast
drivers. Mack Nolan was conscious of a slight irritation when the
twin-six took the lead. Somewhere ahead--probably in one of the rough,
sandy stretches--he would either have to pass that car or lag behind.
Your expert driver likes a clear road ahead.

So Mack Nolan drove a bit harder, and succeeded in getting most of the
dust kicked up by the big, blue car. He counted on passing before they
reached Ludlow, but he could never quite make it. In that ungodly
stretch of sand and rocks and chuck-holes that lies between Ludlow and
Amboy, Nolan was sure that the woman driver would have to slow down.
He swore a little, too, because she would probably slow down just where
passing was impossible. They always did.

They went through Amboy like one party, the big, blue car leading by
twenty-five yards. It was a long drive for a woman to make; a hard
drive to boot. He wondered if the two in the big car ever ate.

Five miles east of Amboy, when a red sunset was darkening to starlight,
the blue car, fifty yards in the lead, overhauled a Ford in trouble.
In the loose, sandy trail the big car slowed and stopped abreast of the
Ford. There was no passing now, unless Mack Nolan wanted to risk
smashing his crank-case on a lava rock, millions of which peppered that
particular portion of the Mojave Desert. He stopped perforce.

A pair of feet with legs attached to them, protruded from beneath the
running board of the Ford. The Little Woman in the big car leaned over
the side and studied the feet critically.

"Casey Ryan, are those the best pair of shoes you own?" she drawled at
last. "If you wouldn't wear such rundown heels, you know, you wouldn't
look so bow-legged. I've told you and TOLD you that your legs aren't
so bad when you wear straight heels."

Casey Ryan crawled out and looked up at her grinning sheepishly.

"They was all right when I left home, ma'am," he defended his shoes
mildly. "Desert plays hell with shoe leather--you can ask anybody."
Then he added, "Hullo, Jack! What you two think you're doin', anyway.
Tryin' t' elope?"

"Why, hello, Ryan!" Mack Nolan greeted, coming up from the Cadillac.
"Having trouble with your car?" Casey whirled and eyed Nolan dubiously.

"Naw. This ain't no trouble," he grant