Claire dressed Dlorus, cooked a dinner of beet greens, potatoes, and
trout; and by bullying and great sweetness kept Dlorus from too many
trips to the gin bottle. Milt caught the trout, cut wood, locked in a
log shed Pinky's forlorn mining-tools. They started for North Yakima at
eight of the evening, with Dlorus, back in the spare seat, alternately
sobbing and to inattentive ears announcing what she'd say to the Old
Hens.
Milt was devoted to persuading the huge cat of a car to tiptoe down the
slippery gouged ruts of the road, and Claire's mind was driving with
him. Every time he touched the foot-brake, she could feel the strain in
the tendons of her own ankle.
A mile down the main road they stopped at a store-post-office to
telephone back to Mr. Boltwood and Dr. Beach. On the porch was a man in
overalls and laced boots. He was lean and quick-moving. As he raised his
head, and his spectacles flashed, Claire caught Milt's arm and gasped,
"Oh, my dear, I'm in a beautiful state of nerves. For a moment I thought
that was Jeff Saxton. I bet it is his astral body!"
"And you thought he was going to forbid your running away on this fool
expedition, and you were scared," chuckled Milt, as they sat in the car.
"Of course I was! And I still am! I know what he'll say afterward! He
is here, reasoning with me. Oughtn't I to be sensible? Oughtn't I to
have you leave me at the Beaches' before you start--jolly jaunt to take
a strange woman to her presumably homicidal husband! Why am I totally
lacking in sense? Just listen to what Jeff is saying!"
"Of course you ought to go back, and let me drive alone. Absolutely
insane, your----"
"But you would like me to go along, wouldn't you!"
"Like you to? It's our last ride together, and that bloomin' old
Browning never thought of a ride together by midnight over the roof of
the world! No, it's really our first ride together, and tomorrow--you're
gone."
"No, I sha'n't be gone, but----" Addressing herself to the astounded
overalled man on the porch, she declared, "You're quite right, Jeff. And
Milt is wrong. Insane adventure. Only, it's wonderful to be young enough
to do insane adventures. Falling down abyssy places is so much more
interesting than bridge. I'm going--going--going!... Milt, you
telephone."
"Don't you think you better?"
"No, siree! Father would forbid me. Try not to get him--just tell Dr.
Beach where we're going, and hang up, and scoot!"
All night they drove; down the Pacific side of Blewett Pass; down the
sweeping spirals to a valley. Dlorus drowsed in the extra seat. Claire's
sleepy head was fantastically swaying. She was awakened by an
approaching roar and, as though she sat at a play, she watched a big
racing machine coming toward them, passing them with two wheels in the
ditch. She had only a thunderous glimpse of the stolid driver; a dark,
hooded, romantic figure, like a sailor at the helm in a storm.