The Cross-Cut | Page 8

at Genesee Mountain. Which way do you go?"
"Trying to get to Ohadi." Fairchild shouted it above the roar of the
engine. The driver waved a hand forward.
"Keep to the main road. Drop off when I make the turn. You 'll pick up
another ride soon. Plenty of chances."
"Thanks for the lift."
"Aw, forget it."
The truck wheeled from the main road and chugged away, leaving
Fairchild afoot, making as much progress as possible toward his goal
until good fortune should bring a swifter means of locomotion. A
half-mile he walked, studying the constant changes of the scenery
before him, the slopes and rises, the smooth valleys and jagged crags
above, the clouds as they drifted low upon the higher peaks, shielding
them from view for a moment, then disappearing. Then suddenly he
wheeled. Behind him sounded the swift droning of a motor, cut-out
open, as it rushed forward along the road,--and the noise told a story of
speed.
Far at the brow of a steep hill it appeared, seeming to hang in space for
an instant before leaping downward. Rushing, plunging, once skidding
dangerously at a small curve, it made the descent, bumped over a
bridge, was lost for a second in the pines, then sped toward him, a big
touring car, with a small, resolute figure clinging to the wheel. The
quarter of a mile changed to a furlong, the furlong to a hundred
yards,--then, with a report like a revolver shot, the machine suddenly

slewed in drunken fashion far to one side of the road, hung dangerously
over the steep cliff an instant, righted itself, swayed forward and
stopped, barely twenty-five yards away. Staring, Robert Fairchild saw
that a small, trim figure had leaped forth and was waving excitedly to
him, and he ran forward.
His first glance had proclaimed it a boy; the second had told a different
story. A girl--dressed in far different fashion from Robert Fairchild's
limited specifications of feminine garb--she caused him to gasp in
surprise, then to stop and stare. Again she waved a hand and stamped a
foot excitedly; a vehement little thing in a snug, whipcord riding habit
and a checkered cap pulled tight over closely braided hair, she awaited
him with all the impatience of impetuous womanhood.
"For goodness' sake, come here!" she called, as he still stood gaping. "I
'll give you five dollars. Hurry!"
Fairchild managed to voice the fact that he would be willing to help
without remuneration, as he hurried forward, still staring at her, a
vibrant little thing with dark-brown wisps of hair which had been
blown from beneath her cap straying about equally dark-brown,
snapping eyes and caressing the corners of tightly pressed, momentarily
impatient lips. Only a second she hesitated, then dived for the tonneau,
jerking with all her strength at the heavy seat cushion, as he stepped to
the running board beside her.
"Can't get this dinged thing up!" she panted. "Always sticks when you
're in a hurry. That's it! Jerk it. Thanks! Here!" She reached forward and
a small, sun-tanned hand grasped a greasy jack, "Slide under the back
axle and put this jack in place, will you? And rush it! I 've got to
change a tire in nothing flat! Hurry!"
Fairchild, almost before he knew it, found himself under the rear of the
car, fussing with a refractory lifting jack and trying to keep his eyes
from the view of trimly clad, brown-shod little feet, as they pattered
about at the side of the car, hurried to the running board, then stopped
as wrenches and a hammer clattered to the ground. Then one shoe was
raised, to press tight against a wheel; metal touched metal, a feminine

gasp sounded as strength was exerted in vain, then eddying dust as the
foot stamped, accompanied by an exasperated ejaculation.
"Ding these old lugs! They 're rusted! Got that jack in place yet?"
"Yes! I'm raising the car now."
"Oh, please hurry." There was pleading in the tone now. "Please!"
The car creaked upward. Out came Fairchild, brushing the dust from
his clothes. But already the girl was pressing the lug wrench into his
hands.
"Don't mind that dirt," came her exclamation. "I 'll--I 'll give you some
extra money to get your suit cleaned. Loosen those lugs, while I get the
spare tire off the back. And for goodness' sake, please hurry!"
Astonishment had taken away speech for Fairchild. He could only
wonder--and obey. Swiftly he twirled the wrench while lug after lug
fell to the ground, and while the girl, struggling with a tire seemingly
almost as big as herself, trundled the spare into position to await the
transfer. As for Fairchild, he was in the midst of a task which he had
seen performed far more times