The White Desert | Page 3

puddles, resultant from the slowly melting snows. The swirling
clouds, the mists, the drifting fogs all appeared to await him, like the
gathered hosts of some mighty army, suddenly peaceful until the call of
combat. A thrill shot through Barry Houston. His life had been that of
the smooth spaces, of the easy ascent of well-paved grades, of streets
and comforts and of luxuries. The very raggedness of the thing before
him lured him and drew him on. He turned, he smiled, with a quiet,
determined expression of anticipation, yet of grimness.
"They've got me," came quietly. "I'm--I'm going to make the try!"
The villager grunted. His lips parted as though to issue a final warning.

Then, with a disgruntled shake of the head, he turned away.
"Ain't no use arguin' with you Easterners," came at last. "You come out
here an' take one look at these here hills an' think you can beat Ole
Lady Nature when she's sittin' pat with a royal flush. But go on--I ain't
tryin' t' stop you. 'Twouldn't be nothin' but a waste o' breath. You've got
this here conquerin' spirit in your blood--won't be satisfied till you get
it out. You're all th' same--I 've seen fellows with flivvers loaded down
till th' springs was flat, look up at them hills an' figure t' get over an'
back in time for supper. So go on--only jis' remember this: once you get
outside of Dominion an' start up th' grade, there ain't no way stations,
an' there ain't no telephones, ner diner service, ner somebody t' bring y'
th' evenin' paper. You're buckin' a brace game when y' go against
Hazard Pass at a time when she ain't in a mood f'r comp'ny. She holds
all th' cards, jis' remember that--an' a few thet ain't in th' deck. But jis'
th' same," he backed away as Barry stepped into the racer and pressed a
foot on the starter, "I'm wishin' you luck. You'll need it."
"Thanks!" Houston laughed with a new exhilaration, a new spirit of
desire. "It can't do any more than kill me."
"Nope." The villager was shouting now above the exhaust of the
powerful engine, "But it shore can take a delight in doin' that! S' long!"
"So long!" The gears meshed. A stream of smoke from the new oil spat
out for a second. Then, roaring and chortling with the beginning of
battle, the machine swept away toward the slight turn that indicated the
scraggly end of the little town of Dominion, and the beginning of the
first grade.
The exhilaration still was upon Barry Houston. He whistled and sang,
turning now and then to view the bright greenness of the new-leafed
aspens, to watch the circling sallies of the jaybirds, or to stare ahead to
where the blues and greens and purples of the foliage and rocks merged
in the distance. The grade was yet easy and there was no evidence of
strain upon the engine; the tiny rivulets which ran along the slight ruts
at each side of the road betokened nothing to him save the slight
possibility of chains, should a muddy stretch of straightaway road

appear later on. But as yet, that had not occurred, and Barry was living
for the moment.
The road began to twist slightly, with short raises and shorter level
stretches winding among the aspens and spruces, with sudden, jagged
turns about heavy, frowning boulders whose jutting noses seemed to
scrape the fenders of the car, only to miss them by the barest part of an
inch. Suddenly Barry found himself bending forward, eyes still on the
road in spite of his half-turned head, ears straining to catch the slightest
variation of the motor. It seemed to be straining,--yet the long,
suddenly straight stretch of road ahead of him seemed perfectly level;
downhill if anything. More and more labored became the engine. Barry
stopped, and lifting the hood, examined the carbureter. With the motor
idling, it seemed perfect. Once more he started,--only to stop again and
anxiously survey the ignition, test the spark plugs and again inquire
into the activities of the carbureter. At last, reassured, he walked to the
front of the machine, and with the screwdriver pried the name plate
from its position on the radiator and tossed it into the tumbling, yellow
stream beside the road. Then he turned back to the machine,--only to
stop suddenly and blink with surprise. The road was not level! The
illusion which comes to one at the first effort to conquer a mountain
grade had faded now. A few feet away was a deserted cabin, built upon
a level plot of ground and giving to Barry a chance for comparison, and
he could see that his motor had not been at fault. Now the road,