by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER FIVE. BUD CANNOT PERFORM MIRACLES
They went on and on, through the rain and the wind, sometimes throughthe mud as well, where the roads were not paved. Foster had almostpounced upon the newspaper when he discovered it in Bud's pocket as heclimbed in, and Bud knew that the two read that feature article avidly.But if they had any comments to make, they saved them for futureprivacy. Beyond a few muttered sentences they were silent.
Bud did not care whether they talked or not. They might have talkedthemselves hoarse, when it came to that, without changing his opinionsor his attitude toward them. He had started out the most unsuspectingof men, and now he was making up for it by suspecting Foster and Mert ofbeing robbers and hypocrites and potential murderers. He could readilyimagine them shooting him in the back of the head while he drove, ifthat would suit their purpose, or if they thought that he suspectedthem.
He kept reviewing his performance in that garage. Had he really intendedto steal the car, he would not have had the nerve to take the chanceshe had taken. He shivered when he recalled how he had slid under the carwhen the owner came in. What if the man had seen him or heard him? Hewould be in jail now, instead of splashing along the highway many milesto the south. For that matter, he was likely to land in jail, anyway,before he was done with Foster, unless he did some pretty closefiguring. Wherefore he drove with one part of his brain, and withthe other he figured upon how he was going to get out of the messhimself--and land Foster and Mert deep in the middle of it. For such washis vengeful desire.
After an hour or so, when his stomach began to hint that it was eatingtime for healthy men, he slowed down and turned his head toward thetonneau. There they were, hunched down under the robe, their heads drawninto their collars like two turtles half asleep on a mud bank.
"Say, how about some lunch?" he demanded. "Maybe you fellows can getalong on whisky and sandwiches, but I'm doing the work; and if younotice, I've been doing it for about twelve hours now without anylet-up. There's a town ahead here a ways--"
"Drive around it, then," growled Foster, lifting his chin to stare aheadthrough the fogged windshield. "We've got hot coffee here, and there'splenty to eat. Enough for two meals. How far have we come since westarted?"
"Far enough to be called crazy if we go much farther without a squaremeal," Bud snapped. Then he glanced at the rumpled newspaper and addedcarelessly, "Anything new in the paper?"
"No!" Mert spoke up sharply. "Go on. You're doing all right sofar--don't spoil it by laying down on your job!"
"Sure, go on!" Foster urged. "We'll stop when we get away from this darnburg, and you can rest your legs a little while we eat."
Bud went on, straight through the middle of the town without stopping.They scurried down a long, dismal lane toward a low-lying range of hillspertly wooded with bald patches of barren earth and rock. Beyond weremountains which Bud guessed was the Tehachapi range. Beyond them, hebelieved he would find desert and desertion. He had never been over thisroad before, so he could no more than guess. He knew that the ridge roadled to Los Angeles, and he did not want anything of that road. Too manytravelers. He swung into a decent-looking road that branched off to theleft, wondering where it led, but not greatly caring. He kept that roaduntil they had climbed over a ridge or two and were in the mountains.Soaked wilderness lay all about them, green in places where grass wouldgrow, brushy in places, barren and scarred with outcropping ledges,pencilled with wire fences drawn up over high knolls.
In a sequestered spot where the road hugged close the concave outline ofa bushy bluff, Bud slowed and turned out behind a fringe of bushes, andstopped.
"This is safe enough," he announced, "and my muscles are kinda crampy.I'll tell the world that's been quite some spell of straight driving."
Mert grunted, but Foster was inclined to cheerfulness. "You're somedriver, Bud. I've got to hand it to you."
Bud grinned. "All right, I'll take it--half of it, anyway, if you don'tmind. You must remember I don't know you fellows. Most generally Icollect half in advance, on a long trip like this." Foster's eyesopened, but he reached obediently inside his coat. Mert growledinaudible comments upon Bud's nerve.
"Oh, we can't kick, Mert," Foster smoothed him down diplomatically."He's delivered the goods, so far. And he certainly does know how to puta car over the road. He don't know us, remember!"
Mert grunted again and subsided. Foster extracted a bank note from hisbill-folder, which Bud observed had a prosperous plumpness, and held itout to Bud.
"I guess fifty dollars won't hurt your feelings, will it, brother?That's more than you'd charge for twice the trip, but we appreciate atight mouth, and the hurry-up trip you've made of it, and all that It'sspecial work, and we're willing to pay a special price. See?"
"Sure. But I only want half, right now. Maybe," he added with thelurking twinkle in his eyes, "I won't suit yuh quite so well the restof the way. I'll have to go b'-guess and b'-gosh from here on. I've gotsome change left from what I bought for yuh this morning too. Wait tillI check up."
Very precisely he did so, and accepted enough from Foster to make upthe amount to twenty-five dollars. He was tempted to take more. Forone minute he even contemplated holding the two up and taking enough tosalve his hurt pride and his endangered reputation. But he did not doanything of the sort, of course; let's believe he was too honest to doit even in revenge for the scurvy trick they had played him.
He ate a generous lunch of sandwiches and dill pickles and a wedge oftasteless cocoanut cake, and drank half a pint or so of the hot, blackcoffee, and felt more cheerful.
"Want to get down and stretch your legs? I've got to take a look at thetires, anyway. Thought she was riding like one was kinda flat, the lastfew miles."
They climbed out stiffly into the rain, stood around the car and staredat it and at Bud testing his tires, and walked off down the road for alittle distance where they stood talking earnestly together. From thecorner of his eye Bud caught Mert tilting his head that way, and smiledto himself. Of course they were talking about him! Any fool would knowthat much. Also they were discussing the best means of getting rid ofhim, or of saddling upon him the crime of stealing the car, or someother angle at which he touched their problem.
Under cover of testing the rear wheel farthest from them, he peeked intothe tonneau and took a good look at the small traveling bag they hadkept on the seat between them all the way. He wished he dared--But theywere coming back, as if they would not trust him too long alone withthat bag. He bent again to the tire, and when they climbed back intothe curtained car he was getting the pump tubing out to pump up thatparticular tire a few pounds.
They did not pay much attention to him. They seemed preoccupied and nottoo friendly with each other, Bud thought. Their general air of gloomhe could of course lay to the weather and the fact that they had beentraveling for about fourteen hours without any rest; but there wassomething more than that in the atmosphere. He thought they haddisagreed, and that he was the subject of their disagreement.
He screwed down the valve cap, coiled the pump tube and stowed it awayin the tool box, opened the gas tank, and looked in--and right there hedid something else; something that would have spelled disaster if eitherof them had seen him do it. He spilled a handful of little round whiteobjects like marbles into the tank before he screwed on the cap, andfrom his pocket he pulled a little paper box, crushed it in his hand,and threw it as far as he could into the bushes. Then, whistling justabove his breath, which was a habit with Bud when his work was goingalong pleasantly, he scraped the mud off his feet, climbed in, and droveon down the road.
The big car picked up speed on the down grade, racing along as thoughthe short rest had given it a fresh enthusiasm for the long road thatwound in and out and up and down and seemed to have no end. As though hejoyed in putting her over the miles, Bud drove. Came a hill, he sent herup it with a devil-may-care confidence, swinging around curves with asquall of the powerful horn that made cattle feeding half a mile away onthe slopes lift
their startled heads and look.
"How much longer are you good for, Bud?" Foster leaned forward to ask,his tone flattering with the praise that was in it.
"Me? As long as this old boat will travel," Bud flung back gleefully,giving her a little more speed as they rocked over a culvert and spedaway to the next hill. He chuckled, but Foster had settled back againsatisfied, and did not notice.
Halfway up the next hill the car slowed suddenly, gave a snort, gaspedtwice as Bud retarded the spark to help her out, and, died. She wasa heavy car to hold on that stiff grade, and in spite of the fullemergency brake helped out with the service brake, she inched backwarduntil the rear wheels came full against a hump across the road and held.
Bud did not say anything; your efficient chauffeur reserves hiseloquence for something more complex than a dead engine. He took downthe curtain on that side, leaned out into the rain and inspected theroad behind him, shifted into reverse, and backed to the bottom.
"What's wrong?" Foster leaned forward to ask senselessly.
"When I hit level ground, I'm going to find out," Bud retorted, stillwatching the road and steering with one hand. "Does the old girl evercut up with you on hills?"
"Why--no. She never has," Foster answered dubiously.
"Reason I asked, she didn't just choke down from the pull. She went anddied on me."
"That's funny," Foster observed weakly.
On the level Bud went into neutral and pressed the self-starter witha pessimistic deliberation. He got three chugs and a backfire into thecarburetor, and after that silence. He tried it again, coaxing her withthe spark and throttle. The engine gave a snort, hesitated and then,quite suddenly, began to throb with docile regularity that seemed tobelie any previous intention of "cutting up."
Bud fed her the gas and took a run at the hill. She went up like athoroughbred and died at the top, just when the road had dipped into thedescent. Bud sent her down hill on compression, but at the bottom sherefused to find her voice again when he turned on the switch and pressedthe accelerator. She simply rolled down to the first incline and stoppedthere like a balky mule.
"Thunder!" said Bud, and looked around at Foster. "Do you reckon the oldboat is jinxed, just because I said I could drive her as far as she'dgo? The old rip ain't shot a cylinder since we hit the top of the hill."
"Maybe the mixture--"
"Yeah," Bud interrupted with a secret grin, "I've been wondering aboutthat, and the needle valve, and the feed pipe, and a few other littlethings. Well, we'll have a look."
Forthwith he climbed out into the drizzle and began a conscientioussearch for the trouble. He inspected the needle valve with much care,and had Foster on the front seat trying to start her afterwards. Helooked for short circuit. He changed the carburetor adjustment, andFoster got a weary chug-chug that ceased almost as soon as it had begun.He looked all the spark plugs over, he went after the vacuum feed andfound that working perfectly. He stood back, finally, with his hands onhis hips, and stared at the engine and shook his head slowly twice.
Foster, in the driver's seat, swore and tried again to start it. "Maybeif you cranked it," he suggested tentatively.
"What for? The starter turns her over all right. Spark's all right too,strong and hot. However--" With a sigh of resignation Bud got out whattools he wanted and went to work. Foster got out and stood around,offering suggestions that were too obvious to be of much use, but whichBud made it a point to follow as far as was practicable.
Foster said it must be the carburetor, and Bud went relentlessly afterthe carburetor. He impressed Foster with the fact that he knew cars, andwhen he told Foster to get in and try her again, Foster did so with theair of having seen the end of the trouble. At first it did seem so, forthe engine started at once and worked smoothly until Bud had gatheredhis wrenches off the running board and was climbing it, when it sloweddown and stopped, in spite of Foster's frantic efforts to keep it alivewith spark and throttle.
"Good Glory!" cried Bud, looking reproachfully in at Foster. "What'd yuhwant to stop her for?"
"I didn't!" Foster's consternation was ample proof of his innocence."What the devil ails the thing?"
"You tell me, and I'll fix it," Bud retorted savagely. Then he smoothedhis manner and went back to the carburetor. "Acts like the gas keptchoking off," he said, "but it ain't that. She's O.K. I know, 'causeI've tested it clean back to tank. There's nothing the matter with thefeed--she's getting gas same as she has all along. I can take off themag. and see if anything's wrong there; but I'm pretty sure there ain't.Couldn't any water or mud get in--not with that oil pan perfect. Shelooks dry as a bone, and clean. Try her again, Foster; wait till I setthe spark about right. Now, you leave it there, and give her the gaskinda gradual, and catch her when she talks. We'll see--"
They saw that she was not going to "talk" at all. Bud swore a little andgot out more tools and went after the magneto with grim determination.Again Foster climbed out and stood in the drizzle and watched him. Mertcrawled over into the front seat where he could view the proceedingsthrough the windshield. Bud glanced up and saw him there, and grinnedmaliciously. "Your friend seems to love wet weather same as a cat does,"he observed to Foster. "He'll be terrible happy if you're stalled heretill you get a tow in somewhere."
"It's your business to see that we aren't stalled," Mert snapped at himviciously. "You've got to make the thing go. You've got to!"
"Well, I ain't the Almighty," Bud retorted acidly. "I can't performmiracles while yuh wait."
"Starting a cranky car doesn't take a miracle," whined Mert. "Anybodythat knows cars--"
"She's no business to be a cranky car," Foster interposed pacifically."Why, she's practically new!" He stepped over a puddle and stood besideBud, peering down at the silent engine. "Have you looked at the intakevalve?" he asked pathetically.
"Why, sure. It's all right. Everything's all right, as far as I can findout." Bud looked Foster straight in the eye--and if his own were a bitanxious, that was to be expected.
"Everything's all right," he added measuredly. "Only, she won't go." Hewaited, watching Foster's face.
Foster chewed a corner of his lip worriedly. "Well, what do you make ofit?" His tone was helpless.
Bud threw out his two hands expressively, and shook his head. He letdown the hood, climbed in, slid into the driver's seat, and went throughthe operation of starting. Only, he didn't start. The self-starterhummed as it spun the flywheel, but nothing whatever was elicited save aprofane phrase from Foster and a growl from Mert. Bud sat back flaccid,his whole body owning defeat.
"Well, that means a tow in to the nearest shop," he stated, after aminute of dismal silence. "She's dead as a doornail."
Mert sat back in his corner of the seat, muttering into his collar.Foster looked at him, looked at Bud, looked at the car and at thesurrounding hills. He seemed terribly depressed and at the sametime determined to make the best of things. Bud could almost pityhim--almost.
"Do you know how far it is back to that town we passed?" he asked Budspiritlessly after a while. Bud looked at the speedometer, made a mentalcalculation and told him it was fifteen miles. Towns, it seemed, wererather far apart in this section of the country.
"Well, let's see the road map. How far is it to the next one?"
"Search me. They didn't have any road maps back there. Darned hickburg."
Foster studied awhile. "Well, let's see if we can push her off themiddle of the road--and then I guess we'll have to let you walk back andget help. Eh, Mert? There's nothing else we can do--"
"What yuh going to tell 'em?" Mert demanded suspiciously.
Bud permitted a surprised glance to slant back at Mert. "Why, whateveryou fellows fake up for me to tell," he said naively. "I know the truthain't popular on this trip, so get together and dope out something. Andhand me over my suit case, will yuh? I want some dry socks to put onwhen I get there."
Foster very obligingly tilted the suit case over into the front seat.After that he and Mert, as by a common
thought impelled, climbed outand went over to a bushy live oak to confer in privacy. Mert carried theleather bag with him.
By the time they had finished and were coming back, Bud had gone throughhis belongings and had taken out a few letters that might prove awkwardif found there later, two pairs of socks and his razor and toothbrush.He was folding the socks to stow away in his pocket when they got in.
"You can say that we're from Los Angeles, and on our way home," Fostertold him curtly. It was evident to Bud that the two had not quite agreedupon some subject they had discussed. "That's all right. I'm Foster, andhe's named Brown--if any one gets too curious."
"Fine. Fine because it's so simple. I'll eat another sandwich, if youdon't mind, before I go. I'll tell a heartless world that fifteen milesis some little stroll--for a guy that hates walkin'."
"You're paid for it," Mert growled at him rudely.
"Sure, I'm paid for it," Bud assented placidly, taking a bite. Theymight have wondered at his calm, but they did not. He ate what hewanted, took a long drink of the coffee, and started off up the hillthey had rolled down an hour or more past.
He walked briskly, and when he was well out of earshot Bud began towhistle. Now and then he stopped to chuckle, and sometimes he frowned atan uncomfortable thought. But on the whole he was very well pleased withhis present circumstances.