Across the Roof of the World

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!"