“Nels, I’m sorry to ask you,” she added.  “I know you hate the car.  But I need you—­may need you, oh! so much.”

“Why, Miss Majesty, thet’s shore all a mistaken idee of yours about me hatin’ the car,” he said, in his slow, soft drawl.  “I was only jealous of Link; an’ the boys, they made thet joke up on me about bein’ scared of ridin’ fast.  Shore I’m powerful proud to go.  An’ I reckon if you hedn’t asked me my feelin’s might hev been some hurt.  Because if you’re goin’ down among the Greasers you want me.”

His cool, easy speech, his familiar swagger, the smile with which he regarded her did not in the least deceive Madeline.  The gray was still in his face.  Incomprehensible as it seemed, Nels had a dread, an uncanny fear, and it was of that huge white automobile.  But he lied about it.  Here again was that strange quality of faithfulness.

Madeline heard the buzz of the car.  Link appeared driving up the slope.  He made a short, sliding turn and stopped before the porch.  Link had tied two long, heavy planks upon the car, one on each side, and in every available space he had strapped extra tires.  A huge cask occupied one back seat, and another seat was full of tools and ropes.  There was just room in this rear part of the car for Nels to squeeze in.  Link put Madeline in front beside him, then bent over the wheel.  Madeline waved her hand at the silent cowboys on the porch.  Not an audible good-by was spoken.

The car glided out of the yard, leaped from level to slope, and started swiftly down the road, out into the open valley.  Each stronger rush of dry wind in Madeline’s face marked the increase of speed.  She took one glance at the winding cattle-road, smooth, unobstructed, disappearing in the gray of distance.  She took another at the leather-garbed, leather-helmeted driver beside her, and then she drew the hood of veils over her face and fastened it round her neck so there was no possibility of its blowing loose.

Harder and stronger pressed the wind till it was like sheeted lead forcing her back in her seat.  There was a ceaseless, intense, inconceivably rapid vibration under her; occasionally she felt a long swing, as if she were to be propelled aloft; but no jars disturbed the easy celerity of the car.  The buzz, the roar of wheels, of heavy body in flight, increased to a continuous droning hum.  The wind became an insupportable body moving toward her, crushing her breast, making the task of breathing most difficult.  To Madeline the time seemed to fly with the speed of miles.  A moment came when she detected a faint difference in hum and rush and vibration, in the ceaseless sweeping of the invisible weight against her.  This difference became marked.  Link was reducing speed.  Then came swift change of all sensation, and she realized the car had slowed to normal travel.

Madeline removed her hood and goggles.  It was a relief to breathe freely, to be able to use her eyes.  To her right, not far distant, lay the little town of Chiricahua.  Sight of it made her remember Stewart in a way strange to her constant thought of him.  To the left inclined the gray valley.  The red desert was hidden from view, but the Guadalupe Mountains loomed close in the southwest.