150 A BOOK-LOVER S HOLIDAYS 



darkness, the motormen clutching the steering- 

 wheels and peering anxiously forward as they 

 strove to make out the ruts and faint road- 

 marks in the shifting glare of the headlights. 

 The play of the lightning and the rolling of the 

 thunder came near and nearer. We were evi 

 dently in for a storm, which would probably 

 have brought us to a complete halt, and we 

 looked out for a house to stop at. At 10.15 

 we caught a glimpse of a long white building 

 on one side of the road. It was one of the 

 stores of which I have spoken. With some 

 effort we roused the people, and after arrang 

 ing the motor-cars we went inside. They were 

 good people. They got us eggs and coffee, and, 

 as we had a cold pig, we fared well. Then we 

 lay down on the floor of the store and on the 

 counters and slept for four hours. 



At three I waked the sleepers with the cry- 

 that in bygone days on the Western cattle 

 plains had so often roused me from the heavy 

 slumber of the men of the round-up. It was 

 the short November night of high southern lati 

 tudes. Dawn came early. We started as soon 

 as the faint gray enabled us to see the road. 

 The stars paled and vanished. The sunrise 

 was glorious. We came out from among the 

 hills on to vast barren plains. Hour after hour, 



