The Indian maids, of course, turned out to be a few fat old squaws who
knew all about white men. The outdoor living developed into five months
of rain, hail, sleet, blizzard, fog and constant freezing in tractors
while breathing the healthy fumes of diesels. Uncle David turned out to
be a construction genius, all right, but his interest in Dave seemed to
lie in the fact that he was tired of being Simon Legree to strangers
and wanted to take it out on one of his own family. And the easy job
turned into hell when the regular computer-man couldn't take any more
and quit, leaving Dave to do everything, including making the field
tests to gain the needed data.

Now Bertha was writing frantic letters, telling him how much he'd better
come back and marry her immediately. And Uncle David thought it was a
joke!

Dave paid no attention to where his feet were leading him, only vaguely
aware that he was heading down a gully below the current construction
job. He heard the tractors and bulldozers moving along the narrow cliff
above him, but he was used to the sound. He heard frantic yelling from
above, too, but paid no attention to it; in any Hanson construction
program, somebody was always yelling about something that had to be done
day before yesterday. It wasn't until he finally became aware of his own
name being shouted that he looked up. Then he froze in horror.

The bulldozer was teetering at the edge of the cliff as he saw it, right
above him. And the cliff was crumbling from under it, while the tread
spun idiotically out of control. As Dave's eyes took in the whole
situation, the cliff crumbled completely, and the dozer came lunging
over the edge, plunging straight for him. His shout was drowned in the