of it--what was it like? Oh--of course. Cart's hair. The same color.
They were alike, those two, and yet very different. When he had grown a
man he would like to be like Cart. Cart was kind and always understood
when you were not feeling right. Cart smoothed the way for people in
trouble--old women and animals, and well--girls sometimes. He had seen
him do it. Other people didn't always understand, but he did. Cart
always had a reason. It took men to understand men. That thought had a
good sound to the boy on his back in the moonlight. Although he felt
somewhat a fool lying there waiting in the road when all the time there
was that Detour. It would have been more a man's job if there hadn't
had to be that Detour, but he couldn't run risks with strange guys, and
men who carried guns, not even for--well, thirty pieces of silver--!
But hark! What was that?

There seemed to be a singing along the ground. Was he losing his nerve
lying here so long? No, there it was again! It couldn't be possible
that he could hear so far as two miles up that road. It was hard and
smooth macadam of course, that highway, but it couldn't be that--what
was it they called it?--vibrations?--would reach so far! It must be. He
would ask Cart about that.

The humming continued and grew more distinct, followed by a sort of
throbbing roar that seemed coming toward him, and yet was still very
far away. It must be a car at the Detour. In a moment it would turn
down the bumpy road toward Sabbath Valley, and very likely some of
those old broken whiskey bottles along the way would puncture a tire
and the guy would take till morning getting anywhere. Perhaps he could
even get away in time to come up innocently enough and help him out. A
guy like that might not know how to patch a puncture.