Stan forced quiet into his voice. "My wife's sick. If I could get a doctor to examine her, I'm sure I could get a permit to lay over somewhere so she can get rest and proper treatment."
"Only eight hours," the beefy one said. "That's the limit. And you're not supposed to have stopped here at all. Or back at the Indian's."
"I know," Stan said. "But this is an emergency. If you could help me—"
The beefy one grinned into the back seat. "That might be all that's bothering the missus, egghead. She ain't getting the proper treatment maybe."
Easy, easy does it. In the rear-view mirror he could see that what the Patrolman said had brought a flush of life to her face. She was rigid now, and then suddenly she screamed. "Stan! For God's sake, Stan, don't take any more from the simian!"
"Let's go," the young Lieutenant said quickly. "We've got the report and we'll forward it. There's no call to bait them."
"Shut up," the beefy one said.
"Don't tell me to shut up," the Lieutenant said. He put his notebook away. "This man's never committed any crime. That's why he's on the road. They didn't know what else to do with him. We're supposed to keep them moving that's all. Not hold them up because of personal vindictiveness."
The beefy one's face was getting red. "Don't use your big words on me, boy. I'll send you back to College."
"He's getting punishment enough. You've got nothing against him, or the woman."