"Maybe so," he said. "But my opinion is, if a man can't hold his own,--well, he deserves to lose it."
Saltash laughed aloud. "It isn't always brute force that counts, most worthy cow-puncher. There is such a thing as brains."
"You don't say!" said Jake in a tone of gentle incredulity and, in a moment: "Do you mind reining in a bit? We're coming to a cross-roads."
"You're mighty nervous!" gibed Saltash.
"It's safer," said Jake imperturbably.
They dropped into silence with one consent.
Saltash was obviously inclined to recklessness though he seemed for awhile to be trying to restrain the impulse. They shot through the gathering darkness with ever-increasing speed.
Jake made no further protest. He sat sphinx-like, gazing straight ahead through the misty wind-screen. The distance from Graydown to Fairharbour was scarcely ten miles. Lord Saltash chose the shortest route, bumping through bye lanes, whizzing round unexpected corners, shooting uphill like a rocket, dropping down again like a thunderbolt.
He drove with a skill that was in its way magnificent, but the entire run was a series of risks such as only the driver could enjoy.
It was evident that he speedily forgot the presence of his companion, and Jake did not remind him of it. Perhaps he deemed it inadvisable to divert his attention in any way from the task in hand.