“Good,” and with an answering smile, Mr. Lurie introduced him to Mrs. Lurie and Judy. Fran helped with the luggage as well as with the cartons already arrived, and piloted them to the car.
It was a neat little bus, and its name gaily painted in red letters, “Little Percent,” was visible through the film of dust that covered the car like a blanket.
“That’s an odd name,” Mr. Lurie commented.
“Not for Aspen. There was once a mine called ‘Little Percent.’ Now it’s the name of the only taxi business around here. Nearly everything here is named after the silver mines—Little Annie, The Smuggler. Now they’re just fancy eating places.”
As Judy was about to take her seat with her parents, Fran said offhandedly, “Maybe you’d better sit up front with me. No sense all being crowded in there with all that baggage.”
Fran put his foot on the gas and they were soon speeding along a dirt road, the dust almost choking them.
“Sorry about the dust,” Fran said over his shoulder. “We haven’t had a drop of rain in weeks.”
They rounded curves on one wheel and Fran seemed to enjoy Judy’s terrified “Oh’s!” as they edged a precipice with only inches to spare.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared!” he smiled jovially. “This is nothing! Wait until sometime you go up Independence Pass. There you really have to watch your bus.”
“I love mountains. I’ve climbed them since I was a child,” Judy said stiffly. “But racing over ledges is something different. You can trust your feet—that’s more than you can say about a car.”