“No, no. I swear it!”
“Then go ahead. You can get a doctor in Barstow. That’s only eight miles. Go on ahead.”
Tom climbed in and drove on.
The officer turned to his companion. “I couldn’ hold em.”
“Maybe it was a bluff,” said the other.
“Oh, Jesus, no! You should of seen that ol’ woman’s face. That wasn’t no bluff.”
Tom increased his speed to Barstow, and in the little town he stopped, got out, and walked around the truck. Ma leaned out. “It’s awright,” she said. “I didn’ wanta stop there, fear we wouldn’ get acrost.”
“Yeah! But how’s Granma?”
“She’s awright—awright. Drive on. We got to get acrost.” Tom shook his head and walked back.
“Al,” he said, “I’m gonna fill her up, an’ then you drive some.” He pulled to an all-night gas station and filled the tank and the radiator, and filled the crank case. Then Al slipped under the wheel and Tom took the outside, with Pa in the middle. They drove away into the darkness and the little hills near Barstow were behind them.