He was always in too much of a hurry to blow it; and anyway, by the time he reached a turn, he was around it; there either was no car in the road or Casey had scraped paint off it or worse and gone on.

So why honk?
Far distances called Casey.

In one day, he meditated, he could cover more desert with his Ford than horses could travel in a week.

An old, half-buried passion stirred, lifted its head and smiled at him seductively,--a dream he had dreamed of finding some of that wealth which Nature holds so miser-like in her hills.

A gold mine, or perhaps silver or copper,--what matter which mineral he found, so long as it spelled wealth for him?
Then he would buy a bigger car and a faster car, and he would bore farther and farther into yonder.