So the Bohunks crawled unhappily back into the car and subsided shivering and with tears in their eyes.
"Dammit, when I take on passengers to ride, they're goin' to _ride_ till they git there.

You shut up, back there!" A friend of Casey's stepped forward and cranked the machine, and Casey pulled down the gas lever until the motor howled, turned in the shortest possible radius and went lunging up the crooked steep trail to the Bluebird mine on top of the hill, his engine racing and screaming in low.
Thereafter Pinnacle and Lund had a new standard by which to measure the courage of a man.

Had he made the trip with Casey Ryan and his new Ford?
He _had_?
By golly, he sure had nerve.

One man passed the peak for sheer bravery and rode twice with Casey, but certain others were inclined to disparage the feat, on the ground that on the second trip he was drunk.
Casey did not like that.

He admitted that he was a hard driver; he had always been proud because men called him the hardest driver in the West.
But he argued that he was also a safe driver, and that they had no business to make such a fuss over riding with him.