"You're smokin' back there like wet wood." The man immediately stopped the motor and looked behind him.
Casey muttered something under his breath when he climbed out.

He looked at his own car standing hub deep in red mud and reached for the solacing plug of chewing tobacco.

Then he thought of the lady and withdrew his hand empty.
"We're certainly going to stick together, Mister," she repeated her witticism, and Casey grinned foolishly.
"She'll dry up in a few hours, with this hot sun," he observed hearteningly.

"We'll have to pile brush in, I guess." His glance went back to the tiny island and to his double row of tracks.

He looked at the man.
"Jack, dear, you might go help the gentleman get some brush," the lady suggested sweetly.
"This ain't my act," Jack dear objected.