He surveyed him carefully, from the tight-drawn reversed cap with the motor goggles resting above the young, smooth forehead, to the quiet elegance of the outing clothing and well-shod feet.

He spat, reflectively, and drew the back of a hand across tobacco-stained lips.
"And you say you live in Colorado." "I didn't say--" "Well, it don't make no difference whether you did or not.

I know--you don't.

Nobody thet lives out here'd try to make Hazard Pass for th' first time in th' middle o' May." "I don't see--" "Look up there." The old man pointed to the splotches of white, thousands of feet above, the swirling clouds which drifted from the icy breast of Mount Taluchen, the mists and fogs which caressed the precipices and rolled through the valleys created by the lesser peaks.
"It may be spring down here, boy, but it's January up there.

They's only been two cars over Hazard since November and they come through last week.