al SR al erga - le a vow ih Me ll and probably pretty. He hoped she would turn around. The man wore a dirty cowboy hat that had once been white. His ears held his shaggy black hair in place. The man turned and looked briefly at Mark, then turned back to the road. The man had enough stubby whiskers on his face to keep him from being handsome, but Mark envied his rugged face and brown skin. The man tipped his head bearck in Mark's direct- Idaho.” grown collie pup beside him. The mon had turned his brown wrinkled face to Mark and said seriously, “Well, son, if | was you, I'd hole up in the nearest town ‘cause there ain’t many towns between here and Pocatello; and if you get stuck out on the highway somewheres, you'll be in trouble.” The farmer nodded and turned back to the road. “At night See Dick's eyes... THE LONELY ROAD SAM LE BARON The cold winds of February are unkind to those creatures without shelter. Mark Valson stood on the edge of an empty Idaho highway. He wore a blue suede jacket and blue jeans rolled down against his scuffed brown oxfords. A blast of icy wind howled against the telephone poles along the road. Mark turned his back to the blast, and dug his fists down into his jacket pockets. The wind tugged at Mark's brown earmuffs and slapped his cold cheeks. His blond hair moved with the wind like long strands of straw. His face was thin and pale except for his pink-red nose and cheekbones. He clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes as he stood solidly on the pavement. The wind whistled around his hunched shoulders and dove down his unprotected neck. He shivered. The sun, only two hours from the western horizon, glared cooly across an ocean of brown-graze-land sprinkled with patches of stubborn snow. The glare slid across the wet highway and across the fields of brown stubble to a tiny hedge of many mountains far off in the distance. Sunlight glinted off a roadside sign far ahead of Mark. He licked a drop of mud from his lips and blew a steamy cloud into his cupped hands. Wiggling his toes inside his soggy shoes only made him more aware of the cold. Curious to read what was on the sign, Mark began walking toward it. “At least, it might give me something to make me forget he cold.” He glanced a his watch and saw it was half an hour since a farmer had picked him up back in Salmon, Idaho, and had brought him here, twenty miles from Salmon. | Mark remembered the tarmer, in the warm cab of the truck with the cint there much and traffic, for a hitch-hiker this is a damn_ lonely road.” Mark has already considered this. He already knew that when hitchhiking in the winter it was best to find a hotel room in a town when nights Winter night approaches. freeze fast and catch unwary travelers in a cold grasp. “That farmer is probably sitting at a big table with a happy family eating a hot supper of beans and home made bread and coffee,” Mark thought. He heard a cow bellow. Turning, he saw two fat hereford cows staring stupidly at him from their shelter beside an old brown haystack. Mark stopped walking and watched them, The cows turned and licked liesurely at a salt block between them. Mark wiped his nose on the back of his hand, wiped the hand on his pants, then put his hand in his pocket. He squinted at the cold' silver sun then hunched his shoulders so that the cloth collar of his jacket crept up around his neck. He started walking again. The sign ahead was closer now. Mark walked, looking at his soggy shoes clomping through the slush, until he saw a white blur out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, Mark saw the sign pushing against the wind. Now he could read it. It was printed in large red letters on white background. It looked newly painted. “THE FAMILY THAT PRAYS TOGETHER STAYS TOGETHER” it read. Then, underneath in smaller letters: — “Ministoral Association (18) of Pocatello, Mark stooped over, reached down and pulled a rock from the mud by the side of the highway. He stood up and threw the rock herd. Having judged for the force of wind, Mark powered the rock twenty feet and smacked the shiny five-foot-square target in the center. The rock clunked off the boards and left a smattering of mud on he white paint. Mark shuttered. “Damn, it’s cold. Suddenly, a hissing sound. Mark stiffened, and spun about. His right arm shot ‘out as if by reflex action. A black ‘49 Ford was speeding toward him. It roared past flinging a spray of mud at Mark. He spun around and shook his fist. But the car suddenly slowed, and its brake lights glowed. Mark sprinted toward the car as it stopped. He could see a woman sitting in the back seat, in the front. as he came and a man and woman The back door opened puffing up. He poked his head in, looked around, then clim- bed in and slammed the door shut. He heard the hum of a heater up front as he pulled his earmuffs off. A woman ctbout thirty years old sat beside him, squinting through her cigarette’s smoke. As she took a long drag on her cigarette, her painted mouth wrinkled into a circle, and her white powdered cheeks pulled in against her cheekbones. The woman exhaled against the roof of the car. “Hello,” she said. “Hi,” Mark replied, as he warmed his hands on the dusty brown seat cover between his legs. The woman was wearing a brown cowboy hat with the sides rolled up and a white cowboy shirt covered with a print of red roses. Her black denim slacks were tight on her legs. A thick black coat lay on the seat between her and Mark. In the front seat sat a girl cuddled up against a man, who sat driving the car. Her brunette pony tail rested on the back of the seat. Mark estimated she was probably about 20, ion. “Where too, Sonny?” Mark leaned forward. “Provo, Utah.” The man grunted. Mark felt a cool shaft of air. He glanced at the woman as she flicked her cigarette butt out the window. She turned to him. “What for?” she asked quietly. Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I'll probably get a job for a few weeks, then maybe go to Las Vegas. I’ve got friends there.” The man at the wheel spoke over his shoulder in bitter tones, ‘Pretty hard to get a job this time of year.” The women nodded solemnly, turned and looked out her window. The girl in the front seat sat up, turned on the radio, and leaned back again with her head on the man’s shoulder. Mark looked through his window at the setting sun. The old car roared and swished over the black slushy highway as the radio came to life and covered the heater’s hum. Ail Mark could hear from the radio was the screech of @ trumpet fighting with a mad saxophone and the occasional thumping of the bass to separate them. Mark sighed and hunched back into his corner of the seat and folded his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes and remembered the many people who had given him rides during the day. Now he could relax for a while. He saw in his mind a quiet little house with smoke slipping from the chimney. He saw the grove of pines that stood around it. He remembered the soft snow that had fallen the day he left. Then he slept. (19)