Between the flats and the overheating, it took them three hours to drive as far as Torrington. They made a late start because Jake had decided at the last minute to repack the trailer. It was already well into the afternoon. Emaline wanted to make for her aunt Ruby’s little ranch on Sheep Creek, but Jake wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t going to go fifteen miles from the highway and fifteen miles back dragging the heavy trailer, so they paid twenty-five cents to stay at a campground. The next morning, Jake was up at four o’clock and they were on the road before five. At Guernsey, they could glimpse Laramie Peak, the first shadowy blue hint of the Rocky Mountains. There was more sagebrush and an occasional skittish antelope far off in the distance. There were a few small irrigated farms south of the highway, but to the north there was only empty pastureland. There were few cattle, the grass was sparse. It was the first of May, the time of year when the land should be as green as it would ever be, and all Emaline could see from the window of the Dodge was brown and more brown. As the day warmed, she opened the window visor to get a little air, after a brief shower the breeze was rich with the scent of sage. Jake sang as he drove, barbershop songs or songs from the war, to keep them entertained. After two more flat tires, they had made it only as far as Douglas. They had to stop every ten miles to let the radiator cool and still the Dodge overheated twice. As darkness fell, Jake pulled into a campground and they paid another two bits for a spot to pitch their canvas tarp near running water and an outdoor toilet.