“Well, Ah’m not sure—”

Bell interrupted. “I’ll ask Andy Moser if he would look them over with Josephine.”

“In case you think I’m going to sabotage your machine when you’re not looking,” Josephine grinned at Stevens.

“Ah didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it. Let me and Andy lend you a hand.” Her grin got wider, and she teased, “Isaac will tell Andy to watch me like a hawk, so I don’t ‘accidentally’ bust anything.”

“All right, all right. Can’t hurt to have a look.”

Josephine pedaled back toward the rail yard.

“Hop on,” Bell told Stevens, and pumped the handcar after her. Stevens was silent until after they passed the slaughterhouse and the factories. Then he said, “’Preciate yer tryin’ to help, Bell.”

“Appreciate Josephine.”

“She took me by surprise.”

“I think it’s dawning on both of you that you’re all in this together.”

“Now you sound like that fool Red.”

“Mudd is in with you, too,” said Bell.

“Damned unionist.”

But the best intentions could not overcome the stress of running rough for three thousand miles. Josephine and Andy tried their wizardry on Stevens’s two motors all afternoon before they admitted defeat.

Josephine took Bell aside and spoke urgently: “I doubt Stevens will listen to me, but maybe if he hears it from Andy he might listen.”

“Listen to what?”

“That machine will never make it to San Francisco. If he tries to force it, it’ll kill him.”

Bell beckoned Andy. Andy said, “Best I could do was synchronize’em for a few minutes before they started running haywire again. But even if we could keep ’em synchronized, the motors are shot. He won’t make it over the mountains.”

“Tell him.”

“Would you come with me, Mr. Bell? In case he gets mad.”

Bell stood by as Andy explained the situation to Steve Stevens.

Stevens planted his hands on his hips and turned red in the face.

Andy said, “I’m real sorry, Mr. Stevens. But I’m just telling you what’s true. Those motors will kill you.”

Stevens said, “Boy, there is no way Ah’m goin’ home to Mississippi with my tail between my legs. Ah’m goin’ home with the Whiteway Cup or Ah ain’t goin’.” He looked at Bell. “Go ahead, speak your piece. You think Ah’m crazy.”

“I think,” said Bell, “there’s a difference between bravery and foolishness.”

“And now you’re goin’ to tell me what that difference is?”

“I won’t do that for another man,” said Bell.

Stevens stared at his big white biplane.

“Was you ever fat, Bell, when you was a little boy?”

“Not that I recall.”

“You would,” Stevens chuckled bleakly. “It’s not somethin’ you’d ever forget . . . Ah been a fat man my whole life. And a fat boy before that.”