Half a dozen men rode out from a little clearing And casually blocked the road. He pulled up his mules, Staring around. He saw a face that he knew, Now queer with triumph⁠—Sophy filling a pail And that gangling fellow lounging against the pump, Hungry-eyed⁠— It happened too fast to be scary. You got stopped such a lot. It was only some new patrol. “All the boys know me,” he said. “Yes, I got my pass.” They took the pass but they did not give it back. There was a waver shaking the dusty air, The feel of a cord grown tauter. How dry his throat was! He’d be driving on in a minute. “Well boys?” he said, “Well, fellers?” They didn’t answer or look at him. “I tell you that’s the man,” said the mountaineer.