I crested the hill and looked down and there were cars driving along the stretch of road that crosses the valley. I hadn’t believed my ears when I heard the engine sounds, but there they were. Two of ’em. More cars than I’d seen in the last six months. One headed north and the other south. But moving real slow, takin’ their time. The cars flashed their lights as they passed each other. They knew each other. No two ways about it. This guy I met in Piru said he heard of some camps out west where the folks had a car or two they shared between them, but these here, they didn’t look like no campers to me. I laid low. Whoever they were, they weren’t likely to treat a one armed old man with much kindness.