The next morning I ate breakfast in the inn’s restaurant before loading Solomon. I pushed him out to the street and away from the inn before starting the engine.

“What are you doing?” Solomon asked.

“Letting the other motel guests sleep.”

Solomon didn’t answer that.

While I climbed aboard and kicked the starter three boys and a girl came and stood in front of me. The oldest, a boy of about twelve, asked, “Are you stealing that bike?”

“No. I bought it in Port Haven. I just didn’t want to wake everyone in the inn up when I started the engine.”

They watched me wide-eyed but didn’t move.

“You’re blocking the road,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a journey to resume.”

They still didn’t move aside from drawing closer together and to me. I glanced in my rear-view mirrors and saw two men with tire irons raised sneaking up behind me. I hit the gas and knocked the kids over escaping.

The men raised hue and cry, howling that I’d assaulted the youngsters. Solomon outran them. The road out of town was gravel graded smooth. We raised a plume of dust. It would be easy to follow us.

After about a mile I turned east on an unimproved road leading into the hills. I drove as fast as I dared. Solomon had been built for this kind of driving. I didn’t have much skill yet, so I needed all my concentration.

It took all morning to reach a place where I could look back along the road. Pursuit was minutes behind me, from the dust plume. Solomon said, “I’m low on fuel.” I pulled the can from the left pannier and refilled the tank. Then we drove on.

The pursuers darn near caught us. I had to drive at the ragged edge of my ability to stay ahead. But it didn’t take more than about two more miles before the bikes chasing me ran out of gas. I stopped on a switchback above them and waved. They were wroth, to say the least. I pulled the gas can out and showed it to them. Then I bade them a cheerful farewell.

I drove on with a light heart until the next switchback. When I looked back I saw a pick up had joined the bikes. They were loading them in its bed. Trucks had gas tanks with far longer range than any motorcycle could carry. Once we reached the high tableland I left the road and cut cross country, holding a little south of due east.

I was convinced they couldn’t follow. I quit watching my back and looked ahead. I stopped for a leisurely lunch of canned cold stew. Hours later I stopped to camp a quarter mile from a spring of good cold water. It was Apache lore. They didn’t camp at scarce water holes, but filled their bottles and moved away. That way, enemies couldn’t discover them by finding water sources. And it turned out to be a wise precaution.

When I woke the next morning, I found a pick up with motorcycles in back parked at the spring. Everyone was still asleep there, so I moseyed over for a look. There were three men and two boys from the group that had tried to help rob me. The men all had biker jackets with red scorpions on their backs. That made them a gang.

They all looked so peaceful, sleeping side by side under a blanket. I didn’t disturb them but left some obvious footprints getting water before I went back and packed Solomon for our journey.

The rough, unimproved road led southeast to a town in a fertile valley. It started to rain as we made our gradual descent. It amazed me how far Solomon could go on a tank if it was downhill.

We hadn’t talked much on this crossing of high country. I was learning how to drive. I also wanted to get to a filling station ahead of pursuit. The rain would waken the Red Scorpions. They wouldn’t want me to refill my tanks and get away if they could stop me. I beat them to town, refilled the cans and tank, checked my map, and skipped lunch skipping town.

There was an improved road leading southeast to the next river valley over. It was a longer, larger river. I didn’t think we’d reach it before nightfall but I was willing to try. The rain continued. It was miserable. Solomon and I were muddy messes long before we got there. I wished the rain would go fall on the desert east of here and leave us alone.

I got part of that wish by late afternoon. The storm passed north and the sun came out. The wet clay and gravel of the road had to be murder on the tires. I got into a foul mood myself. The sun set behind us, painting the bottoms of the clouds a spectacular red-orange.

“Solomon?” I said. “Can you see the colors in the sky above us? What kind of senses do you have?”

“I can see through my headlamp and the mirrors, so, yes, I can see the colors in the sky. But I see something else behind us, too.”

I glanced and saw a pair of headlights cresting a rise. Was it the truck of the Red Scorpions?