``Well, let's get going,'' she said impatiently. ``I'' -- She broke off, frowning. ``What did you mean by that rattlesnake gag? Getting the boss rattlesnake to help you?''

``Why, I meant what I said,'' Lord declared. ``What else would I mean, anyways?''

She looked at him, lips compressed. Then, with a shrug of pretended indifference, she took a compact from her purse and went through the motions of fixing her make-up. In his mood, it was the best way to handle him; that is, to show no curiosity whatsoever. Otherwise, she would be baited into a tantrum -- teased and provoked until she lost control of herself, and thus lost still another battle in the maddening struggle of Tom Lord Vs. Joyce Lakewood.

The car lurched along at a snail's crawl, the left front mudguard banging and scraping against the tire, occasionally scraping against the road itself. Lord whistled tunelessly as he fought the steering wheel. He seemed very pleased with himself, as though some intricate scheme was working out exactly as he had planned. Along with this self-satisfaction, however, Joyce sensed a growing tension. It poured out of him like an electric current, a feeling that the muscles and nerves of his fine drawn body were coiling for action, and that that action would be all that he anticipated.

Joyce had seen him like this once before -- more than once, actually, but on one particularly memorable occasion. That was the day that he had practically mopped up the main street of Big Sands with Aaron McBride, field boss for the Highlands Oil + Gas Company.