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第72部分（第3页）

off　the　main　highways　and　under　no　conditions　to　go　into　the　mountains；　because

many　roads　were　impassable　and　all　of　them　were　dangerous。　Scores　of　minor

accidents　had　been　reported；　and　two　serious　ones：　a　party　of　skiers　in　a　VW

microbus　and　a　family　that　had　been　bound　for　Albuquerque　through　the　Sangre　de

Cristo　Mountains。　The　bined　score　on　both　was　four　dead　and　five　wounded。　〃So

stay　off　those　roads　and　get　into　the　good　music　here　at　KTLK；〃　the　jock

concluded　cheerily；　and　then　pounded　Halloranns　misery　by　playing　〃Seasons

in　the　Sun。〃　〃We　had　joy；　we　had　fun；　we　had　—　〃　Terry　Jacks　gibbered　happily；　and

Hallorann　snapped　the　radio　off　viciously；　knowing　he　would　have　it　back　on　in

five　minutes。　No　matter　how　bad　it　was；　it　was　better　than　riding　alone　through

this　white　madness。

（Admit　it。　Dis　heah　black　boy　has　got　at　least　one　long　stripe　of　yaller　。。。

and　it　runs　rant　up　his　ebberlubbin　back！）

It　wasnt　even　funny。　He　would　have　backed　off　before　he　even　cleared　Boulder

if　it　hadnt　been　for　his　pulsion　that　the　boy　was　in　terrible　trouble。　Even

now　a　small　voice　in　the　back　of　his　skull　—　more　the　voice　of　reason　than　of

cowardice；　he　thought　—　was　telling　him　to　hole　up　in　an　Estes　Park　motel　for　the

night　and　wait　for　the　plows　to　at　least　expose　the　center　stripe　again。　That

voice　kept　reminding　him　of　the　jets　shaky　landing　at　Stapleton；　of　that

sinking　feeling　that　it　was　going　to　e　in　nose…first；　delivering　its

passengers　to　the　gates　of　hell　rather　than　at　Gate　39；　Concourse　B。　But　reason

would　not　stand　against　the　pulsion。　It　had　to　be　today。　The　snowstorm　was

his　own　bad　luck。　He　would　have　to　cope　with　it。　He　was　afraid　that　if　he

didnt；　he　might　have　something　much　worse　to　cope　with　in　his　dreams。

The　wind　gusted　again；　this　time　from　the　northeast；　a　little　English　on　the

ball　if　you　please；　and　he　was　again　cut　off　from　the　vague　shapes　of　the　hills

and　even　from　the　embankments　on　either　side　of　the　road。　He　was　driving　through

white　null。

And　then　the　high　sodium　lights　of　the　snowplow　loomed　out　of　the　soup；

bearing　down；　and　to　his　horror　he　saw　that　instead　of　being　to　one　side；　the

Buicks　nose　was　pointed　directly　between　those　headlamps。　The　plow　was　being

none　too　choosy　about　keeping　its　own　side　of　the　road；　and　Hallorann　had

allowed　the　Buick　to　drift。

The　grinding　roar　of　the　plows　diesel　engine　intruded　over　the　bellow　of　the

wind；　and　then　the　sound　of　its　airhorn；　hard；　long；　almost　deafening。

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