"Any ranch within forty miles of here?
We need about twelve good horses, I should say." Lee's experience with sand had been unhappy, and his knowledge of what one good horse could do was slight.
"Shall we snake 'em out, Jean ?" Lite asked her, as if he himself were absolutely indifferent to their plight.
"Oh, I suppose we might as well.

We can't leave them blocking the trail; somebody might want to drive past," Jean told him in much the same tone, just to tease Lee Milligan, who was looking them over disparagingly.
"We'll be blocking the trail a good long while if we stay here till you move us," snapped Lee, who was rather sensitive to tones.
Then Robert Grant Burns gave a heave and a wriggle, and came up for air and a look around.

He had been composing a monologue upon the subject of sand, and he had not noticed that strange voices were speaking on the other side of the machine.
"Hello, sis-- How-de-do, Miss," he greeted Jean guardedly, with a hasty revision of the terms when he saw how her eyebrows pinched together.

"I wonder if you could tell us where we can find teams to pull us out of this mess.

I don't believe this old junk-wagon is ever going to do it herself." "How do you do, Mr.Burns?
Lite and I offered to take you out on solid ground, but your man seemed to think we couldn't do it." "What man was that?
Wasn't me, anyway.