Keeps on, I'll have to gouge out a couple of Joshuays an' turn the old Ford into a boat--but Casey'll keep agoin'!" Until inky dark it rained like the deluge.

Casey remained perched in his one-man ark and tried hard to enjoy himself and his hard-won freedom.

He stabbed open a can of condensed milk, poured it into a cup, and drank it and ate what was left of his breakfast bannock, which he had fortunately put away in the car out of the reach of a hill of industrious red ants.
He thought vaguely of cranking the car and going on, but gave up the notion.

One sidehill, he decided, was as good as another sidehill for the present.
That night Casey slept fitfully in the car and discovered that even a wall bed in a despised apartment house may be more comfortable than the front seat of a Ford.

His bones ached by morning, and he was hungry enough to eat raw bacon and relish it.