"Look, dear, a lady traffic cop," I heard Mr. Hawkins observe loudly; but he pulled meekly off the highway, near some clumps of sagebrush. The desert rolled in swells around us, its sands sparsely covered by cactus plants and by an occasional grotesque Joshua tree. Sharp mountains, partly covered with snow, walled us in, and ahead of us the highway disappeared into sloping hills. I parked behind them, and got out of the car. I felt selfconscious as I stalked toward them. I was acting just like a traffic cop. Mr. Hawkins narrow brown eyes were laughing at me as I said icily, "I'd like to have that blanket back, if you don't mind." Miss Nestleburt drew in her breath in a sharp gasp. "What do you mean?" she asked, her tiny white hands going to her mouth. "What blanket, madame?" Mr. Hawkins inquired courteously. "The blanket you took from our motel!" I snapped. "There it is! Right on the seat between you!" Mr. Hawkins didn't glance at the blanket. "Your suspicious nature grieves me," he stated. "Why, simply because I have a blanket, do you assume that it is your blanket?" "Because the extra blanket is gone from your cabin, as you know." "Madame," he replied, "I fear that you are mistaken. I am quite positive that the blanket to which you refer is still in the cabin it has been my happiness to occupy for awhile. Why don't you hurry back and look more thoroughly?" He started the motor of his car. "Give me that blanket!" I cried. "This blanket," he said, "is mine. It was a--a wedding present." His eyes shifted as he spoke, and his face wore a furtive, guilty expression. Angrily I stepped on the running board, put my arm through the window and reached across him, seizing a corner of the blanket. I pulled. Mr. Hawkins held the rest of the blanket, and he pulled also. Miss Nestleburt--she would always be Miss Nestleburt to me, even though she had made the mistake of marrying this sly, underhanded thief--clasped her little hands in distress. After a brief tug of war Mr. Hawkins made what came as close to being a courtly bow as possible, under the conditions and in his position. He released the blanket, and I gathered it into my arms triumphantly. Mr. Hawkins sighed. "If you are so determined to have my blanket, all right. I suppose, in the motel business, you must get supplies in any way you can. But there's just one thing," he said mildly. "Before you take it, will you identify it, or try to? I just want you to admit, before we part, that you know it isn't yours." "But it is!" I cried. "Do you think I'd be so interested in getting it away from you if it weren't?" "Frankly, yes." Fuming, I held up the satin edges of the blanket. "It has 'Moonrise Motel' stamped on the edges somewhere," I said. "All of our blankets do. Just wait. I'll find it right away." I searched fruitlessly for a few minutes, while Mr. Hawkins sat watching me, a widening grin on his face. I kept on hunting for the "Moonrise Motel" stamp. I couldn't find it.