"Deacon Rank's been giving me lessons every afternoon. I know how to start it and steer it, goin' slow-like--but of course I've got a lot to learn." "Well, you just turn that car around an' skedaddle for home, Eva Crow," was his command. "What business have you got runnin' around the country like this in the dead o' night, all alone--" "Ain't I the Marshal of Tinkletown?" she broke in crossly. "What right have all you men to be going off without me in this--" "The only official thing you've done, madam, since you got to be marshal, was to resign while you was in bed not more'n an hour ago. I accepted your resignation, so now you go home as quick as that blamed old rattletrap will take you." "Besides, I saw the ornery fools go off an' leave you behind, Anderson, and that made me mad. I run over to Deacon Rank's and got the car. Now, you hop right in, and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Get in, I say. I hereby officially withdraw my resignation. I'm still marshal of this town, and if you don't do as I tell you, I'll discharge you as deputy." So Anderson got up beside her and pulled desperately at his chin-whiskers, no doubt to assist the words that were struggling to escape from his compressed lips. After considerable back-firing, the decrepit machine began to climb the grade. Presently Mr. Crow found his voice. "Didn't I tell you to turn around, Eva?" "Don't talk to me when I'm driving," said she, gripping the wheel tightly with the fingers of death. "You turn the car around immediately, woman. I'm your husband, an' I order you to do as I tell ye!" "I'll turn it around when I get good and ready," said she in a strained voice. "Can't you see there ain't room enough to turn around in this road?" "Well, it don't get any wider." "Besides, I don't know how to turn it around," she confessed. "Why, you just back her, same as anybody else does, an' then reverse her, an'--" "You old goose, how can I back her when she keeps on going for'ard?" Anderson was silent for a moment. "Well, if I may be so bold as to ask, madam, where are you going?" he asked, with deep sarcasm in his voice. "You leave it to me, Anderson Crow. I know what I am doing." They went on for about a quarter of a mile before she spoke again. "There's only one way to turn around, and I'm taking it. How far is it to Fisher's lane?" "You can't turn her around in Fisher's lane, Eva. It's all a good-sized dog c'n do to turn around in that road." "I asked you how far is it?" "'Bout a mile an' a half." "I ain't going to turn around in Fisher's lane, Anderson. I'm going to foller it straight to the Britton toll-road, and then I'm going to turn into that and head for Tinkletown. That's how I'm going to turn this plagued car around." "Well, of all the--why, geminently, Eva, it's--it's nigh onto nine mile. You shorely can't be such a fool as to--" "I'm going to turn this car around if it takes twenty miles," she said firmly. There was another long, intense silence.