"You're entirely welcome," said she, this time poking her elbow into Anderson's ribs. He grunted. "Is the road pretty good all the way?" "It's a good dirt road." "We're in a great hurry, ma'am. Is it safe to hit it up a little on the dirt-road? His wife specially wanted to see him before she died." "Perfectly safe, as long as you keep _in_ it." "Nightie!" called the spokesman, and the big car leaped forward as if suddenly unchained. "Well, of all the--" began Anderson wrathfully. "Get out and crank this car, Anderson," she broke in excitedly. "You know as well as I do that that dirt road ends at Heffner's farm. It don't go nowheres near the river. What ails you, Eva Crow? That poor feller's wife--" "Crank, I tell you!" He got out and cranked the car, grumbling all the while. As he got back in the seat beside her, he exploded: "An' what's more, there's that soldiers' camp at Green Ridge. They won't be allowed to go through it without a pass. There must be a thousand men there. They're marchin' to some'eres in America, the feller told me this mornin' when he come in at Jackson's to get some smokin' terbaccer. Camp at Green Ridge fer two days, he says, an' then--Hey! Don't drive so blamed reckless, Eva! Can't you get her under control? Put on your brakes, woman! She'll--" "Hush up, Anderson. You let me alone." The little old car was sailing along at a speed that caused every joint to rattle with joy unconfined. To Anderson's amazement, and to a certain extent consternation, Mrs. Crow swung into the dirt-road over which the big car was now whizzing a mile or so ahead. "Here! Where you going?" barked Anderson, arising from the seat. "There's going to be hell to pay before you know it, Anderson Crow," said she, her voice high and squeaky. "Wha-what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in the seat. He couldn't believe his ears. [Illustration: _"Wha--what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in the seat_] "I learned that from my predecessor in office," she replied somewhat guiltily. "I've heard you say it a million times." "But I ain't no woman. I--" "Set still! Do you want to fall out and break your neck?" And Anderson sat still, dazed and helpless in the direful presence of a woman who, to his utter horror, had gone violently insane. He began silently but urgently to pray that the gasoline would give out, when he would find himself in a position to reason with her, gently or forcibly as the situation demanded. He broke into a profuse and chilly perspiration. His wife crazy! His wife of forty years! His old comrade! He was aroused from these horrifying, sickening reflections by a hoarse but imperative word coming from nowhere out of the darkness of the road ahead. "Halt!" Mrs. Crow put on the brakes. "Who goes there?" "Friends!" faltered Mrs. Crow. "The marshal of Tinkletown," added Anderson, vastly relieved by her singularly intelligent answer. "Advance and give the countersign!"