Carey was very angry. He thought he knew now how men felt that wanted to kill some one. Clytie was a girl, and he couldn’t strike her; but she had exceeded all a woman’s privileges. He gripped her arm roughly, and pushed her back into the seat, threw himself between the two unidentified ones in the middle seat, and projected his body upon the man who was driving, seizing the wheel and attempting to turn the car around. The driver was taken unexpectedly, and the car almost ran into the fence, one wheel lurching down into the ditch. The girls set up a horrible screaming. The car was stopped just in time, and a terrific fight began in the front seat. “Now, just for this, Carey Copley, we’ll get you dead drunk and take you back to your old Chrisshun ’deavor. That’s what we were going to do, anyway; only we weren’t going to tell you beforehand—get you dead drunk and take you back to your little baby-faced, yella-haired Gracie-girl. _Then_ I guess she’d have anything more to do with you? I guess anyhow _not_!” Clytie’s voice rang out loud and clear above the din, followed by the crash of glass as somebody smashed against the wind-shield. This was what Maxwell heard as he stole noiselessly upon the dark car, running down a slight grade with his engine shut off. He stopped his car a rod away, and dropped silently to the ground while Harry, like a smaller shadow, dropped from the back, stole around the other side of the car, and hid in the shadows next the fence. “What was that?” warned Clytie suddenly. “Grace, didn’t you hear something? Say, boys, we oughtta be gettin’ on. Somebody ’ll be onto our taking this car, and come after us; then it’ll be good-night for us. Don’t fool with that kid any longer. Give him a knockout, and stow him down in the bottom of the car. We can bring him to when we get to a safe place. Cheese it, there! Cheese it!” Harry, watching alertly, saw Maxwell spring suddenly on the other side; and, stealing close with the velvet tread of a cat, he sprang to the running-board on his side, and, jumping, flung his arms tightly about the neck of the front-seat man next him, hanging back with his fingers locked around the fellow’s throat, and dragging his whole lusty young weight to the ground. There was nothing for his man to do but follow, struggling, spluttering, and trying to grasp something, till he sprawled at length upon the grass, unable, for the moment, in his bewilderment to determine just what had hold of him. Maxwell on his side had gripped the driver, and pulled him out, not altogether sure but it might be Carey, but knowing that the best he could do was to get some one before the car started again. The unexpectedness of the attack from the outside wrought confusion and panic in the car, and gave Maxwell a moment’s vantage.