There is a distinction between tribute-levy and vandalism. Mr. Connors left letters and papers undisturbed, taking only currency and articles of intrinsic value. Then, as they stood, with Mr. Connors unostentatiously in the shadow and the other gentleman in the full glare of the acetylene lamps, hands high and his pockets inverted, they heard a somewhat startled exclamation in the road. A young woman emerged suddenly from behind the car, carrying a bucket of water. The tableau had not greeted her eyes until she reached a point where the screening framework ceased to screen. Then it appeared to interest her greatly. “Lady,” said Mr. Connors steadily, the pistol muzzle never wavering, “or ladies an’ gents, if dere’s a bunch of youse—please come round here an’ get in line an’ put your hands up. If anybody makes a false move, I croaks dis gent, an’ dat goes, see?” The lady came forward and took up her station by the side of the man. In order to raise her hands she had to set down the canvas bucket with which she was burdened. Standing in the acetylene spotlight the young woman struck Mr. Connors as supremely beautiful. He deplored the necessity of keeping her in a prisoner’s attitude and he admired the calm with which she endured the compulsion. Her eyes even seemed to be dancing a trifle as she looked at the somewhat abject Mr. Burrow. “Please, Mr. Highwayman,” she naïvely requested, “would you mind if I poured some water into the radiator?” She added reassuringly: “It will keep both hands quite busy. The machine can’t go on until we do that, you know, and we’d like to get home—when you are entirely through with us.” Mr. Connors considered the proposition. “Go as far as yer like, lady,” he assented at last. “But let dis gent keep close ernuff fer me ter watch youse both. If his hands comes down, I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt somebody, see?” As the young woman lifted the full bucket with a surprising strength for such slender arms, the gentleman assured her that he regretted his inability to assist. The young lady laughed. “Dat will be about all fer dis part of de job,” said Mr. Connors. “Now fer the ambulance.” “The what?” questioned the young woman. “I’se sorry ter trouble yer, lady,” apologized Mr. Connors, “but it’s like dis: Dere’s a guy up de railroad track w’at’s got a busted slat. I’se got ter borrow your benzine-buggy ter take him ter a doctor.” “Now see here, you infernal pirate!” The gentleman took one belligerent step forward and halted abruptly as he recognized how close it brought him to the ominous muzzle. “You’re asking too much!” “Me?” questioned Mr. Connors in an injured tone. “I ain’t askin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ yer w’at I wants done, an’ yer don’t need ter git fresh about it, see?” “Is there really an injured man? Is this true?” asked the lady. Evidently she was willing to be reasonable.