t to me. I wish no assistance
from the man who turns off his poor workmen without excuse or warning,
and brings want and trouble upon the community. It was like striking
them in the face. And then you break your promise not to bring in
other workmen!"

As she had said, she did not lack courage. Her words gushed forth in a
torrent, as if an expression of pent up and outraged justice,
disclosing a fervent sympathy and a fine zeal--and, likewise, a fine
ignorance of the facts.

"Well, why don't you say something?" she added, when he gave no
indication of replying.

Steele could have smiled at this feminine view of the matter that
violent assertions required affirmations or denials.

"What am I supposed to say?" he asked.

Apparently that exhausted her patience.

"You'll please molest me no longer," she stated, icily.

"Very well."

He raised the hood and inspected the engine. During his attempts to
start it, she sat nonchalantly humming an air and gazing at the
mountains as if her mind were a thousand miles away--which it was
not.

"Something wrong; it will have to be hauled in," said he finally.

No reply. Steele returned to his own car and descending into the creek
bed worked his way around her. When he was on the far bank, he
rejoined her again, carrying a coil of rope. One end of this he
fastened securely to the rear axle of her runabout.

"What are you going to do, sir?" she demanded, whirling about on her
seat and glaring angrily.

"Drag you out."

"You'll do nothing of the kind!"

"Oh, yes," was his calm response.

"Against my wishes, sir?"

"Certainly."

"This is abominable!"

"Perhaps."

"I'll put on the brakes." And put them on she did, with a savage
jerk.

But nevertheless Weir's powerful machine drew her car slowly up out of
the creek upon the road, where he forced it about until it pointed
towards San Mateo. Then he retied the rope on the front axle.

"Now for town," said he.

"Why did you haul me out of there, I demand to know?"

"Why? Because you were a public obstruction blocking traffic. If you
had remained there long enough you would have become a public
nuisance; and it's the duty of every citizen to abate nuisances. No
one would call you a nuisance, of course,--not to your face, at any
rate. But travelers might have felt some annoyance if compelled to
drive around you; they might even have had you arrested when they
learned you were acting out of willful stubbornness."