ller'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!"

"All right. What is it?" inquired Mrs. Crow.

A couple of non-commissioned officers joined the sentry at this moment.
They were but half dressed