Anderson Crow, Detective Part 4
If I'd been along with that posse, we'd 'a' had 'em sure by this time, but--oh, well, there ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk."
In due time they came to Fisher's lane. Mrs. Crow made a very sharp but triumphant turn, and the second leg of the course was before them. Half an hour later the valiant machine sneaked out of the narrow byway into the Britton pike and pointed its nose homeward.
"Let her out a little, Eva," said Anderson, taking a long breath. "It's four mile to town, an'--"
"Oh, goodness!" squeaked the driver, giving the wheel a perilous twist.
"Look! There comes a car behind us. Help! They'll run into us!
They'll--"
"Pull off to the side of the road--no, this side! Gosh! Hurry up, Eva.
They're comin' like greased lightnin'! Look out! Not too fer over!
There's a ditch alongside--"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the wild shriek of a siren, shriek after shriek succeeding each other as a big car, with far-reaching acetylene lamps, roared down upon them. Like a mighty whirlwind it swept by them, careening perilously on the sloping edge of the road. Suddenly the grinding of brakes a.s.sailed the ears of the thanksgiving Crows, and to their astonishment the big machine came to a standstill a hundred yards or more down the road. Mrs. Crow promptly "put on" the accelerator, and but for a vehement warning from her husband would have gone full tilt into the rear end of the mighty stranger. She managed to stop the little car when its faithful nose was not more than two yards from the little red light ahead.
"Hey, Ford!" called out a man who had arisen in the tonneau of the big car and was looking back at them.
"Hey, yourself!" responded Anderson.
"Is this the road to Albany?"
"No, it ain't."
"We've lost our way. Where does this road take us?"
"Into the city of Tinkletown."
Three or four voices in the car were guilty of saying things in the presence of a lady.
"Well, where in h.e.l.l are we?" demanded the spokesman.
"You ain't in h.e.l.l yet, but you will be pretty soon if you keep up that reckless driving, lemme tell you that."
"Where do we get the Albany road?" called out another voice from the car.
"The quickest way is to go into Tinkletown an' take the first turn to the left after--"
"But we don't want to go to Tinkletown, you d.a.m.ned old hayseed. We--"
"Shut up, Joe!" cried one of the men. "He's excited, Mister. His wife's sick, and we're trying to get him home before she--before she croaks."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Mrs. Crow before Anderson could speak. She also kicked him violently on the ankle-bone. "The quickest way to get to the Albany road," she went on, "is by cuttin' through back of Cole's sawmill an' crossin' the river at Goose's Ferry. That's about seven miles from here. Take the first lane to your left, half a mile further on."
"Much obliged, ma'am."
"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 pa.s.s. 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 h.e.l.l 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.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _"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 hoa.r.s.e 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.