"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. "What the devil's the meaning of all this?" exclaimed one of them, planting himself beside the car and flashing a light in Mrs. Crow's face. "Don't you hayseeds know any better than to bust into a military camp—" His companion interrupted him. "Keep your shirt on, Bill. Didn't I hear the man say he was the marshal of Tinkletown?" "No, sir, you didn't! I said we are the marshal of Tinkletown. I—" "All right, all right. Do you happen to be chasin' a gang of joy-riders?" "We do—we are!" cried Mrs. Crow. "They zipped through this camp like a rifle-shot about ten minutes ago. They've raised a lovely row. Officer of the day bawlin' everybody out, and—Here, hold on!" "We've just got to catch them men," pleaded Mrs. Crow. "One of 'em's got a sick wife," added Anderson, "an' we've got to tell him he's on the wrong road." "Well, you just sit right where you are," spoke the top sergeant. "They'll be back this way in a few minutes. This road ends about a mile above here, and they'll have to come back. The sentries say they went through here so fast they couldn't see anything but wind." "Are you going to stop them?" cried Mrs. Crow eagerly. "We sure are," said the other non-com. "See that bunch of men forming over there? Well, they've got real guns and real bullets, and they're mad, Mrs. Marshal. You can't blame 'em." Off at one side of the road a little distance away a company of soldiers was lining up. The sharp command of an officer rang out. "Thank goodness!" cried Mrs. Crow. "Look here, Eva," said Anderson nervously. "I guess you'd better pull off to one side of the road, just in case them soldiers don't stop 'em. We're right smack in their way, an' gosh only knows where we'd land if they smashed into us. It'd
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