Dixie turned to the machine.
"I can't hurry—and put this tire on too."
"Then you'll take me to Richmond?"
"If you can help me get this tire on."
"I can't help much, but I can hold the tire for you."
Dixie nodded. She rolled out the extra tire and the work progressed. Now and then Dixie reached in her pocket, and one less intent on the work in hand would have caught the sound of a racheted surface being opened. But Dollings' senses dulled by pain and anxiety did not notice.
The tire was on the wheel. Dixie rolled out the old tire to place it in position and gave it to Dollings to hold. He leaned on it, his gaze turned up the road toward the burning town. Dixie gazed up toward the rising column of smoke and sparks too, and thought of the destruction and sorrow and suffering it meant. Then very quietly she crept forward toward Dollings. His hands rested close together on the tire. He was not noticing her. She leaned over the tire and with a sharp snap slipped the handcuffs about his wrists. Dollings sprang at her with a snarl but faced the steeling glitter of a revolver.
"Put that tire back on the machine!" she ordered tersely.
He hesitated. "Go on," she urged, "And if there is any doubt in your mind about this gun holding real bullets I'll show you that it does."
He obeyed her grudgingly and with real difficulty. If Dixie felt a tinge of pity shoot through her she had but to let her thought revert to Hopewell and Instruction Number Four and Dollings' part in it to stifle it.