Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she.
"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, "and shut off the current—cut the power off—stop the car!"
On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete intoxication.
"Naw—naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly purple with fury and drink. "No woman—he!—runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go on, fire me! I don't give—damn! But you don't run—car! Sit down! I run car—New York or Hell—no matter which! I—"
Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn.
Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw a momentary flash of water, far beneath.
Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the bend.
Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply round.
A skidding—a crash—a cry!
Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and gasoline-vapor, commingled.