But Tish fixed him with a glittering eye, and he started the engine.
Well, he got the car backed and turned around, and we followed him through the stubble as the car bumped and rocked along. But at the edge of the creek he stopped and turned around.
“Look here,” he said. “This is suicide. This car will never do it.”
“It has just done it,” Tish replied, inexorably. “Go on.”
“I might get down, but I’ll never get up the other side.”
“Go on.”
“Tish!” Aggie cried, anguished. “He may be killed, and you’ll be responsible.”
Aggie is a sentimental creature, and the young man was very good-looking. Indeed, arriving at the brink, I myself had qualms. But Tish has a will of iron, and was, besides, still rankling with insult. She merely glued her eye again to the sight of the gun on my shoulder, and said:
“Go on!”
Well, he got the car down somehow or other, but nothing would make it climb the other side. It would go up a few feet and then slide back. And at last Tish herself saw that it was hopeless, and told him to turn and go down the creek bed.