"I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw us both into the ditch."
"If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged.
"We'll catch up with them first."
"Then you'll do what I say?"
"Yes," she made the bargain.
"There are their tracks!" he pointed for her.
The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw in the bright flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven, had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the pattern of the tires.
"How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him.
"I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine."
"Who are they?"