The line of wreck was clearly marked along its northern line but the hills shut off our view to the west.  The road to Pine Top was one mass of trunks and twisted limbs.  For some distance in the other direction there was no forest to the right, and so far as we could see the road was clear.

At first glance I thought the touring car a total wreck.  It had been lifted and hurled on its side against a partially dismantled stone wall.  It was half hidden by a large branch of a tree, and its rear wheels were buried in mud and debris.

As we stood silent and awe-stricken amid this manifestation of the insignificance of man, the sun blazed forth from behind a laggard cloud.  The effect was theatrical.  It was like throwing the limelight on the scene which marks the climax of some tense situation.  Instinctively we lifted our arms and cheered for sheer joy.

“What care we for wrecked automobiles and wet clothes?” I shouted.  “We live, we live!”

“It is good to live,” she cried; “it is splendid to live!”

We smilingly saluted His Majesty the sun once again, and then returned to earth.

“What shall we do?” Miss Harding asked.

My most vivid impression of this charming young woman at that instant was that her shoes gave forth a “chugging” sound as she walked, convincing aural evidence that their spare spaces were occupied with water.  I also recall that her hat was a limp and bedraggled wreck from being jammed for an hour or more against the roof of the culvert.

“I don’t know,” I frankly admitted.  “It is certain we cannot take this road to Pine Top.  I have an idea that our back track is clear.  I suggest that I proceed to ascertain if this machine is dead beyond hope of resurrection.  If it isn’t we’ll take it back to civilisation.  If it is we’ll abandon it and walk.”

“It is now half past three o’clock,” she said, looking at her watch.  “Even if we are late in getting to Oak Cliff we must go there if possible, for I know papa will wait for us and be worried if we do not come.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” I said, hesitating a moment and vainly attempting to think of some discreet way in which to express what was on my mind.

“It will take some time,” I finally said, “and in the meanwhile you had better—­you had better—­”

“Oh, I’m going to,” she laughed, and before I could look up she was on her way to the sunny side of the embankment on the further approach of the culvert.  Ten minutes later I turned and saw her a few paces away silently watching me, and the same glance revealed a pair of dainty shoes on the top rail of the old bridge, and I presume that in some place was a pair of stockings so disposed as to give Sol’s rays a fair chance to do their most effective work.

“I think I can fix it inside of an hour,” I said.

“That will be splendid!” she exclaimed.

The sun was blistering hot and I worked like a Trojan, but again was it my fate to disappoint her.  The working parts were clogged with sand and mud, and I had underestimated the magnitude of my task.  I know now that our best course would have been to abandon the machine and to walk to Pine Top, but perhaps what happened was just as well.