"And my best duds, too!" Jean groaned.
A quarter of a mile ahead there was the wreck of an abandoned shack which might suffice to keep Jean dry, and Angus sent his team into their collars; but they had not covered half the distance when with a hissing rush the gray barrier was upon them. And it was not rain, but hail!
The stones varied in size from that of buckshot to robin's eggs. Under the bombardment the dust puffed from the trail. The horses leaped and swerved at the pelting punishment, refusing to face it.
"Throw the lap-robe over your head," Angus told Jean, and thereafter was occupied exclusively with his team.
The colts swung around, cramping the wheel, almost upsetting the rig. Angus avoided a capsize by a liberal use of the whip, but with the punishment and the sting and batter of the icy pellets the animals were frantic. They began to run.
Not being able to help it, Angus let them go, having confidence in his harness and rig. Just there the road was good, without steep grades or sharp turns. He let them run for half a mile under a steady pull, and then after reminding them of their duty by the whip, he began to saw them down. Inside a few hundred yards he had them under control, and pulled them, quivering and all a-jump, under the shelter of two giant, bushy firs.
There Jean, peeping from beneath the robe, saw her brother by the colts' heads.
"Thanks for the ride!" she observed with mild sarcasm. Angus stiffened arm and body against a sudden lunge.
"Stand still, you!" he commanded, "or I'll club you till you'll be glad to!" And to Jean: "They wouldn't face it, and I don't blame them. I thought we were over once."
"Some hail!" Jean commented. "I never saw anything like it."