The postboys pulled up. "Hello!" demanded a man's voice from inside the conveyance, "what are you stopping for?"
"We are asking one another if we ought to go on," answered one postillion with the deference to a master who had paid handsomely.
"It seems to me that I ought to be asked about that. Go ahead!"
But the rain had already made the road downward slippery.
"Please, sir, the horses won't go," said the elder postillion.
"What have you got spurs for?"
"They might be plunged rowels deep without making the balky creatures budge; may heaven exterminate me if——"
The blasphemy was not finished, as a dreadful lightning stroke cut him short. The coach was started and ran upon the horses, which had to race to save themselves from being crushed. The equipage flew down the sloping road like an arrow, skimming the precipice.
Instead of the traveler's voice coming from the vehicle, it was his head.
"You clumsy fellows will kill us all!" he said. "Bear to the left, deuce take ye!"