Three hours to Sunrise Farm, yet it was only fifteen miles. The way was not always uphill, but the descents were as hard to get over as the rising ground, and the coach rolled and shook a good deal over the rougher places.
Bye and bye they began to look down into the valleys from the steeps the horses climbed. At one place was a great horseshoe curve, around which the four steeds rattled at a smart pace, skirting a precipice, the depth of which made the girls shriek again.
“I never did see such a road,” complained Lluella.
“We saw worse at Silver Ranch—didn’t we, Ann?” demanded Ruth of the Montana girl.
“Well, this is bad enough, I should hope,” said Belle Tingley. “Lucky there is a good brake on this coach. Where’d we be——?”
As it chanced, the coach had just pitched over the brow of another ridge. Bob had been about to point out proudly the white walls of the house at Sunrise Farm which surmounted the next hill.
But there had been a rain within a week, and a hard one. Right here there was a small washout in the road, and Bob overlooked it. He did not swerve the trotting horses quickly enough, and the nigh fore-wheel dropping into this deep, deep rut.
It is true Bob became a little excited. He yelled “Whoa!” and yanked back on the lines, for the nigh leader had jumped. The girls screamed as the coach came to an abrupt stop.
The four horses were jerked back by the sudden stoppage; then, frightened, they all leaped forward together.
“Whoa, there!” yelled Bob again, trying to hold them in. Something broke and the nigh leader swung around until he was at right angles with his team-mate.