He drew the bridles at a sharp, taut slant that must have cut their mouths fearfully at the tenderest part, for they fairly screamed with pain and terror.
He succeeded in facing them sideways, ran their heads into some brush, vaulted over them, and, landing safely on his feet in front of them, grabbed them near the bits and held them snorting and trembling at a standstill.
Then he unshipped one of the lines and tied it around a sapling, stroked the horse's heads, and succeeded in quieting them down.
Going back to the road, he discerned Colonel Harrington sitting up rubbing his head and staring about abstractedly.
Farther away was a flying excited figure. Bart recognized the disenthroned cabman. They met where the colonel sat.
"All gone to smash, I suppose!" hailed Carey.
"No, a window broken, wheels scraped a little—nothing worse," reported Bart.
"Where is the team?" panted Carey.
Bart pointed and explained, and the cabman forged ahead with a gratified snort.
"You stuck till you landed 'em," applauded Carey. "Stirling, you're nerve all through!"