“Take a grip and hang tight,” said Steve, flicking the horses again.
“Why—are you—in such a hurry?” she jerked out as they bumped and rattled down the slope.
“Oh, this isn’t hurrying,” he assured her easily. “Just a fair pace. I like moving fast as the horses can with comfort. It’ll be slow enough jogging across the flats.”
She said no more till they caught up Blazes and the cart.
“Shake ’em up, Blazey,” he shouted cheerily. “We’ll go on and tell ’em you’re coming. Pull in and give us room to pass.”
“There isn’t room to pass here, surely,” said Ess in alarm, looking at the steep slope below the road, and the bank above it.
“I think so,” said Steve, casually. “We’ll see,” and he laid the whip across the horse’s flanks. They shaved past the cart wheels by a bare inch or two, and on the other side their wheels scraped along the very edge, grinding and rasping and actually dipping over the edge for a few yards. The buggy tilted sharply, but almost before Ess could make a frantic clutch at the sides, they were past the cart, and rattling down the road again.
“After that I think you might almost compliment me on my seat—in a buggy,” she said, demurely.
He looked at her and laughed out loud, but in a moment dropped again to seriousness.
“I didn’t half thank you for that last night,” he said. “It was really plucky as well as kind—”