They were almost at the end of it, and were going down a slight hill, when suddenly a dog, running out from a farmhouse, dashed at the off forward horse, and nipped its leg. The frightened animal reared, crowded its mate, and, a moment later, dashed ahead, breaking one of the reins. The next instant the team of four powerful steeds was in a wild gallop down the hill, the truck swaying from side to side in the road, and the motor boat creaking and groaning as it strained at the ropes that held it fast.
“Stop the horses!” yelled one of the men.
“We’ll have a smash-up in another minute if you don’t!” added Bob.
“The boat is slipping back again!” cried Ned. “Jerry—Bob—help hold her on! If she slips off into the road she’ll be smashed!”
The lads braced themselves against their craft to prevent it sliding off. Some of the men helped them, but, in spite of this, the terrific speed of the truck threatened to bring about the danger they were trying to avoid.
“Stop those horses, Bill!” yelled one of the men.
“I can’t!” cried the truckman. “One line is busted, and if I pull on the other I’ll run them into the ditch, and then we will be in a mess. I’ve got to let ’em run it out.”
“They’ll run us into the canal if they keep on much longer!” cried someone.
“Brace, everybody!” gasped Ned, as he felt the boat slipping nearer and nearer to the end of the truck.
“Put on the brakes!” suggested Bob.