“Got ’em on, but that’s all the good it does,” responded the truckman. “I’m afraid we’re goners, boys! Get ready to jump when you see the water. Whoa, there! Whoa!” he called in vain to the horses, who were still madly galloping down the hill.
“I guess it’s all up with the Dartaway,” murmured Jerry, as he pressed his shoulder against the craft.
[CHAPTER VIII]
DOWN THE ALLEGHANY
The truckman was bracing himself in his seat, with his foot on the brake, trying his best to check the speed of the big wagon. As for the horses, he could do nothing with them, since, as he said, to pull on the unbroken rein would only be to send the steeds floundering into the ditch that bordered the road on either side. That is, providing the animals answered the pull.
“Can you hold the boat?” cried the truck-owner, giving a glance over his shoulder at the men and boys.
“We’re—trying!” gasped Bob, whose face was red from the effort he was making. Ned and Jerry, too, as well as the men, were doing their best.
“There’s the canal, just ahead!” observed one man.
Jerry had a glimpse of water sparkling in the rays of the sun. The road was now almost level, but the horses had not slackened their speed. Just where the canal came to an end, the highway curved abruptly, and it was not hard to guess what would happen if the runaways were not checked.