“Lemme go!” screamed the would-be driver, and tried to shake his companion off; but Jerry Nickerson made another clutch for the reins, and a fierce struggle ensued, in the midst of which the ponies took fright, and began to tear down the highway at their best speed.
Gilbert could do nothing to stop the runaway team; and, as the high cart bounced past, he fully expected to see the two young men thrown out and killed. The reins fell upon the ponies’ heels, and then Jerry Nickerson clutched the seat for safety. Nuggy Polk was thrown over backward, into the rear of the cart, and came to the ground with a splash just as the turnout went through a mud puddle six inches deep.
“Help! save me!” roared the young man, bellowing like a bull. “Don’t let the hosses kick me to death!”
He continued to bellow and splash around in the mud until Gilbert, dismounting, went to his assistance. “You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up,” said the young lieutenant.
“You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up.”
“All right? Do I want to be kicked to death?” demanded Nuggy Polk, as he sat up, and dug the mud from his eyes.
“You’ll not be kicked to death. You landed in a soft spot, so I reckon there are no bones broken.”
“But the hosses—”
“Your ponies and cart are half a mile from here by this time. They went off like a streak of lightning.”