“He couldn’t have gone far in this direction,” muttered the freight agent ruefully. “Why, it is enough to break the springs of any wagon ever made.”
“My idea is that he had an object in coming down here,” responded Andy thoughtfully. “Is there any sort of bridge in the neighborhood?”
The agent shook his head.
“No.”
“Or a place where the river might be forded?”
“Not now. The heavy rains have swollen the stream, as you can see. In real dry weather he might find a place to ford.”
“Well, it’s certain that if he came this way to merely get out of our reach he chose an awful way of doing it,” remarked Matt, as a sudden lurch of the wagon sent him bouncing up into the air. “This is the worst riding I’ve struck yet.”
“Worse than when Billy ran away?” questioned Andy, with a sudden gleam of humor.
“Well, hardly that,” admitted the young auctioneer. “But that wasn’t riding at all. That was a slap-bang, go-as-you-please trip, which didn’t—hullo! look there!”