“Come on! Hurry up!” And Pat frantically waved his arm.
“What ails ye?” he bawled. “Put your heels into her ribs.”
“Bite her ear, boy!” That was mean advice.
Old Jenny tried to respond, as the crowd yelled and her rider pummeled her with hands and feet. She galloped again—but no use. Suddenly she swayed aside, blindly; and down she pitched, all in a heap; struggled an instant, to rise; rolled over and lay stiffening right across the track. Jimmie Muldoon’s brother rolled also, but he got up.
“Oh!” cried Virgie, covering her eyes with her hands. “Jenny’s dead. I know she’s dead.”
“Come on!” exclaimed Terry. He ran; George ran; Pat ran; the crowd flocked, whooping and laughing.
“T’row her off’n the track. For the love o’ the saints, t’row her off,” panted Pat. “She’s blockin’ traffic.”
A dozen men toiled, grabbing her by the legs and head and turning her over.
“Iron! Where’s the iron!” That was the call from end o’ track.
Now the rope had been unhooked and with one-legged Dennis putting his shoulder to the load, a dozen men swarmed against the truck and began to roll it forward.