"I can turn this side of the track," said Bonfire doggedly.
"All right," decided Barrett. "I'm ready."
So, it seemed, were the raggedy-taggedy youngsters. Bonfire braced his feet on the crossbar and gripped the steering lines. Another left-over boy, not the same one this time, pushed them off.
"Clear!" he shouted the warning down the road after them. "Clear for coasters!"
Halfway down the slide, round the first bend, the long bobsled spun into a straightaway that was partially blocked. A heavy wagon on runners seemed to occupy the entire road. Bonfire saw it instantly. There was a chance—just a bare, scant chance—that he might steer by on the right, grazing the ponderous wagon. But there would be only a foot or two to spare, and at the terrific speed they were traveling a collision might mean serious accident.
His quick eye told him something else, too. On either side of the road, the snow was banked high in great cushions. He made his decision instantly. Jerking desperately on one line, he steered the bob off its course and into the drift, turning it completely over and spilling its human load into the soft mattress of snow.
Nobody was hurt in the least. The little fellows picked themselves up, righted the long sled, and dragged it back into the road. Two or three of them stared solemnly at Bonfire, but only Jimmie White ventured any comment.
"A good steerer could have slipped past that wagon, I guess," he said slowly. "Your—friend here could."
Bonfire shut his lips tightly. What was the use? Perhaps, after all, he had been too cautious. It didn't matter much now, one way or the other, for he knew very well what Peter Barrett was thinking of him.