“Say! that was a stiff jolt Little Mum gave him,” whispered Ned to Dorothy.
“And did you see his face?” returned Dorothy. “I—I am really afraid of that man.”
“Ah, pshaw! no reason for being afraid,” returned Ned, confidently. “I guess nothing will ever happen to mother, with me and Nat along.”
The trunks and bags had been strapped on the rack behind the coach, or thrown into its interior. The whole party—even Aunt Winnie—had elected to ride on the roof of the vehicle.
There was room beside the driver for only John Dempsey, but in two wide, low seats fastened to the roof behind the driver, was room for the remainder of the party. Aunt Winnie, with Dorothy and Tavia on either side of her, sat on the more forward of these seats, while Ned and Nat lolled on the one behind.
“If we only had a horn now, we’d be fixed for this tallyho ride,” said Nat.
“But, goodness gracious!” gasped Tavia, peering down over the iron arm of her seat. “Suppose we should fall off?”
“That isn’t what you climbed up here for,” advised Dorothy. “Do be careful, Tavia.”
At that moment the Mexican saw that all was free and clear, and he lifted the reins. His long whiplash writhed over the leaders’ ears, and cracked like a pistol shot. The half-wild mustangs leaped against their collars.
“Oh—dear—me!” gasped Aunt Winnie. “We shall certainly be shaken off.”