We fell back and let him lead, and held our breath as he shot out of sight around the first corner at a thirty-mile pace.
When we turned the corner hoping to see Jim far away across the Skunkamunk Valley, we discovered a swath in the roadside down through the underbrush, briers and brambles nearly to the foot of the hill. At the end of the swath under an immense heap of rubbish we found Jim and his wheel, he blinking like a toad under a harrow.
OUR WASHINGTON BOULEVARD HOME IN THE DAYS WHEN THE SADDLE HORSE CRAZE WAS ON.
LEFT TO RIGHT. ALBERTA, MERRICK, BARNEY, MARY, MINNIE, ARTHUR, ARTHUR ASTRIDE THE DEACON, MY FAVORITE.
Jim groaned and grunted and finally told us he did not think he was dead, but his back was probably broken. We soon had him on his feet with his wheel righted and was pleased to learn that, with the exception of the few tufts of hair and chunks of hide left in the trail where he had slidden down, he was the same man, only his eyes were so full of gravel that he could not see.
He now proposed to take a bath in the creek in order to find out just how much skin he had left on his body. For this purpose he attempted to crawl under the barbed wire fence, into which his clothes got caught in such a way that he could neither raise up nor let down, back out or push forward, work his pants off, or keep his shirt on.
When we began to laugh and roar, Jim began to swear and cry, and said if we would go on about our own business he would get out and come home when he got good and ready.
Now there were only three of us, and Arthur lit out, leaving Walton and myself to come as fast as we could. We got into a mixup and both took headers over our wheels, when we sung out to Arthur to come back and help us.