Farther back on the route Andy had felt the wagon collide with curbs and with other vehicles. Once there was a crash and a yell, and he felt sure they had taken a wheel off a rig they passed. Now, however, they appeared to be quite clear of the town proper.
The road ahead was a slanting one. A steep grade fully half-a-mile long led to a stone bridge crossing a river. It was so steep that Andy wondered that Lute did not stumble. The wagon wheels ground and slid so that the vehicle lifted at the rear, as if its own momentum would cause a sudden tip-over.
"We'll never reach the bottom of the hill," decided Andy. "My! we're going!"
He shouted out words of direction to the horse he had heard Ripley employ. Lute did not hear, at least did not heed. Andy remembered now that in stopping the horse Ripley had used the reins.
He held his breath as, striking a rut, the wagon bounded up in the air. He clung for dear life, with one hand clutching the ventilator bars as the vehicle was flung sideways over ten feet, threatening to snap off the wheels, which bent and cracked on their axles at the terrific strain.
Contrary to Andy's anticipations they neared the bottom of the hill without a mishap. Suddenly, however, he gave a shout. A new danger threatened.
The bridge had large stone posts where it began. Then a frail wooden railing was its only side protection. The roadway was not very broad. Two full loads of hay could never have passed one another on that bridge.
"There's a team coming," breathed Andy. "We'll collide, sure. Whoa! whoa!" he yelled through the grating. "No use. It's a smash, and a bad one."
Andy fixed a distressed glance on the team half-way across the bridge. A collision was inevitable. Lute, striking the level, only increased her already terrific rate of speed.
Andy took heart, however, as she swerved to one side.