Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the sky was almost as bright as at noon.
“Mind yourself here,” shouted Fred, looking back at Grant, who was almost asleep.
“Hallo! oh, all right!” cried Grant, gathering up the reins and attempting to drive. Fortunately for him Norwegian ponies need no driving. They are trained to look after themselves. Fred went down the hill at a canter. Grant followed at a spanking trot, and both of them reached the bridge, and made the turn in safety.
Sam Sorrel was some distance behind. Both he and his shooscarle were sitting bolt-upright, more than half-asleep, with the reins hanging loose on the pony’s back. The first thing that awakened Sam was the feeling of going down hill like a locomotive engine. Rousing himself, he seized the reins, and tried to check the pony. This only confused it, and made it run the cariole so near to the edge of the river, that they were almost upset into it.
When Sam became fully aware of his position, he opened his eyes, pursed his lips, and prepared for “squalls.” Not being a practised driver, he did not make sufficient allowance for a large stone which had fallen from the cliffs, and lay on the road. He saw what was coming, and gathered himself up for a smash; but the tough little cariole took it as an Irish hunter takes a stone wall. There was a tremendous crash. Sam’s teeth came together with a snap, and the shooscarle uttered a roar; no wonder, poor fellow, for his seat being over the axle, and having no spring to it, the shock which he received must have been absolutely shocking! However, they got over that without damage, and the river was crossed by all three in safety.
The next hill they came to was a still worse one. When they were half-way down the leader came to a sudden halt; Grant’s cariole almost ran over it; Sam and the luggage-cart pulled up just in time, and so, from front to rear, they were jammed up into the smallest space they could occupy.
“Hallo! what’s wrong?” shouted Grant.
“Oh! nothing, only a trace or something broken,” replied Fred. “Mend it in a minute.”
It was mended in a minute, and away they went again on their reckless course over hill and dale.
The mending of the trace was a simple affair. The harness of each pony consisted of nothing more than the reins, a wooden collar, and a wooden saddle. The shafts were fastened to the collar by means of an iron pin, and this pin was secured in its place by a green withe or birch-bough twisted in a peculiar manner, so as to resemble a piece of rope. This was the only part of the harness that could break, so that when an accident of the kind occurred the driver had only to step into the woods and cut a new one. It is a rough-and-ready style of thing, but well suited to the rough country and the simple people of Norway.