“Ah! dere!” exclaimed Le Rue.
His remark was needless, for at that moment the sleigh turned over a ledge of rock and pitched its occupants into a snow-drift.
“Killded?” gasped the Canadian, as he emerged from the snow with eyes, ears, and nostrils stuffed full; “no—not quite!”
Satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he turned abruptly to look for his companion, whose motionless legs sticking out of the drift were the only visible portions of his body.
Anxiously and swiftly did François drag his master out, and great was his relief when poor Redding looked at him with a bewildered gaze and demanded to know what had happened!
“Oh! I see, capsized,” he said, rising and pressing his hand to his brow, “I believe I must have hit my head against a stump, for I’ve been slightly stunned. However, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Not hurt, François?”
“No, Monsieur,—not fatever.”
“That’s right, lend a hand to lift the sleigh—hoop! there—jump in.”
Le Rue obeyed. The bear-rug was replaced around them, and the pony, which had stood as quiet as a lamb during the accident, started forward again.
“Voilà! von light,” exclaimed the Canadian.