“Can’t be much rougher than this,” grinned his brother, but nevertheless he drew in the blacks and, bracing himself, reined into the brush beside the brook.
Not a whit did the horses relish forcing their way through the young growth, and fortunate it was for the boys that they were well trained, as Ted managed them more by speaking to them than by the reins.
With the wagon pitching and tossing, now one side up so high it was in danger of tipping over, then the other, the horses plunged ahead until they came to a heavy growth of trees so close together that even the boys, inexperienced as they were, realized that the wagon could never pass between them.
“We’re in a pretty fix, now,” exclaimed Phil, as the blacks stopped of their own accord. “I suppose we shall have to cut down some of those trees before we can go any farther. And from the looks of them, it will be night before we do it. I think Andy should have stayed with us. He must have known we couldn’t drive home.”
“And I’m going to show him we can,” returned Ted, taking a fresh grip on the reins and bracing his feet carefully.
“How?”
“Just sit tight and don’t ask questions.” And before Phil could say another word, the boy started the horses, reining them sharply to one side, straight for the brook.
“Hold on! Stop! Are you crazy?” demanded his brother, reaching for the reins.
“You keep quiet, now,” retorted Ted. “We rode down the brook, didn’t we? Well, I happened to notice its bed was almost level, so—”
But the blacks put a stop to his words by halting at the edge of the water, snorting and plunging.