“Hey, look out!” yelled the officer.
Derisive shouts answered him. There was a crash, a tip over, and down the embankment went horse, wagon and passengers. The hayrack crowd indulged in mocking cat calls as if it was a great joke, and went on without anybody trying to find out what damage had been done.
The horse broke loose from the rotten old shafts of the wagon before it rolled over twice. The frame of the box cover was crushed in and the wooden end was reduced to kindling wood.
Dave was jerked free from his guardian, rope handcuff and all. He landed in a great clump of bushes, was slightly jarred, and lay there for a minute or two.
“The scoundrels!” roared the sheriff, extricating himself from a nest of brambles. “What you whining about, Warner?”
“I’ve torn my best coat all down the back, and I’ve got a lump on my head big as a goose egg.”
“How’s the prisoner?”
“Hi, whoop! That’s so, Sheriff, he’s sloped.”
“What! after all our trouble?”
That was enough to rouse up Dave. Now was his chance. Day was just breaking, but it was dark and dim down in the ditch. On hands and knees, bending down low, the boy crept along its windings. Where the road turned and the ditch followed it, he felt safe in rising to his feet and starting on a keen run.