CHAPTER XI
A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
The horses faced the wind as they struck into the Long Bridge road, and shook their heads impatiently till the bells on the harness rang again. Billy crouched a little behind Dan’s bulkier shoulder, for Dan was driving.
“Whew! some breeze this,” said the younger boy, who could not keep silent for long.
“At our backs, if we coast down Shooter’s,” said Dan.
“That’s so. But we’ll have to face it going up—and dragging the girls, too.”
“Good thing we haven’t any girls to-night, then, Billy,” said his brother.
“Huh!” grunted Billy, who was not yet in a forgiving spirit. “I hope that Barry Spink makes Lettie walk up hill every time. He looks like that sort of a fellow to me.”
“If they have iced the course,” Dan was saying, reflectively, “and with the wind blowing right down the hill, there will be some great sledding this night. Why! if we lay down a couple of lengths of the roadside fence at the bottom of the hill, we ought to be able to cross the flat and slide right out on the river!”
“Some slide!” exclaimed Billy, with enthusiasm.