CHAPTER II
THE RUNAWAY
At the point where the coach was moving when Teddy’s hit caused all the trouble the road wound down hill at a gentle incline. A few rods further on, however, it became steep, and here it was the custom of every careful driver to gather up the reins and press his foot on the brake, to keep his wagon from crowding too closely on the heels of his horses.
If old Jed Muggs, the driver of the coach, had been able to get his charges under control before they reached the steeper portion of the hill, he might have saved the day. But he had had very little experience with runaways, and it had never entered his mind that the sober old team he drove would ever have spirit enough to take the bit in their teeth and bolt. That they might some day drop in their shafts and die of old age would have struck him as likely enough. But here they were, running like colts, and the shock of it was too much for him.
He grabbed wildly at the reins that had been hanging loosely over the horses’ backs.
“Stop! Whoa, consarn yer!” he yelled, half standing up as he sawed wildly with the reins. “Burn yer old hides! what in Sam Hill’s got inter yer? Whoa, whoa!”
He was agitated through and through, and his wild yells and feeble handling of the reins only made the frightened brutes go faster and faster.
Inside the coach, the passenger was holding on for dear life, as the coach bumped and swayed from side to side of the road.
“Stop them, pull them in!” he shouted, and put out his hand to grasp Jed’s arm.
The driver shook him off with a savage snarl.
“Leave me alone,” he snapped. “What d’yer suppose I’m doin’, encouragin’ ’em?”