"See, Master Dick, there's no post-boy," cried my companion. "It's a runaway!"
Now, not fifty yards beyond where we stood was a very steep hill, and I knew that if the horses took the chaise down that hill at the pace they were going, a serious accident would be the almost inevitable result—nothing short of a miracle could prevent it. To stop the horses before they reached the hill would be a risky job, but in my present mood I cared very little about risk to life or limb, and so determined to make the attempt.
"Harry, lad, I shall try to stop them."
"Right, sir, I'm with you," was the prompt reply. "You take the near horse and I'll go for the off. Come on, sir."
We moved a few yards up the road, and the moment the horses came abreast of us we made a dash at them. Running by the near horse's head, I managed to catch his bridle close by the bit; at the same time throwing my right arm over his withers, I got a firm grip of the collar, and hung on like grim death. Harry was equally fortunate, and, after being dragged a short distance, we succeeded in bringing the runaways to a standstill, just as they reached the brow of the hill. As soon as the horses stopped the door of the chaise was flung open, and a gentleman, wearing an undress cavalry uniform, jumped out.
"Splendidly done, lads!" he exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You have undoubtedly saved me from a serious, if not fatal accident, and I thank you heartily. You're not hurt, I hope?"
"A bit shaken, that's all, thank you, sir," I answered. "Are you all right, Harry?"
"Yes, Master Dick. 'Twas a near thing, though! Another ten yards, and we'd gone full tear down the hill."
"I am Major Warrington, of the 14th Light Dragoons," said the officer, shaking me warmly by the hand. "May I ask your name, young gentleman, and that of your—your companion?"