Dan Varick's grip on Jim Delany would have brought a yell from him if he had dared to open his mouth. Jim was thinking, too, but he and all the rest were thinking the same thought.
"Fences? They're nothing but two black streaks at the side of the road. Oh dear! we'll go clean through the village. What if we should run into something!"
They held on like good fellows, and made that ripper-load of boys as nearly as possible one solid mass, so that it was easier for Court Hoffman to steer. Even he, though, was beginning to have his doubts as to where they would bring up, and whether he could steer safely around the curve where the road from the West Hill crossed the main street, and met the road from the East that led over the bridge.
The speed was awful! No express train ever went faster, and a race-horse would have been passed as if he were standing still.
Danger in it? Of course there was, and the lives of all of them depended upon the nerve and pluck of Court Hoffman, and the skill he might show in getting around the curve. Yes, and on whether or not there should be a clear road, or a stray team or cow or human being to run against.
It was a terrible risk to run, and all the boys left on the hill were glad they had let somebody else try the first ride on the ripper.
Before the beginning of that swift, perilous dash, however, Rod Sanderson and the East Side boys had completed their preparations. Some of them had to get off and push to get the old sleigh started, and only one of these managed to get on again. Three more jumped off before the "whopper," as Rodney called her, had gone ten rods, and it may have been because they had doubts as to where she would fetch up.
"She just steers lovely," remarked Put Willoughby, as he noticed how Rod Sanderson was straining at the long handle of his rudder.
"She's beginning to go faster!"
"She's a-gaining!"