No such thing as stopping them.
And now, as they whirled along, even Dab's face paled a little.
"I must reach the bridge before he does. He's just stupid enough to keep right on."
And it was very stupid indeed for the driver of that one-horse "truck wagon" to try and reach the narrow little unrailed bridge first. It was an old, used-up sort of a bridge, at best.
Dab loosened the reins a little, but could not use his whip.
"Why can't he stop!"
It was a moment of breathless anxiety, but the wagoner kept stolidly on. There would be barely room to pass him on the road itself; none at all on the narrow bridge.
The ponies did it.
They seemed to put on an extra touch of speed, on their own account, just then.
There was a rattle, a faint crash, and then, as the wheels of the two vehicles almost grazed one another in passing, Ford shouted: