When the equipage was almost up to us we saw that the team was being driven by a man, and that there were no ladies. We would ask for a ride. We stepped into the road and threw up our hands, signaling him to stop. The driver was smoking his pipe, but as the team halted he opened his mouth, letting the pipe fall to the ground.
Then he sprang to the ground, grasped his hat in his hand, and ran back down the road as fast as possible. His limbs were very badly bowed.
“What a ridiculous thing to do!” exclaimed Middleton. “Abandon his equipage in this manner before we have an opportunity to question him. What will we do, Pettingill?”
“We will drive on. No doubt the team will take us some place. It is reasonable to suppose that a road leads to something. I hope we will eventually arrive at some place where a physician resides.”
We climbed in, and Middleton took charge of the lines. It was much better than walking, although neither of us could occupy the seat. All went well until we came to a steep hill, where the horses seemed unable to check the speed of the wagon. I spoke sharply to Middleton about our speed, and he rudely replied:
“Oh, go to ——! If you’re going to be a shepherd, be a regular one—dang it!” I fear that Middleton would soon acquire a profane vocabulary. Somehow we seemed to lose the road. I spoke to Middleton about it, thinking he did not know, and he shouted in my ear—
“Go get it if you want it—you danged pelican!”
I pondered over his apparent rudeness, and the next instant the team seemed to be taking us straight over a sharp pitch, the wagon swaying sharply as it crashed over rocks and brush. I caught a glimpse of the bottom of another abandoned water-course, and then, with a lurching crash, I was hurled into oblivion.
I dreamed of lying under a plashing fountain, and as I opened my eyes I looked up at Dirty Shirt, who was pouring water into my face from his large hat. I heard Ike’s voice say:
“This old pelican ain’t dead, Dirty. He just spat out another tooth.”