“Here’s where they went over,” said Brick rather shakily, pointing at the wheel tracks, which had cut deeply into the outer edge of the road.
They could see where the stage had torn into the dirt of the side-hill, like the gash of plow-shares.
“My !” gasped Harp. “They tore plumb down through that brush! I’ll betcha they went clear to the bottom of the cañon.”
They dropped their bridle-reins and began the descent. The going was rough and the hill so steep that they were forced to cling to the rocks and brush. Down they went through the brush, following the marks of the stage.
A smashed wheel, driven into the side of a pine-tree, was the first evidence of the crash. Then a dead horse, upside down in a tangle of laurel, its harness stripped from its body. Beyond that was another horse and the wreck of the stage. It had turned over and crashed into a tree, splintering the body. There was no sign of the other two wheels.
Brick and Harp stood silently, gazing at the wreckage.
“Good , what a smash!” breathed Brick. “They must have fell two hundred feet. C’mon.”
They moved down to the stage. Just beyond it, huddled in a bush, they found Baldy Malloy. His clothes were almost torn from his body, and it did not take an expert to tell that Baldy had made his last trip.
“Poor ,” said Brick sadly. “He stayed with her until they hit the tree. But where is Whizzer?”
“That’s right,” nodded Harp. “The kid was with him.”