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 touched each other in passing, Ford shouted,—
"The bridge is down!"
Such a narrow escape!
One of the rotten girders, never half strong enough, had given way under the sudden shock of the hinder wheels; and that truck-wagon would have to find its road across the brook as best it could.
There were more wagons to pass, as they plunged forward, and rough places in the road for Dabney to look out for; but even Joe and Fuz were now getting confidence in their driver. Before long, too, the ponies themselves began to feel that they had had enough of it. Then it was that Dab used his whip again, and the streets of the village were traversed at a rate to call for the disapprobation of all sober-minded people.
"Here we are, Ham! Greens and all."
"Did they run far, Dab?" asked Ham quietly.