The ripper made a sudden dash forward, down a steeper incline, faster, faster. And there was no need to tell the young-lady passengers to hold their breaths: that seemed the most natural thing in all the world to do.
There never was a more slippery crust, and the ripper almost seemed to know it.
Faster, faster, shooting down the steep slopes, and spinning across the level reaches; and all the while there was Vosh Stebbins bracing himself firmly, as he clung to the long arms of his rudder.
It was well he could guide so perfectly, for the gaps in the fences were none too wide, after all; and if he and his cargo should happen to miss one of these, and be dashed against a fence—It was altogether too dreadful to think of, and there was no time to think of it.
The cargo had great confidence in their "engineer and pilot," as Port had called him before starting, and they had more after they shot through the first gap.
The wind whistled by their ears. The country on either side was but a streak of white. Nobody could guess how fast they were going now.
"There's the village!" gasped Port.
"The river!" whispered Pen.
"O Vosh!" began Susie, as they shot into what she saw was a road lined with streaks of houses and fences.
Before she could think of another word, they were out on the ice of the little stream, and a skilful twist of the rudder sent them down it instead of across. In a moment more they were slipping smoothly along over the wind-swept surface of the frozen mill-pond; and the ripper had lost so much of its impetus, that there was no difficulty in bringing it to a standstill.