Varley said, “Well, so long, you fellows!” and said it jauntily; but he was silent while he walked away from the club-house with Sam. The latter also seemed to be tongue-tied. Indeed, the pause threatened to become awkward for both of them, when Varley, with an effort, ended it.
“Great winters you have up here!” he said jerkily. “Must be no end of sport, when you get the hang of things. Can’t say I’ve quite done that yet.”
“You’ll get it quickly enough,” Sam assured him.
“Hope so,” said Varley. “I’d like——” he broke off abruptly. “Hear that? What’s happening up the street?”
Sam didn’t answer. Indeed, he had no need to do so. Like Varley, he had heard the sharp “honk, honk!” of an automobile horn rising above the jingle of sleigh-bells, and then a woman’s shriek of alarm, and the quick beat of hoofs on the icy roadway. A horse, drawing a light cutter, had taken fright at a passing motor car, had got out of control of the woman who held the reins, and was making a frantic bolt. Turning, the boys had a glimpse of a wiry bay, neck outstretched, ears back, red nostrils distended; of a sleigh swaying wildly; of a woman tugging vainly at the reins.
“Runaway!” gasped Varley. Then he did the instinctive thing, and the plucky thing. The horse was very near, and coming fast. Varley sprang into the street. Promptly as he acted, though, there was a second in which his eyes were on Sam; and in that instant he had a queer impression that his companion was about to do as he was doing. But Sam suddenly appeared to change his plan, for he wheeled, and ran down the street, approaching the track of the runaway, not directly but on a long diagonal.
There flashed on Varley an ugly doubt of Sam’s courage. Then for a little he forgot everything but the galloping horse, and the part he meant to play in stopping the maddened animal. He leaped over the piled up snow lining the sidewalk, and gave a great bound for the horse’s head. He was not reckoning risk, or chances—or conditions, for that matter. It had not occurred to him that just at this point the frozen road, with its thin, greasy coating was extraordinarily slippery and treacherous under foot. He hardly realized what was happening, when, as he was about to grasp the bridle, his feet shot from under him. The shoulder of the runaway struck him. Luckily, it was only a glancing blow, but it sent him reeling back, out of danger of contact with plunging hoofs or lunging sleigh. Down he went in a heap, sorely shaken and with the breath half driven from his body; and there he lay, recovering his wits and his wind, while he watched Sam, twenty yards away, score success where he had failed.
Sam sprang much as Varley had sprung; but he caught the reins close to the bit, and was not shaken off. Not that he was able to check the runaway’s career at once—as a matter of fact, he was dragged a considerable distance. He forced the horse, though, out of the beaten track and into the deeper snow, and little by little he reduced the speed. The animal struggled hard, but Sam kept his hold. Two or three men came running up; and in a moment more the horse was at a standstill, trembling like a leaf, but again under control; his driver had been assisted from the sleigh, and was thanking Sam so warmly for his timely help that the boy, blushing hotly, was glad to beat a retreat and return to Varley, who by this time had picked himself up, and was brushing the snow from his overcoat.
“Great Scott! but that was a star job of yours!” was his greeting.
“Oh, it was just luck,” Sam answered modestly.