the early Christians must have worn when conducted into the arena.
“No,” he shouted. “It's”—bump—“it's all right. It'll”—bump—“work in a minute.”
“No, it won't! Jump, for Heaven's sake, jump!”
I think that Hawkins had framed a reply, but just then a particularly hard bump appeared to knock the breath out of his body. He took a better grip on the bridle and said no more.
I hardly knew what to do. Every minute brought us nearer to the town, where traffic is rather heavy all day.
Up to now we had had a clear track, but in another five minutes a collision would be almost as inevitable as the sunset.
I endeavored to recall the “First Aid to the Injured” treatment for fractured skulls and broken backs, and I thanked goodness that there would be only one auto to complete the mangling of Hawkins' remains, should they drop into the road after the smash.
Would there? I glanced backward and gasped. Others had joined the pursuit, and I was merely the vanguard of a procession.
Twenty feet to the rear loomed the black muzzle of Enos Jackson's trotter, with Jackson in his little road-cart. Behind him, three bicyclists filled up the gap between the road-cart and Dr. Brotherton's buggy.
I felt a little better at seeing Brotherton there. He set my hired man's leg two years ago, and made a splendid job.
There was more of the cavalcade behind Brotherton, although the dust revealed only glimpses of it; but I had seen enough to realize that if Hawkins' brake did work, and Hawkins' mare stopped suddenly, there was going to be a piled-up mass of men and things in the road that for sheer mixed-up-edness would pale the average freight wreck.
Maud maintained her pace, and I did my best to keep up.
By this time I could see the reason for her mad flight. When the explosion, or whatever it was, took place in the brake machinery, a jagged piece of brass had been forced into her side, and there it remained, stabbing the poor old beast with conscientious
Prev.
Back
Top