A FAMOUS COACH ROAD 115 



turn, the leaders entirely disappearing around the 

 bend; but so deftly is the brake used that the 

 coach turns safely, gradually slowing up at the right 

 moment; then on the long, straight incline the horses 

 increase their gait, but never at so fast a pace as you 

 imagine. 



Now they turn at the head of the cafion, rising on 

 the incline, and dash out on the loop, the leaders 

 seemingly in air, turning so quickly that they are 

 going one way and the coach almost another. This 

 is but a moment; the vehicle crosses its own track 

 and passes down the road seemingly into the blue 

 waters. One feels like taking off his hat and cheering; 

 it is like dropping out of the sky in a balloon, the 

 sky and mountains seemingly moving upward and the 

 horses headed into the sea. 



There is a roar of wheels grinding over a hard road, 

 a musical clanking of buckles and trappings, the snap 

 of a long whip, words from the driver which the horses 

 understand, — as clever a bit of driving as can be 

 imagined. All six horses are running loosely in the 

 harness and the coach is managed by the brake. No 

 words can describe the sensation of this run, this 

 splendid exhibit of skill that is all too short. The 

 horses dash out to a point seemingly in space, then 

 wheel around and start down the lower trail, sending 

 clouds of dust over the edge of the precipice, and roll 

 into Avalon amid the cheers of the people who have 

 been watching the descent. 



If the return ride is not taken, the coach moves on 

 from the summit along the north face of the island, 

 crossing some of the finest and deepest cafions, affording 

 a succession of views of ocean and abyss. Suddenly 



