310 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
On we went—the blood starting in my chilled frame 
diffusing over me a glowing heat, until I wiped huge 
drops of perspiration from my brow, and breathed in the 
cold air as if I were smothering. The dull, stunning 
sound that now marked our progress, was scarcely re- 
lieved by the clattering hoofs of the horses, and the mo- 
tion became perfectly steady, except when a piece of ice 
would explode from under the wheels as if burst with 
powder. 
Almost with the speed of thought we rushed on, 
and the critical moment of our safety came. The stum- 
bling of a horse—the breaking of a strap—a too strongly- 
drawn breath, almost, would have, with the speed we 
were then making, projected us over the mountain-side 
as if shot from a cannon, and hurled us on the frozen 
ground and hard rocks beneath. 
The driver, with distended eyes, and with an ex- 
pression of intellectual excitement, played his part well, 
and fortune favored us. 
As we made the Jast turn in the road, the stage for 
an instant vibrated between safety and destruction,— 
running for several yards upon one side, it displayed two 
wheels in the air, whirling with a swiftness that rendered 
them almost invisible. With a severe contusion it 
righted—the driver shouted—and we were rushing up 
an ascent, 
For a moment the stage and horses went on, and 
it was but for a moment, for the heavy body lately 
