396 tom. 



gan to switch her tail and twitch her head from one 

 side to the other and all the time feeling for the bit, 

 as it were, and started to run. I could see the road 

 ahead of me, dead level for over a mile, so thinks I, 

 I'll let you have it out as a runaway horse, like a 

 woman, will have her way. As soon as I let go of her 

 Tom started and it was nip and tuck as to which 

 could run the the faster. 



The wagon was a strong one, having been built 

 for heavy work, but I could feel it swaying as they 

 bounded forward. I did not care as I made up my 

 mind that I could ride as fast as they could run and, 

 if the worst came to the worst, I could still jump and 

 let them have it out between themselves. That, 

 however, is the last thing that a driver should do, as 

 I have always maintained in good and bad weather 

 he should, like a pilot, stay with the rig. 



As the pair raced head and head, I had time to look 

 about me and found that the road was on a high ridge 

 with a big valley on the right hand side. Through 

 this I could see a small stream, so I knew there was a 

 bridge ahead, but where was it and how was I ever 

 going to get down to it. To be on^ a level with the 

 road a bridge would have to be over two hundred 

 feet high, and it looked like suicide to think of racing 

 over it at the clip I was going. As this flashed 

 through my mind, and I can assure you it only took 

 a fraction of a second for it to come and go, I looked 

 ahead. The road made a slight bend to the right, and 

 after a sharp dip disappeared. That meant a corner 

 on the edge of a ravine, and how was I going to make 

 it behind a pair of runaways? 



