THE RENTED IJICVCLE SUIT. 



WALTKR I. SHAY. 



" Let's take a spin down the gulch, as far 

 as the junction and come home on the 

 train." said my friend Walters, as we sat 

 in front of his shop, one afternoon last 

 summer. 



*' Just the thing," I assented. 



" Well, let's start as soon as we can get 

 ready," he continued, " because," with an 

 expressive wink, " we might have to stop 

 for repairs, and it would never do to miss 

 the train." I fully understood what he 

 meant by stopping for repairs. Widow 

 Schaefer's ranch is about half way between 

 Martinsville and the junction, and the wid- 

 ow's eldest daughter, Kate, would be the 

 cause of the probable stop for repairs. 



" All right," I answered, " I will have my 

 wheel here in 15 minutes." 



At the appointed time I was back, with 

 my wheel, but Walt w r as ready and waiting 

 for me. He is a favorite with the fair sex, 

 and on this afternoon, clad in a new bicycle 

 suit, he would have made a first class pict- 

 ure for a bicycle ad. 



Away we went, and a most delightful 

 ride lay before us! Martinsville is a mining 

 camp, in the heart of the Rocky mountains. 

 It is 15 miles, by rail, to the junction; but 

 by the wagon road which, for the most part 

 is excellent, the distance is but 5. 



As we passed the last saloon, in the lower 

 end of the town, and got on the grade I 

 noticed a 4 horse team hitched to a wagon 

 with an empty hayrack, standing beside the 

 road. 



Old Ford is inside, investing the pro- 

 ceeds of his hay in stomach tonics," I re- 

 marked. But, just at that moment, Walt 

 was busily engaged in guiding his wheel 

 with one hand, using the other hand in 

 tipping his hat to a lady acquaintance. 



" Great riding, isn't it? " he said, as with 

 our feet on the coasters, a firm grip on the 

 handle bars, and sitting well back, we be- 

 gan to skim down the grade at an increased 

 speed. 



" Indeed, it is great," I answered, and, 

 putting one foot between the front fork 

 and the tire, I began to slacken up our in- 

 creasing pace. 



Ah, fellow wheelmen, that was what you 

 would call riding. On either side of us 

 rose the lofty walls of the canyon; up, up, 

 like majestic sentinels, while before us 

 spread the grade like a huge anaconda, now 

 dipping, now turning; and far ahead the 

 smiling little valley spread out like a huge 

 painting, with a back-ground of gold. 

 " Click, clack, click, clack," said our cy- 

 clometers. " Burr, burr," echoed the rap- 

 idly revolving pedals, while our easy, 

 breezy, motion was one a lark might envy. 



" Let us slacken our pace a little." said 

 Walt, " we're nearly to the saw-mill turn." 



The road for the next 2 miles was graded 

 into the mountain side; while on the lower 

 side it was a sheer drop of 30 feet to the 

 little mountain stream that was dashing 

 merrily along the bottom of the gulch. We 

 slowed down, and had just made the short 

 turn, when I heard a rumbling in our rear. 

 Walt must have heard it too, for he re- 

 marked that old Ford must be coming 

 along behind. 



" Well, he must have got a decided move 

 on those horses," I said, " for we have not 

 been losing any time ourselves, and we 

 passed him back at John's saloon." 



But heavens! That rumbling was draw- 

 ing nearer, with lightning rapidity. We 

 looked back, and, horrors! What a sight 

 met our astonished gaze. Just turning the 

 short bend, 4 infuriated horses were bound- 

 ing down the grade like fiends and behind 

 them the wagon and the great, empty hay- 

 rack were swaying and tossing from side to 

 side, while the noise it all made was like 

 the roar of the Yellowstone falls. 



" What's to be done? " we both cried at 

 once. There was but one thing to be done, 

 and that was to go. The team was so 

 close to us it would have been next to im- 

 possible to slacken our pace, and jump. 

 Besides, what good would it have done to 

 have jumped off the whee 1 s? The bank on 

 the upper side was at least 10 feet, straight 

 up, and it would have been madness to at- 

 tempt to jump down that 30 foot grade into 

 the stream below. 



Acting with one impulse, we took our 

 feet off the coasters and caught the pedals. 



" Hit them hard, as long as you can hold 

 them," I yelled, " and then let her coast for 

 all she cost." 



We pumped as hard and as fast as we 

 could; then again got our teet on the coast- 

 ers and away down the grade shot our 

 wheels, while behind us, coming like a cy- 

 clone, were those crazed horses hitched to 

 that great wagon. 



Talk about your Tarn O'Shanters! The 

 gait we made, in that awful race, would 

 have left him at the post. We were cutting 

 through space like a cannon ball, yet that 

 awful avalanche of horse flesh, iron and 

 wood seemed to be gaining on us. For the 

 next mile or so. the grade was of the same 

 character as where we started the race; 

 now dipping a little, now turning a little, 

 but not one single place where we could 

 turn out. Great God! I thought: if we 

 were to meet a team or a band of cattle! 

 But my thoughts on this line were cut short 

 in my efforts to keep my flying steed of 



