in his element; and that, consequently, we are in deadly peril. Then
the chorus of yells grows louder and fiercer, the swish of the whips
more constant and furious. There is a tremendous rattle, a series of
awful bumps that seem to dislocate every bone in my body, a feeling that
the coach is somersaulting, I appear to be flying through space among
the stars, and then--all is blank.

When I recall my shocked and scattered senses, a minute or two later, I
find myself half-buried, head downward, among moss and fern. I pick
myself out of that, and stupidly feel myself all over, fortunately
finding that I have sustained no particular injury. Then I survey the
scene.

We are on the other side of the stream--so much I discover--but we have
evidently not attained it without a mishap. Not to put too fine a point
upon it, we have experienced a most decided spill. The coach has
overturned just as it crossed the bridge, and passengers and baggage
have been shot forth into the world at large. Fortunately, the ground
was soft with much vegetation, so that no one is much hurt; the
"insides" alone being badly bruised. There is a confused heap of
plunging hoofs, and among them Dandy Jack and Yankee Bill are already
busy, loosening the traces and getting the horses on their feet.

The passengers go one by one to their assistance, and much objurgation
and ornamental rhetoric floats freely through the atmosphere. Presently,
the coach is got on its wheels again by united effort, and it is found
to be none the worse for the accident. In truth, its builder seems to
have had an eye to such casualties as that we have suffered, and has
adapted the construction of the machine to meet them.

But with the horses it is different. Three of them are speedily got on
their legs and rubbed down, being no more than scared. The fourth,
however, cannot rise, and examination shows that one of its legs is
broken, and probably the spine injured as well. It is evident the poor
creature is past all further service. So Dandy Jack sits on its head,
while Yankee Bill pulls out his sheath-knife and puts the animal out of
misery. I overhear our eccentric driver murmuring--

"Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day
That cost thy life, my gallant grey!"--

Adding, in a louder voice--

"Twelve pounds I paid for that critter; but I reckon I've had the profit
out of it, anyhow!"

The horse that Yankee Bill was riding is now unsaddled and hitched up
with the