Chapter 11

"FORGET IT!"

The young express agent acted quickly. A single glance told him that the driver of the cab could do nothing.

The frightened horses were speeding ahead at a furious rate, could not be overtaken, and Bart doubted if anyone could stop them.

No one tried, but all got out of the way promptly as the team went tearing along. The horses came to a crossing, and, terrified anew at a spitting "Vesuvius" ahead, abruptly veered and turned down a side lane.

It was at this moment that Bart threw open the door of the cab, grasped a handle at the side of the vehicle, and drew himself up to the driver's seat.

The swing the horses made just then sent his feet flying out in a wild circle, but he held on, and the rebound landed him on the seat.

Our hero cast a quick look within the vehicle. The colonel had "rousted" up somewhat. Buffeted from side to side by the erratic and violent movements of the horses, he was trying to maintain his balance by frantically clinging with both hands to the cushion under him.

As a wheel struck a stone the jar drove him forward. His head smashed out the front glass, and he uttered a yell of fear.

"Don't stir--don't jump!" shouted Bart through the opening thus made.

"We'll be killed!" cried the man.

"No, we won't. Do as I say. I'm on deck, and I'll--"

Bart sized up the situation, counted its risks and possibilities, and described a sudden forward leap.

The lines were torn and trailing under the horses' feet. He cut the air in a reckless, but well planned dive.

Bart landed sprawling between the two horses, his knee striking the carriage pole.

Bracing himself there, he caught out at the head of either horse. With a firm grip his fingers closed on the bridle reins.

Ahead was a stony wagon track lining a deep gravel pit dangerously near its edge.

About a hundred feet further on ran the creek, sunk between banks some fifteen feet high.

Bart drew the bridles taut. He feared the tremendous strain would break them. The heads of the horses were now held as in a vice, but they snorted and continued to plunge forward with undiminished speed.

As a wheel landed in a rut full of thick mud, their pace was momentarily retarded. Bart jerked at the bridles. The horses paused fully, but pranced and backed.

"Jump--crawl out--quick, now!" shouted Bart breathlessly to the occupant of the cab.

The colonel had been bouncing around, groaning and yelling ever since he had awakened to a realization of his desperate plight.

"Wait a minute!" he puffed. "Gently! Wait till I get out. Then you can go on," was his remarkable concession.

Bart saw the bulky body of the magnate fall, rather than step from the vehicle. He landed clumsily at the side of the road, rolled up like a ball, but unhurt.

He was so near to the grinding wheels of the vehicle and kicking hoofs of the horses that Bart relaxed the bridles.

Instantly the horses sprang forward again, but, once clear of the colonel's prostrate body, Bart focused his strength on a final mastery of the maddened steeds.

He drew the bridles at a sharp, taut slant that must have cut their mouths fearfully at the tenderest part, for they fairly screamed with pain and terror.

He succeeded in facing them sideways, ran their heads into some brush, vaulted over them, and, landing safely on his feet in front of them, grabbed them near the bits and held them snorting and trembling at a standstill.

Then he unshipped one of the lines and tied it around a sapling, stroked the horse's heads, and succeeded in quieting them down.

Going back to the road, he discerned Colonel Harrington sitting up rubbing his head and staring about abstractedly.

Farther away was a flying excited figure. Bart recognized the disenthroned cabman. They met where the colonel sat.

"All gone to smash, I suppose!" hailed Carey.

"No, a window broken, wheels scraped a little--nothing worse," reported Bart.

"Where is the team?" panted Carey.

Bart pointed and explained, and the cabman forged ahead with a gratified snort.

"You stuck till you landed 'em," applauded Carey. "Stirling, you're nerve all through!"

Bart went up to Colonel Harrington and the latter got on his feet. Bart could see that either the druggist's potion or his succeeding violent experience had quite restored the magnate to his original self. He nursed a slight abrasion on his chin, looked at Bart sheepishly, and then stepped over to a big bowlder and rested against it.

"Are you feeling all right now, Colonel Harrington?" asked Bart courteously.

"Me? Now? Ah yes! Quite--er--er--thank you."

Bart was somewhat astonished at the words and manner of his whilom enemy.

Colonel Harrington looked positively embarrassed. He would glance at Bart, start to speak, lower his eyes, and, turning pale as he seemed to remember, and turning red as he seemed to realize, would fumble at his watch fob, run his fingers through his hair and act flustered generally.

"The cab will be back in a few minutes," remarked Bart. "It was a pretty bad shaking up, but I hope you are none the worse for it. Good day, Colonel Harrington."

Bart turned to leave. He heard the colonel spluttering.

"Hold on," ordered the magnate. "I want to give you--I want to give you--some money," he observed.

"I can't take it, Colonel Harrington," said Bart definitely. "If I have been of service to you I am glad, but you will remember I was in the same danger as yourself, and quite anxious to save my own skin."

"Bosh! I mean--maybe," retorted the colonel, getting bombastic, and then humble.

"Well, put up your money, Colonel," advised Bart. "As I say, if I have been of service to you I am glad."

"You hold on!" ordered Colonel Harrington, as Bart again moved to leave the spot.

The speaker poked in his wallet and brought out a strip of paper, which Bart recognized as the one he had so menacingly waved in his face an hour previous at the express shed.

Colonel Harrington again poked about in his pockets till he found a pencil. With somewhat unsteady fingers he inscribed his name at the bottom of the paper, and handed it to Bart.

"You take that," he directed.

"Why, this is a receipted bill for the damage done to your statue," said Bart.

"Eighty-five dollars--just so."

"But I haven't paid it!"

"You needn't. Serious mistake--I see that," said the colonel. "That is, I see it now. Satisified you didn't mean any harm. Sick of whole muddle. And about getting you discharged and all that rot--didn't mean it. Forget it! Was a little mad and excited; see!"

"I can't take your receipt for what I haven't paid, and what I am willing to pay as fast as I can," said Bart.

"Then tear it up--I won't take a cent!" declared Colonel Harrington obstinately.

"The cab is coming," remarked Bart. "Shall Mr. Carey drive you home?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Come here, quick!"

He grabbed Bart's arm and drew our hero close up to him, as though he had some pressing intelligence to impart before the cab interrupted.

"Forget it!" he whispered hoarsely.

"About the statue--I'll be glad to," said Bart frankly.

"No--no, the--the--"

"Runaway? I shall not mention it, Colonel Harrington."

The colonel released Bart's arm, but with a desperate groan. It was evident he was not fully satisfied.

"Sure you'll forget It!" he persisted, very much perturbed. "I don't mean my abusing you, or the runaway, or--or--I mean I had an accident after I left you at the express office. Someone hailed me--but you know, you know!"

The colonel cast a penetrating look on Bart, who shook his head negatively.

"I don't know, Colonel," he declared.

"Oh, come, now!" croaked the colonel, making a ghastly attempt to give the statement the aspect of a joke. Honest, you didn't hear anyone call to me?"

"No," replied Bart.

The cab drove up and halted.

"Don't do any talking. Don't start any gossip about--about--of course you won't! I've got your word. You're a truthful, reliable boy, Stirling, and I--I respect you," stumbled on the colonel. "Mum's the word, and I'll--I'll make you no trouble, see?"

"Thank you, Colonel Harrington," said Bart in a queer tone.

The colonel again regarded him penetratingly, and then got into the cab. He took the trouble of leaning out and waving his hand as the vehicle started up. He smiled in a sickly way at Bart, and once made a movement as if inclined to get out and once more suggest to the young express agent that he "forget it."

"That man is scared half to death over something," reflected Bart, as he took a short cut to regain the express office.