ng from the railroad station at Carlette, a mile
away, where it had been to meet the five-thirty P. M. train. Business
had not been very brisk, judging from the fact that the ramshackle old
vehicle carried only one passenger, a rather elderly man dressed in
black, who sat on one of the side seats with his back toward the boys. A
bag of mail was on the front seat alongside the driver, a lank,
slab-sided individual, in a linen duster that had evidently seen better
days. He held the reins listlessly over the horses, who moved slowly
along, as though they were half asleep. Coach and horses and driver were
so dead and alive, so Rip Van Winkle-like, that the temptation was
almost irresistible to stir them up, to wake them out of their dream. To
Teddy, with his native love of mischief, it proved wholly irresistible.

"Can't hit anything, eh?" he yelled to Jim. "Just watch me."

He took careful aim, caught the ball full on the end of the bat and sent
it straight as a bullet toward the coach. Even as he swung, he heard the
startled cry of his brother:

"Don't, Teddy, don't!"

But it was too late.

The ball struck the gray horse a glancing blow on the flank and caromed
off into the coach, catching the solitary passenger full in the back of
the neck. He fell over toward the opposite side, grasping at the seat to
steady himself.

The effect was electric. If Teddy had wanted action, he got it--got it
beyond his wildest dream.

The gray horse, stung and frightened by the sudden blow, reared high in
the air and threw himself against his companion. The sorrel, catching
the contagion, plunged forward. The startled driver tried to hold them
in, but they had gotten beyond him. The frenzied brutes rushed on down
the hill, the old coach bumping and swaying wildly behind them.

Dazed and scared, the author of the mischief dropped his bat. Horror
stole into his eyes and his face showed white beneath its coat of tan.

The horses were running away!

CHAPTER II

THE RUNAWAY

At the point where the coach was moving when Teddy's hit caused all the
trouble the road wound down hill at a gentle incline. A few rods further
on, however, it became steep, and here it was the custom of every
careful driver to gather up the reins and press his foot on the brake,
to keep his wagon from crowding too closely on the heels of his horses.

If old Jed Muggs, the driver of the coach, had been able to get his
charges under control before the