be
preparing himself for some exciting incident. Yankee Bill gallops
alongside, exchanging a mysterious conversation in shouts with him.

"Better take round by the ford, Cap!"

"Ford be blanked!" answers Dandy Jack.

"The rest of the planking's sure to be gone by this time," continues the
cavalier.

"Then I reckon we'll jump it. Ford's two miles round at least, and we're
late now."

Our dandy charioteer glances round on his passengers, and remarks--

"Hold on tight, boys; and, if we spill, spring clear for a soft place."

So saying, he plants his feet firmly out, takes a better grip of the
reins, and crams his hat well on to his head. We ignorant new-chums sit
perturbed, for we don't know what is coming, only we do not admire the
grim determination of our driver's mouth, or the devilry flashing from
his eyes. The rest of the passengers say nothing. They know Dandy Jack,
and are philosophically resigned to their fate.

And now we plunge down the side of a gully, steep and wooded, with a
brawling torrent pouring along its bottom. The road runs obliquely down
the incline, and this descent we proceed to accomplish at a furious
gallop, Dandy Jack shouting and encouraging his horses; his mate riding
beside them, and flogging them to harder exertions. Then we see what is
before us.

Right at the bottom of the steep road is a bridge across the creek; or,
at least, what was once a bridge, for a freshet or something seems to
have torn it partially up. Originally built by throwing tree-trunks
across from bank to bank, and covering these with planking, what we now
see seems little more than a bare skeleton; for nearly all the planking
is gone, and only the rough bare logs remain--and of these several are
displaced, so that uncomfortable-looking gaps appear. Some feet below
the level of this ruined bridge a regular cataract is flowing. Across
the frail scaffolding--you can call it no more--that spans the torrent,
it is clearly Dandy Jack's intention to hurl the coach, trusting to the
impetus to get it over. We shut our eyes in utter despair of a safe
issue, and hold on to our seats with the clutch of drowning men. It is
all that we can do.

Meanwhile the four horses, maddened by the whoops and lashes of our
excited Jehu and his aid, are tearing down the slope at racing speed.
The coach is bounding, rocking, jolting at their heels in frightfully
dangerous fashion. We dare not glance at Dandy Jack, but we feel that he
is