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 r.e.t.a.r.ded. 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 sc.r.a.ped 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 embarra.s.sed. 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 fl.u.s.tered 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 hoa.r.s.ely.

"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.