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 they reached the steeper portion of the
hill, he might have saved the day. But he had had very little experience
with runaways, and it had never entered his mind that the sober old team
he drove would ever have spirit enough to take the bit in their teeth
and bolt. That they might some day drop in their shafts and die of old
age would have struck him as likely enough. But here they were, running
like colts, and the shock of it was too much for him.
He grabbed wildly at the reins that had been hanging loosely over the
horses' backs.
"Stop! Whoa, consarn yer!" he yelled, half standing up as he sawed
wildly with the reins. "Burn yer old hides! what in Sam Hill's got inter
yer? Whoa, whoa!"
He was agitated through and through, and his wild yells and feeble
handling of the reins only made the frightened brutes go faster and
faster.
Inside the coach, the passenger was holding on for dear life, as the
coach bumped and swayed from side to side of the road.
"Stop them, pull them in!" he shouted, and put out his hand to grasp
Jed's arm.
The driver shook him off with a savage snarl.
"Leave me alone," he snapped. "What d'yer suppose I'm doin', encouragin'
'em?"
Streaming out behind the runaways came the boys, blazing with
excitement. Most of them at first had seen only the funny side of the
incident. They had howled with delight at the sight of the "old plugs,"
as they irreverently spoke of Jed's horses, rearing up into the air like
frisky two-year-olds, and the frightened antics of Jed himself had added
to their amusement. It was all a huge joke, and they chuckled at the
thought of the story they would have to tell to those who had not been
there to see the fun.
Jim Dabney was fairly doubled up with laughter.
"Take it all back, Teddy," he shouted. "You're some hitter, after all."
"Jiminy, look at those scarecrows dance!" exclaimed Jack Youmans.
"Who'd ever think those old has-beens had so much ginger in 'em,"
commented Tom Davis.
But boys as a rule, though thoughtless, are not malicious, and the
laughter stopped suddenly when they saw that the joke might end in a
tragedy.
Fred, alone of all the boys, had seen from the first this danger.
Quicker witted than the others, he had thought of the hill that lay
before the runaways. But his shout of warning to Teddy had come too late
to stop that impulsive youth, and now the damage was done.
"This way, fellows!" he shouted, as he took a short cut across the field
in an effort to get to the horses' heads. If he had been able to do
this, the other boys, coming up, could have helped to hold them. But the
distance was too great, and when he reached the road the team was twenty
feet ahead and going too fast to be overtaken by any one on foot.
Behind the others pounded Teddy, the cause of it all. How he hated
himself for yielding to that impish impulse that had so often gotten him
into trouble! Now, all he could think of was that somebody would be
killed, and it would be his fault and his alone. His heart was full of
terror and remorse.
"I've killed them!" he kept repeating over and over. "Why did I do it?
Oh, why did I do it?"
There was not a spark of real malice in Teddy's composition. He was a
wholesome, good-natured, fun-loving boy, and a general favorite with
those who knew him. His chief fault was the impulsiveness that made him
do things on the spur of the moment that he often regretted later on.
Anything in the form of a practical joke appealed to him immensely, and
he was never happier than when he was planning something that would
produce a laugh. When Teddy's brown eyes began to twinkle, it was time
to look for something to happen.
He was a born mimic, and his imitation of the peculiar traits of his
teachers, while it sent his comrades into convulsions of laughter, often
got him into trouble at school. Notes to his parents were of frequent
occurrence, and he was no sooner out of one scrape than he was into
another. When anything happened whose author was unknown, they looked
for Teddy "on general principles."
Sometimes this proved unjust, and he had the name without having had the
game. More often, however, the search found him only too certainly to be
the moving cause of the prank in question. His fourteen years of life
had been full of stir and action, both for him and all connected with
him, and nobody could complain of dullness when Teddy was around. Still,
he was so frank and sunny-natured that everybody was fond of him, even
those who had the most occasion to frown. He was a rogue, but a very
likable one.
Fred Rushton, his brother, a year older than Teddy, was of a different
type. While quite as fond of fun and full of spirits, he acted more on
reason and good judgment than on impulse. As in the instance of the
batted ball, where Teddy had seen only the fun of making the horses
jump, Fred had thought of the runaway that might follow.
Teddy was the kind who would make a leap and take a chance of getting
away without a broken neck. Fred, while quite as ready to take the leap
if it were necessary, would first figure out where he was going to land.
A deep affection bound the two boys together, and Fred was kept busy
trying to get Teddy out of old scrapes and keeping him from getting into
new ones.
At school, Fred was a leader both in study and sports. He was one of the
best scholars in his class and it was his ambition to graduate at its
head--an ambition that was in a fair way to be realized.
In the field of athletics, his unusual strength, both of body and will,
made him easily the first among his companions. Tall, strong,
self-reliant, with clear gray eyes that never flinched at any task set
before him, the other boys admitted his leadership, though he never made
any conscious claim to it.
He shone in football as the fastest and cleverest fullback that the
school had known for years, and he had well earned his position as
captain and pitcher of the baseball team.
With the boys trailing on in the rear, the coach had now nearly reached
the bottom of the hill, and was gathering speed with every jump of the
frightened horses. A man rushed out from a house beside the road and
grabbed at the bridle of the gray, but was thrown to the ground and
narrowly escaped being trodden under foot.
On and on they went, until they were close to the little river that ran
along at the foot of the hill. A bridge, about twelve feet in width,
crossed the river at this point, and along this Jed tried to guide the
horses. But just before they reached it, the passenger, who evidently
feared that the team would crash into the railing, took a flying leap
over the side of the coach and plunged head first into the river below.
The stage took the bridge, escaping the rails by a miracle. On the other
side, the path curved sharply, and the team, keeping on blindly, brought
up in a mass of bushes on the side of the road. The shaft snapped, and
the driver was thrown over the horses' heads and landed in a thicket,
badly scratched but otherwise unhurt. Two of the boys, who had now come
up, rushed to the heads of the trembling horses, and, with the aid of
the driver, got them under control.
The others, including Fred and Teddy, ran to the assistance of the man
in the water. He had come up, spluttering and snorting, but unharmed,
except for the fright and the wetting. His hair was plastered over his
face and his black clothes clung tightly to his angular frame.
The river was not deep at this point, and he waded to the bank, where
many eager hands were outstretched to aid him. He felt that he presented
a most undignified appearance, and, although, of course, thankful for
his escape, he was angry clear through. He looked up, and for the first
time they clearly saw his face.
A new horror came into Teddy's eyes. He stepped back, startled, and his
legs grew weak under him.
"It's--it's Uncle Aaron!" he stammered.