Part 42 (1/2)
In spite of Wallie's request, however, Mr. Stott, seeing the cook getting ahead, started off at a gallop to overtake him. In no uncertain voice Wallie called to him.
”You will oblige me if you will ride more slowly,” Wallie said, speaking very distinctly when Mr. Stott came back to ask what was wanted.
”Why, what's the matter?”
His feigned innocence added to Wallie's anger.
”I don't want that horse ruined.”
”I am paying for him,” Stott returned, insolently.
”I still own him, and it's my privilege to say how he shall be ridden.”
Stott dropped back suddenly but Wallie foresaw trouble with him before the trip was finished, though he meant to hold his temper as long as possible.
The reprimand had a beneficial effect upon the other equestrians, who had contemplated das.h.i.+ng after Mr. Stott, but now concluded to jog along at a reasonable gait, working off their superfluous energy in asking questions. Did eagles really carry off children? And was the earth under the Yellowstone Park hollow?
In the surrey ”Red” McGonnigle was putting forth his best efforts to entertain Aunt Lizzie and Miss Mercy, which he considered as much a part of his duties as driving.
A portion of the road was through a canon, cut from the solid rock in places, with narrow turnouts, and a precipitous descent of hundreds of feet to a sinister-looking green river roaring in the bottom.
”Now, here,” said Mr. McGonnigle, as they entered it, lolling back in the seat and crossing his legs in leisurely fas.h.i.+on, ”is where there's been all kinds of accee-dents.”
He pointed with the stub of a buggy-whip:
”About there is where four horses on a coal-wagon run away and went over. Two was killed and one was crippled so they had to shoot it.”
”Oh, how dread-ful!” Aunt Lizzie exclaimed, nervously.
Miss Mercy's contralto voice boomed at him:
”What happened to the driver?”
”His bones was broke in a couple of dozen places, but they picked him up, and sence, he has growed together.”
Miss Mercy snickered.
”You see that p'int ahead of us? Onct a feller ridin' a bronc backed off there. They rolled two hundred feet together. Wonder it didn't kill 'em.”
Aunt Lizzie was twisting her fingers and whispering:
”Oh, how dread-ful!”
”Jest around that bend,” went on the entertainer, expectorating with deliberation before he continued, ”a buggy tried to pa.s.s a hay-wagon. It was a brand-new buggy, cost all of $250, and the first time he'd took his family out in it. Smashed it to kindlin' wood. The woman threw the baby overboard and it never could see good out of one eye afterward. She caught on a tree when she was rollin' and broke four ribs, or some such matter. He'd ought to a-knowed better than to pa.s.s a hay-wagon where it was sidlin'. Good job, says I, fer havin' no judgment though I was one of his pall-bearers, as an accommodation.”
Aunt Lizzie was beyond exclaiming, and Miss Mercy's toes were curling and uncurling, though she preserved a composed exterior.
After setting the brake, McGonnigle went on humorously, gesticulating s.p.a.ciously while the slack of the lines swung on the single-tree:
”On this here hill the brake on a dude's automo-bubbly quit on him. When he come to the turn he went on over. Ruined the car, plumb wrecked it, and it must a cost $1,500 to $2,000. They s.h.i.+pped his corp' back East somewhere.”
Pale, and shaking like an aspen, Aunt Lizzie clung tightly to Miss Mercy. The scenery was sublime, but they had no eye for it. Their gaze was riveted upon the edge of the precipice some six or eight inches from the outer wheels of the surrey, and life at the moment looked as sweet as it seemed uncertain.