Ward. The Colonel stood up, smacking his whip.

With one leap the Cap'n was at his rope, and began to haul in hand
over hand.

The big gate at the mouth of the bridge squalled on its rusty hinges.

"You mustn't shut that gate--you mustn't!" shrieked the little woman.
She ran and clutched at his sturdy arms. "That's my brother that's
coming! You'll break his neck!"

The gate was already half shut, and the doughty skipper kept on
pulling at the rope.

"Can't help it, ma'am, if it's the apostle Paul," he gritted. "There
ain't nobody goin' to run toll on this bridge."

"It will kill him."

"It's him that's lickin' that hoss. 'Tain't me."

"It's my brother, I tell you!" She tried to drag the rope out of his
hands, but he shook her off, pulled the big gate shut, set his teeth,
clung to the rope, and waited.

The rush down the hill had been so impetuous and the horse was now
running so madly under the whip that there was no such thing as
checking him. With a crash of splintering wood he drove breast-on
against the gate, throwing up his bony head at the end of his scraggy
neck. At the crash the woman screamed and covered her eyes. But the