alone remained in harness, and they were running uncontrolled.

"By God!" he muttered. "Those two damn cowards have cut loose and left
us!"

Even as the unrestrained words leaped from his lips, he realized the
only hope--the reins still dangled, caught securely in the brake lever.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, he wiggled out; Moylan, comprehending,
caught his legs, holding him steady against the mad pitching. His
fingers gripped the iron top rail, and, exerting all his strength, he
slowly pulled his body up, until he fell forward into the driver's
seat. Swift as he had been, the action was not quickly enough
conceived to avert disaster. He had the reins in his grip when the
swinging pole struck the steep side of the bluff, snapping off with a
sharp crack, and flinging down the frightened animals, the wheels,
crashing against them, as the coach came to a sudden halt. Hamlin hung
on grimly, flung forward to the footrail by the force of the shock, his
body bruised and aching. One horse lay motionless, head under,
apparently instantly killed; his mate struggled to his feet, tore
frantically loose from the traces, and went flying madly down the
slope, the broken harness dangling at its heels. The Sergeant sat up
and stared about, sweeping the blood from a slight gash out of his
eyes. Then he came to himself with a gasp--understanding instantly
what it all meant, why those men had cut loose the horses and ridden
away, why the wheelers had plunged forward in that mad run-away
race--between the bluffs and the river a swarm of Indians were lashing
their ponies, spreading out like the sticks of a fan.