The runaway would cross the foot of the hill just in time, perhaps, to
collide with one or more of the bobsleds.

Almost opposite the foot of Nugent Street and right beside the steep bank
against which the coasters had been wont to stop their sleds, was a narrow
lane pitching toward the lakeshore. This lane was near Janet Steele.

Chet saw it and realized how the horse might be turned. But the boy was too
far away. Even as he shook off Jess Morse's frenzied hold on his arm, the
runaway was upon Janet Steele.

The latter had whipped off the Red Cross veil she wore. Seizing it by both
extremes she allowed the veil to float out on the brisk winter breeze,
darting with it into the street.

The runaway's glaring eyes caught sight of the flapping folds of the veil,
and he swerved, his hoofs sliding on the slippery drive. The eyes of a
horse magnify objects tremendously, and the girl's figure and her flowing
veil probably looked to the frightened animal like some awful and
threatening bogey.

Scrambling and snorting, he swerved to the side of the road, saw the open
lane, and the next moment thundered into it, the broken wagon skidding
across the lane and smashing into a gatepost.

It was at the same instant that the head sled came sweeping down Nugent
Street, crossed the avenue, and stood almost on end against the bank,
stopping abruptly in the snow bank.