collision would be almost as inevitable as the sunset.

I endeavored to recall the "First Aid to the Injured" treatment for
fractured skulls and broken backs, and I thanked goodness that there would
be only one auto to complete the mangling of Hawkins' remains, should they
drop into the road after the smash.

Would there? I glanced backward and gasped. Others had joined the pursuit,
and I was merely the vanguard of a procession.

Twenty feet to the rear loomed the black muzzle of Enos Jackson's trotter,
with Jackson in his little road-cart. Behind him, three bicyclists filled
up the gap between the road-cart and Dr. Brotherton's buggy.

I felt a little better at seeing Brotherton there. He set my hired man's
leg two years ago, and made a splendid job.

There was more of the cavalcade behind Brotherton, although the dust
revealed only glimpses of it; but I had seen enough to realize that if
Hawkins' brake did work, and Hawkins' mare stopped suddenly, there was
going to be a piled-up mass of men and things in the road that for sheer
mixed-up-edness would pale the average freight wreck.

Maud maintained her pace, and I did my best to keep up.

By this time I could see the reason for her mad flight. When the
explosion, or whatever it was, took place in the brake machinery, a jagged
piece of brass had been forced into her side, and there it remained,
stabbing the poor old beast with conscientious regularity at every leap.