The four of us helps the lady into the buckboard, while them two roan broncs dance a jig against the hitching-rack. The lady acts scared stiff, but that’s natural under these circumstances. “I’ll drive,” proclaims Telescope. “The lady sets in the middle, and Muley on the end. You other two can set in the back or get your broncs.” “Your statement shows lack of consideration and fine thought,” states Chuck. “I am going to ride on that seat. Sabe?” “Nominations being in order, I’ll speak a word or two in favor of old man Peck’s son, Henry,” says I. “I don’t care a whoop who drives, but I’ll say right here that Henry Clay Peck is the third member of the seat-riders.” All of which makes it hard to arrive at a peaceful solution. Telescope’s idea of a proper argument is to slam his sombrero on the ground and talk at the top of his voice. Naturally this aggravates said touchy team, with the result that they casts domestication to the four winds and whales off up the street with the fair one all alone on the seat and the lines dragging. “Who in —— untied them animals?” yelps Muley. “Which ain’t nothing but a question,” replies Chuck, throwing down the two halters in disgust. “Come on and let’s get our broncs. She’s due to get killed in about a minute.” The four of us lopes down the street to where our animals are tied, and if you asks me I’d say that we went out of town fast. In fact we showed so much animation that Bill McFee, our progressive sheriff, took a shot at us, just on general principles. We strung off up the road, me and Telescope fighting for first place with Chuck running a close second and Muley bringing up the rear, eating alkali dust like a machine. We hammers along for about two miles, when all to once we sees a cloud of dust ahead of us. Said cloud is sliding toward the grade down to the Wind River crossing, and we all sighs to think what that runaway team will do to that lady when they hit the boulders of Wind River. We shoves on more steam and unhooks our ropes. Me and Telescope ain’t got room for two loops the way we’re running; so I slips back into second place. Down that grade we sails and into the willows just short of the ford. Chuck and Muley have picked up a little, which hampers our show to do any fancy rope stunts, and them four animals runs almost a dead heat to where the road breaks straight down to the river. Which only gives us a pitch of about thirty feet to the water’s edge. I don’t just know what happened then. We’re going too fast to even take a second look. I seen a buckboard, with the horses standing up in the water, and then the next thing I know I’m spinning over and over in the air. Above me is Muley, with his legs spread out like sails, and he’s flopping his arms like he was trying to fly higher. I remember that I laughed at Muley trying to imitate a bird, and just then I took my first bath short of Saturday evening.