There was a curve at the foot of the snub slope. The wall of trees that closed the vista was disaster spelled by bolled trunk and sturdy limb. There stood the nether millstone: the upper was rushing down, and the grist would be flesh of horses and men. No man could see any other alternative. That horses, shaken every now and then on the up-cocked pole as helplessly as kittens, could bring that load around the curve was not a hope; it could be nothing but a dream of desperation. As to what Tommy Eye dreamed or thought, his passenger had no hint. There was only the patch of cheek showing under the tilted cap. But the reins were just as tight, the out-stretched arms just as steady. Wade crouched low, his eyes on that rigid jaw muscle. Suddenly, with a yell like the cry of something wild, Eye sprang to his feet, bestriding the logs, bracing himself for some mighty effort. They were at the Curve of Death! There came a surge on the tight reins, eight hoofs dug the snow in one frantic thrust, and they went around--they went around! With horses and driver straining to one side the great load pitched, swerved, and, after one breathless instant, swept on in the road around the curve. Twenty rods farther on they struck the hay, spread thickly for the trig--the checking of the runners. And the sled-runners, biting it, jerked and halted, the bind-chains creaked, the chafing logs groaned--and they were stopped! The lathering horses stood with legs wide spraddled, their heads lowered, their snorting noses puffing up the snow. Tommy Eye dug the tobacco from his cheek and thoughtfully tossed it away. Britt's team had disappeared, reins dragging, the horses running madly, the whitened, puffy face flashing one last look as it winked out of sight among the trees. "I've dreamed of such a thing as this," observed Tommy, at last, a strange tremor in his tones. "I've dreamed of chasin' old P'laski Britt, me settin' on five thousand feet of wild timber and lookin' down into his face and seein' him a-wonderin' whether they'd let him into the front door of hell or make him go around to the back. It's the first time he was ever run good and plenty, and I done it--but," he sighed, "it was damnation whilst it lasted!" He turned now and gazed long and wistfully at Wade. "Ye stuck by me, didn't ye, Mr. Wade?" he said, softly. "Stuck by me jest like I was a friend, and not old, drunken Tommy Eye! I reckon we'll shake on that!" And when they clasped hands he asked, with the wistful, inexpressible pathos of his simple devotion to duty: "What was it all about? I jest only know they sluiced me!" And Wade gasped an explanation, Tommy Eye staring at him with wrinkling brows and squinting eyes. "Come to arrest me for northin' I hadn't done?" he shrilled. "Come to take me off'n a job where I was needed, and where I was earnin' my honest livin'?" "They had the warrant, and Britt swore out the lying complaint."