“Give you nothing!” retorted Nuggy Polk, savagely. “I can drive as well as anybody, Jerry Nickerson; and I want you to know it.” “You’re steerin’ ’em into the rocks,” went on Jerry Nickerson. “You’ll smash us up in another minit!” And he clutched Polk’s arm to keep himself from rolling off the high seat to the ground. “Lemme go!” screamed the would-be driver, and tried to shake his companion off; but Jerry Nickerson made another clutch for the reins, and a fierce struggle ensued, in the midst of which the ponies took fright, and began to tear down the highway at their best speed. Gilbert could do nothing to stop the runaway team; and, as the high cart bounced past, he fully expected to see the two young men thrown out and killed. The reins fell upon the ponies’ heels, and then Jerry Nickerson clutched the seat for safety. Nuggy Polk was thrown over backward, into the rear of the cart, and came to the ground with a splash just as the turnout went through a mud puddle six inches deep. “Help! save me!” roared the young man, bellowing like a bull. “Don’t let the hosses kick me to death!” He continued to bellow and splash around in the mud until Gilbert, dismounting, went to his assistance. “You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up,” said the young lieutenant. [Illustration: “YOU’LL BE ALL RIGHT IF YOU’LL ONLY STAND UP.”] “All right? Do I want to be kicked to death?” demanded Nuggy Polk, as he sat up, and dug the mud from his eyes. “You’ll not be kicked to death. You landed in a soft spot, so I reckon there are no bones broken.” “But the hosses--” “Your ponies and cart are half a mile from here by this time. They went off like a streak of lightning.” “Humph!” Nuggy Polk arose to his feet with difficulty, and dragged himself to where Gilbert stood. “Where’s Jerry?” he demanded. “Your companion was clinging to the cart seat the last I saw of him.” “Humph! He’ll be killed as sure as you’re born. But it serves him right. He had no business to try to take the reins out of my hands. I know how to drive--used to drive the finest high-steppers in Richmond. He don’t know the first thing about hosses.” “Well, I hope he isn’t killed.” “Oh, he’ll be all right--you couldn’t kill Jerry Nickerson if you tried. Say, but I’m in a pickle, ain’t I?” And Nuggy Polk surveyed himself dismally. He was arrayed in a white linen suit, with a fancy silk dress shirt; and the outfit had suffered much from the contact with mud and water. “I can’t go back to Manila looking like this.” Gilbert could offer nothing but his handkerchief; and this Polk accepted, and washed his face and hands at a near-by pool. He was very unsteady on his legs, and his speech was thick. He declared that he did not care what became of Jerry Nickerson. “He’s my friend, but in a case of this kind he must take care of himself,” he muttered. “I suppose those ponies won’t run on forever.”