Then he unshipped one of the lines and tied it around a sapling, stroked the horse’s heads, and succeeded in quieting them down.

Going back to the road, he discerned Colonel Harrington sitting up rubbing his head and staring about abstractedly.

Farther away was a flying excited figure.  Bart recognized the disenthroned cabman.  They met where the colonel sat.

“All gone to smash, I suppose!” hailed Carey.

“No, a window broken, wheels scraped a little—­nothing worse,” reported Bart.

“Where is the team?” panted Carey.

Bart pointed and explained, and the cabman forged ahead with a gratified snort.

“You stuck till you landed ’em,” applauded Carey.  “Stirling, you’re nerve all through!”

Bart went up to Colonel Harrington and the latter got on his feet.  Bart could see that either the druggist’s potion or his succeeding violent experience had quite restored the magnate to his original self.  He nursed a slight abrasion on his chin, looked at Bart sheepishly, and then stepped over to a big bowlder and rested against it.

“Are you feeling all right now, Colonel Harrington?” asked Bart courteously.

“Me?  Now?  Ah yes!  Quite—­er—­er—­thank you.”

Bart was somewhat astonished at the words and manner of his whilom enemy.

Colonel Harrington looked positively embarrassed.  He would glance at Bart, start to speak, lower his eyes, and, turning pale as he seemed to remember, and turning red as he seemed to realize, would fumble at his watch fob, run his fingers through his hair and act flustered generally.

“The cab will be back in a few minutes,” remarked Bart.  “It was a pretty bad shaking up, but I hope you are none the worse for it.  Good day, Colonel Harrington.”

Bart turned to leave.  He heard the colonel spluttering.

“Hold on,” ordered the magnate.  “I want to give you—­I want to give you—­some money,” he observed.

“I can’t take it, Colonel Harrington,” said Bart definitely.  “If I have been of service to you I am glad, but you will remember I was in the same danger as yourself, and quite anxious to save my own skin.”

“Bosh!  I mean—­maybe,” retorted the colonel, getting bombastic, and then humble.

“Well, put up your money, Colonel,” advised Bart.  “As I say, if I have been of service to you I am glad.”

“You hold on!” ordered Colonel Harrington, as Bart again moved to leave the spot.

The speaker poked in his wallet and brought out a strip of paper, which Bart recognized as the one he had so menacingly waved in his face an hour previous at the express shed.

Colonel Harrington again poked about in his pockets till he found a pencil.  With somewhat unsteady fingers he inscribed his name at the bottom of the paper, and handed it to Bart.

“You take that,” he directed.

“Why, this is a receipted bill for the damage done to your statue,” said Bart.