The old man was pulling at the reins, but his horses were starting to slide.

“Watch that fellow waltz,” remarked Tavia.  “Now, wouldn’t he be great in a circus?”

The “waltzing horse” tried to sit down, but the farmer tugged at the lines, and otherwise objected to such conduct, and the unfortunate animal did its best to comply with the orders, which were now being flung at him, not only from the driver but from the girls in the wagon.

“Oh, hold them!” pleaded Nita.

“Let them run,” suggested Tavia.  “It will be over sooner!”

“Mercy!” exclaimed Dorothy, “there’s a river!”

This remark was followed by a most significant pause.  Evidently even Tavia saw the danger now.

And the old horses were frightened as well, for they backed, side stepped, and made every possible effort to avoid having the wagon, and its precious load, overturned into the deep river at the very side of the roadway.

“Don’t yell so!” called Dorothy to the driver.  “That won’t help any and it hurts our ears.”

“Is there no brake?” wailed Nita.

“There is likely to be one soon,” Tavia assured her.

The girls were becoming more and more alarmed, and only Tavia kept up the jesting.  The hill was very steep, the river fairly curled around it, and the horses grew more nervous each moment, under the strain that was being put upon them.

Deep in the bed of hay the girls from Glenwood School had ensconsed themselves.  The horses were now going at such a pace that it would be rash to attempt to jump from the rick.  Nita Brant actually made her way forward, and had now fairly grasped the old driver about the neck.  She felt that he must know how to save himself, at least, and she determined to “take chances” with him.

Tavia did deign to sit up and notice the rate of speed the old horses had acquired.  Her dark eyes shot glances of daring admiration, and she reminded her companions that Roman chariot races were “not in it,” just then.

Dorothy stood up bravely and agreed to call out, when they should be too near the river.

Suddenly there was a crash, and then the horses bolted!

“Something snapped!” called Dorothy.  “Something is broken!”

No need to announce this, for, with the ominous sound, one of the horses broke from its traces, and the other was now dragging the old wagon along by the straps that had withstood the jerks and plunges.

“Oh, we will be killed!” screamed Nita, “There’s the river!”

The girls made ready to jump.

“Don’t!” begged Dorothy.  “You will be dragged along in this stuff.  You cannot jump through these braces.”

Truly they were imprisoned by the uprights of the old-fashioned hayrick!  But if they could not jump what could they do?  Each face showed its panic of fear.  If only the one remaining horse would break loose, it might not be so dangerous to fall over in all that hay!