bed, instead of sitting up playing poker with Silvado?" the manager went on. "Look here," he added suddenly, "you'd better take the 'bus. You're accustomed to driving?"
"Yes, but not four horses," I objected.
"Never mind, jump up. Keep your wheelers well in hand, and the cream cob off the pole, or he'll start kicking."
Behind the blacksmith's Waggon, the 'bus team was being harnessed, while I could vaguely perceive the huddled forms of the sleeping ladies. My heart was full of pity for them as I mounted the box.
I had just steered out of the gateway, to my surprise, without a spill, when through the darkness I heard the boss's voice. "Wake 'em up there, Didon. What're yer up to. Shove 'em along." And, running alongside the team with his stock-whip, he set them off at a hand-gallop.
We swung round the corner into the main road, the 'bus lurching heavily as we bumped over the kerb-stone. From within floated a muffled series of feminine screams. . . .
And then, on we rattled through the night, through the dark stillness of the sleeping country. . . .
***
6 a.m.—"Stop at the bottom of the hill; you’ve got a shoe loose," shouted one of the boys, galloping alongside.
I listened, but I could hear no clinking of flapping steel; every horse was going as sound as a bell.
"No, they're all right enough," I called back.
"There's a buffy at the bottom," retorted the boy.
I remembered that there was a half-crown fine for stopping for drinks on the road, and that a lame horse or a shoe loose was the
