gate open!”

This last inward exclamation was caused by the sight of an open gate some distance ahead, through which a rough cart-track branched off from the road towards the sand-hills on the left. Richardson, with the instinct of desperation, seized upon this as the only way of escape from the peril which threatened them.

“Look out, you fellows!” cried he; “hang on tight on the right side while we turn, and jump well out if we go over.”

They watched him breathlessly as they came towards the gate. The vehicle which was meeting them and their own were about equal distance from the place, and it was clear their fate must be settled in less than a minute.

Richardson waved to the driver of the approaching cart to pull up, and at the same time edged the mare as far as he could on to the off-side of the road, so as to give her a wide turn in.

“Now for it!” said he to himself, pulling the left rein; “if this don’t do, I’ll give up driving.”

The mare, perhaps weary, perhaps perplexed at the sight of the cart in front, perhaps ready for a new diversion, obeyed the lead and swerved off at the gate. For a moment the waggonette tottered on its left wheel, and, but for the weight of the two passengers on the other side, would have caught the gate post and shattered itself to atoms in the narrow passage.

As it was, it cleared the peril by an inch, and then, plunging on to the soft, rough track, capsized gently, mare and all, landing its three occupants a yard or two off with their noses in the mud.

It was an undignified end to an heroic drive, and Richardson, as he picked himself up and cleared the mud from his eyes, felt half disappointed that no bones were broken or joints dislocated after all. Coote did certainly contribute a grain of consolation by announcing that he believed one of his legs was broken. But even this hope of glory was short-lived, for that young hero finding no one at leisure to assist him to his feet rose by himself, and walked some distance to a grass bank where he could sit down and examine for himself the extent of his injuries.

“Wal, young squire,” said a voice at Dick’s side, as that young gentleman found eyesight enough to look about him, “you’ve done it this time.”

The owner of the voice was the driver of the cart, and the tones and looks with which he made the remark were anything but unflattering to Richardson.

“It was a close squeak through the gate,” said the latter, “not six inches either side; and if it hadn’t been for the ruts we should have kept up all right till now. I say, do you think the trap’s damaged, or the mare?”

The mare was lying very comfortably on her side taking a good breath after her race, and not offering to resume her feet. As for the waggonette it was lying equally comfortably on its side, with one wheel up in the air.

“Shaft broken,” said the driver, “that’s all.”

“That’s all!” said Dick, dolefully, “we shall catch it, and no mistake.”

The man grinned.

“You can’t expect to play games of that sort without scratching the varnish off,” said he. “No fault of yours you haven’t got your necks broke.”

“Suppose we try to get her up?” said Richardson, looking as if this last information had very little comfort in it.

So among them they unharnessed the mare and managed to disengage her from the vehicle and get her to her feet.

“She’s all sound,” said the man, after a careful overhauling.

“She’s a cad,” said Dick, “and I shouldn’t have been sorry if she’d broken her neck. Look at the smash she’s made.”

The trap was indeed far worse damaged than they supposed as first. Not only was a shaft broken, but a wheel was off, and the rail all along one side was torn away. It was clear there was no more driving to be got out of it that afternoon, and the boys gave up the attempt to raise it in disgust.

“Do you know Tom, our man—Ashford’s man?” said Dick.

“Who? Tom Tranter? Yes, I knows him.”

“Well, you’ll meet him on the road between here and Markridge, walking, or perhaps running. Tell him we’ve had a spill and he’d better see after the trap, will you? We’ll go on.”

“What about the horse, though?” said Heathcote.

“I suppose we shall have to take the beast along with us. We can’t leave her here.”

“I think we’d better stop till Tom comes, and all go on together,” suggested Heathcote.

“I suppose you funk it with Ashford,” said Dick whose temper was somewhat ruffled by misfortune. “I don’t. If you two like to stop you can. I’ll go on with the mare.”

“Oh, no, we’ll all come,” said Heathcote. “I’m not afraid, no more is Coote.”

“All serene then, come on. Mind you tell Tom, I say,” added he to the carter. “Good-bye, and thanks awfully.”

And they departed in doleful procession, Dick, with the whip in his hand, leading the mare by the mouth, and Heathcote and Coote following like chief mourners, just out of range of the animal’s heels.

“What shall we say to Ashford?” asked Heathcote, after a little.

“Say? What do you mean?” said Dick.

“He’s sure to ask us what has happened.”

“Well, we shall tell him, I suppose.”

“There’ll be an awful row.”

“Of course there will.”

“We shall get licked.”

“Of course we shall. What of it?”

“Only,” said Heathcote, with a little hesitation, “I suppose there’s no way of getting out of it?”

“Not unless you tell lies. You and Coote can tell some if you like—I shan’t.”

“I’m not going to tell any,” said Coote, “I’ve told quite enough in my exam. papers.”

“Oh, of course, I don’t mean telling crams,” said Heathcote, who really didn’t exactly know what he did mean. “I’ll back you up, old man.”

“Thanks. I say, as we are in a row, mightn’t we just as well take it out of this beastly horse? If Coote led him you and I could take cock shots at him from behind.”

“Oh, yes,” said Coote, “and hit me by mistake; not if I know it.”

“We might aim at Coote,” suggested Heathcote, by way of solving the difficulty, “and hit the mare by mistake.”

“Perhaps it would be rather low,” said Dick. “I don’t see, though, why she shouldn’t carry us. She’s a long back; plenty of room for all three of us.”

“The middle for me,” said Coote.

“Think she’d kick up?” asked Heathcote.

“Not she, she couldn’t lift with all of us on her. Come on. Whoa! you beast. Give us a leg up, somebody. Whoa! Hold her head, Coote, and keep her from going round and round. Now then. By Jove! what a way up it is!”

By a mighty effort of combined hoisting and climbing, the boys, one after the other, scaled the lofty ridge, and perched themselves, as securely as they could, well forward on the mare’s long back.

Luckily for them, the patient animal endured her burden meekly, and plodded on in a listless manner, pricking her ears occasionally at the riot which went on on her back, and once or twice rattling the bones of her riders by a mild attempt at a trot, but otherwise showing no signs of renewing her former more energetic protest.

In this manner, after a weary and not altogether refreshing journey, the three jaded, tightly-packed heroes came to a standstill at the door of Mountjoy House, where, one after the other, they slid sadly from their perches, and addressed themselves to the satisfying of Mrs Ashford’s natural curiosity, only hoping the interview would not be protracted, and so defer for long the supper to which they all eagerly looked forward.

“Why, what’s all this?” said the matron.

“Where’s the waggonette, and Tom?”