I had at this
excruciating point no purchase whatever on the lines.
Then apparently Peter sat or fell down, I do not know
which, on his haunches and began to slide. The cutter
lurched to the left as if it were going to spill all it
held. Dan was knocked off his hind feet by the drawbar--and
we plunged... We came to with a terrific jolt that sent
me in a heap against the dashboard. One jump, and I stood
on the ground. The cutter--and this is the second picture
which is etched clearly on the plate of my memory--stood
on its pole, leaning at an angle of forty-five degrees
against the drift. The horses were as if stunned. "Dan,
Peter!" I shouted, and they struggled to their feet. They
were badly winded, but otherwise everything seemed all
right. I looked wistfully back and up at the gully which
we had torn into the flank of the drift.
I should gladly have breathed the horses again, but they
were hot, the air was at zero or colder, the rays of the
sun had begun to slant. I walked for a while alongside
the team. They were drooping sadly. Then I got in again,
driving them slowly till we came to the crossing of the
ditch.
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