"
In the afternoon we climbed the hill above our camp. It gave
us a long view off to the east across the level country, while
away to the west were the mountain-peaks rising higher and
higher. It was still cold, and the raw northeast wind moaned
through the pines in a way that made us think of winter.
We went to bed early that night, so as to get a good start
for Deadwood the next day. We brought the horses down from the
ranch in the evening, blanketed them, and stood them out of the
wind among some trees.
"Four o'clock must see us rolling out of our comfortable beds
and getting ready to start," said Jack, as we turned in. "We must
play we are freighters."
Jack planned better than he knew; we really "rolled out" in
an exceedingly lively manner at three o'clock. We were sleeping
soundly at that hour, when we were awakened by the motion of the
wagon. Jack and I sat up. It was swaying from side to side, and
we could hear the wheels bumping on the stones. The back end was
considerably lower than the front.
"It's running down the bank!" I cried, and we both plunged
through the darkness for the brake-handle.
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