It was one of the covered bridges not uncommon in Canada.

It was not long, as the river was narrow, and he did not see that the middle pier of the bridge had been badly injured.

Yet as he entered the bridge, his horse still trotting, he was conscious of a hollow, semi-thunderous noise which seemed not to belong to the horse's hoofs and the iron wheels of the carriage.

He raised his eyes to see that the other end of the bridge was clear, and at that moment he was conscious of an unsteady motion of the bridge, of a wavering of the roof, and then, before he had time to do aught, he saw the roof and the sides and the floor of the bridge collapse and sink slowly down.
With a cry, he sprang from the carriage to retrace his way; but he only climbed up a ladder that grew every instant steeper; and all at once he was plunged downwards after his horse and carriage into the stream.

He could swim, and as he swept down this thought came to him--that he might be able to get the shore, as he heard the cries of people on the bank.
It was a hope that died at the moment of its birth, however, for he was struck by a falling timber on the head.
When, an hour later, he was found in an eddy of the river by the shore, he was dead, and his finders could only compose his limbs decently.