"Get hold," he said.

"Line's in the trace-hook." He was over the front of the wagon next moment, and the girl gasped as she saw him crawl out with an arm across the back of one of the galloping horses and his knees on the pole.

It looked horribly dangerous, and probably was, for the wagon was lurching furiously down the declivity.

Then he leaned out and downwards over the horse, clawing at something desperately, and Miss Deringham would have shut her eyes if she could have done so.

In place of it she stared fascinated at the clinging figure while the trees flashed past, until it was evident that the man had accomplished his task.