Then George, running furiously, sprang at the horses' heads, and went down, still holding on.

He was dragged along a few yards, but the pace slackened, and Edgar ran forward with Grierson behind him.

For a few moments there was a savage struggle, but they stopped and held the team, until Grant coolly cleared the reins and flung them to his daughter.
"Stick tight while I get up, and then watch out," he said to the others.
He was seated in another moment, the girl quietly making room for him; then, to Edgar's astonishment, he lashed the frantic horses with the whip, and, plunging forward, they swept madly through the opening in the fence, with the wagon jolting from rut to rut.

A minute or two afterward they had vanished into the thick obscurity that veiled the waste of grass, and there was a dazzling flash and a stunning roll of thunder.

George, flushed and breathless, looked around with a soft laugh.
"Grant has pretty good nerve," he said.
"That's so, sir," Grierson agreed.