The bridge the trail went round by was some distance to his right, and because the frost had just set in he knew the ice on the river would not bear the load even if the horses could keep their footing.
He had not, however, long to wonder.

Once more a horse stumbled, there was a crash, and a branch hurled Winston backwards into the wagon, which came to a standstill suddenly.

When he rose something warm was running down his face, and there was a red smear on the hand he lighted the lantern with.

When that was done he flung himself down from the wagon dreading what he would find.

The flickering radiance showed him that the pole had snapped, and while one bronco still stood trembling on its feet the other lay inert amidst a tangle of harness.