He caught a momentary glimpse of two men riding swiftly up the trail; the box above was empty, the wheelers alone remained in harness, and they were running uncontrolled.
"By God!" he muttered.

"Those two damn cowards have cut loose and left us!" Even as the unrestrained words leaped from his lips, he realized the only hope--the reins still dangled, caught securely in the brake lever.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, he wiggled out; Moylan, comprehending, caught his legs, holding him steady against the mad pitching.

His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and, exerting all his strength, he slowly pulled his body up, until he fell forward into the driver's seat.

Swift as he had been, the action was not quickly enough conceived to avert disaster.

He had the reins in his grip when the swinging pole struck the steep side of the bluff, snapping off with a sharp crack, and flinging down the frightened animals, the wheels, crashing against them, as the coach came to a sudden halt.