Tom threw himself upon the end of the lever. Nan ran
to add her small weight to the endeavor. The wheel creaked and
began to rise slowly.
The sawdust was not clinging, it was not like real mire. There
was no suction to hold the wheel down. Merely the crust had
broken in and the wheel had encountered an impediment of a sound
tree root in front of it so that, when the horses tugged, the
tire had come against the root and dragged back the team.
Out poured the flames and smoke again, the flames hissing as they
were quenched by the falling water. Higher, higher rose the cart
wheel. Nan, who was behind her cousin, saw his neck and ears
turn almost purple from the strain he put in the effort to
dislodge the wheel. Up, up it came, and then-----
"Gid-ap! 'Ap, boys! Yah! Gid-ap!"
The horses strained. The yoke chains rattled. Tom gasped to
Nan:
"Take my whip! Quick! Let 'em have it!"
The girl had always thought the drover's whip Tom used a very
cruel implement, and she wished he did not use it. But she knew
now that it was necessary. She leaped for the whip which Tom had
thrown down and showed that she knew its use.
The lash hissed and cracked over the horses' backs. Tom voiced
one last, ringing shout.
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