"Judas priest!" he shouted. "There goes that wheel! I've, been expectin'
it."

He tugged at the right hand rein. General Jackson, who, having been
brought up in a seafaring community, had learned to answer his helm,
swerved sharply from the road. Emily screamed faintly.

"Where are you goin'?" demanded Mrs. Barnes.

The driver did not answer. The groan from beneath the carriage was more
ominously threatening than ever. And suddenly the threat was fulfilled.
The depot-wagon jerked on for a few feet and then, with a crack, settled
down to port in a most alarming fashion. Winnie S. settled down with it,
still holding tight to the reins and roaring commands to General Jackson
at the top of his lungs.

"Whoa!" he hollered. "Whoa! Stand still! Stand still where you be!
Whoa!"

General Jackson stood still. Generally speaking he needed but one hint
to do that. His commander climbed out, or fell out, from beneath the
boot. The ground upon which he fell was damp but firm.

"Whoa!" he roared again. Then scrambling to his feet he sprang toward
the wagon, which, the forward wheel detached and flat beneath it,
was resting on the remaining three in a fashion which promised total
capsizing at any moment.

"Be you hurt? Be you hurt?" demanded Winnie S.