By and by it began to get dark, and I began to get worried. There had been some washouts when we came down, and I knew they'd be enough sight worse by now; and in the dark, and with those nervous horses—well, things didn't look good to me,—not a bit, they didn't.
Once or twice we lurched pretty hard, and so, after a while I unbuttoned the curtain of the carriage on my side, the side away from the river, and rolled it up.
"What are you doing that for?" asked Uncle Rob.
"It's close in here," I said.
The carriage lurched again and the horses did some struggling. The night had become perfectly black, and we had no carriage-lamps. "Say," I said, "I've been sitting this way until I'm cramped to pieces. Let's change places."
"How?" asked Uncle Rob.
"Why," I said, "you sit on this side and take Bess on your lap. That'll give us all more room."
"All right, Chet," said Uncle Rob, and we changed;—and when there came a flash of lightning, I saw that he was sitting away forward with Bess on his knees, and one foot out on the step
