The crunching and
groaning of the wagons, rattling of the enormous cable chains, and the
creaking of the heavy yokes of the oxen were awful sounds, but above
all came the yells of the drivers, and the sharp, pistol-like reports
of the long whips that they mercilessly cracked over the backs of the
poor beasts. It was most distressing.
After the wagons had all passed, men came back and set the stage on
the road in the same indifferent way and with very few words. Each man
seemed to know just what to do, as though he had been training for
years for the moving of that particular stage. The horses had not
stirred and had paid no attention to the yelling and cracking of
whips. While coming through the canons we must have met six or seven
of those trains, every one of which necessitated the setting in
mid-air of the stage coach. It was the same performance always, each
man knowing just what to do, and doing it, too, without loss of time.
Not once did the driver put down the reins until he saw that "the
lady" was safely out and it was ever with the same sing-song, "balance
to the right," voice that he asked about me--except once, when he
seemed to think more emphasis was needed, when he made the canon ring
by yelling, "Why in hell don't you get the lady out!" But the lady
always got herself out. Rough as he was, I felt intuitively that I had
a protector.
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