There were no passengers for
Crabapple, and David, with his coat collar turned up about his throat,
urged the horses to a faster gait through the watery cold.
The brake set up a shrill grinding, and then the stage passed Elbow
Barren in a smart rattle and bumping.
After that David slowed down to light his pipe. The horses willingly
lingered, almost stopping; and, the memory of the slippery bags at the
back of his head, David dismounted, walked to the rear of the stage.
A chilling dread swept through him as he saw, realized, that one of the
Government sacks was missing. The straps were loose about the remaining
two; in a minute or more they would have gone. Panic seized him, utter
misery, at the thought of what Priest, Crabapple, would say. He would
be disgraced, contemptuously dismissed--a failure in the trust laid on
him.
He collected his faculties by a violent effort; the bags, he was sure,
had been safe coming down the last mountain; he had walked part of the
way, and he was certain that he would have noticed anything wrong. The
road was powerful bad through the Barren....
He got up into the stage, backed the team abruptly on its haunches, and
slowly retraced his way to the foot of the descent. There was no mail
lying on the empty road. David turned again, his heart pounding against
his ribs, tears of mortification, of apprehension, blurring his vision.
The bag must have fallen here in Elbow Barren. Subconsciously he
stopped the stage.
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