Bert loved to ride and drive, but it must be confessed that he did not enjoy racing¹.  
The road was rather uneven², and he could not help but think what the consequences might be if the cutter should strike a deep hollow or a big stone.
 
"Don't let Rusher run away," he said to his friend. "Be careful."
 
Bob was by this time having his hands so full that he could not answer.
 
"Steady, Rusher, steady!" he called out to the steed. "Steady, old boy!"
 
But the old race horse was now warmed up to his work and paid no attention to what was said. On and on he sped, until the young man in the other cutter was gradually outdistanced.
 
"Told you I could beat you!" flung back Bob.
 
"The race is yours," answered the young man, in much disappointment, and then he dropped further back than ever.
 
"Better slacken up, Bob," said Bert. "There is no use in driving so hard now."
 
"I—I can't slacken up," answered Bob. "Steady, Rusher," he called out. "Whoa, old fellow, whoa!"
 
But the old race horse did not intend to whoa, and on he flew as fast as his legs would carry him, up the first hill and then onward³ toward the turn before mentioned.
 
"Be careful at the turn, Bob!" screamed Bert. "Be careful, or we'll go over!"
 
"Whoa, Rusher!" repeated Bob, and pulled in on the reins⁴ with all of his might.
 
The turn where the sand pit had been was now close at hand. Here the road was rather narrow, so they had to drive close to the opening, now more than half filled with drifted snow. Bert clung to the cutter while Bob continued to haul in on the reins. Then came a crash, as the cutter hit a hidden stone and drove straight for the sand pit.
 
"Hold on!" cried Bob, and the next instant Bert found himself flying out of the cutter and over the edge of the road. He tried to save himself by clutching at the ice and snow, but it was useless, and in a twinkling he disappeared into the sand pit! Bob followed, while Rusher went on more gayly than ever, hauling the overturned cutter after him.
 
Down and down went poor Bert into the deep snow, until he thought he was never going to stop. Bob was beside him, and both floundered around wildly until almost the bottom of the pit was reached.
 
"Oh, Bob!"
 
"Oh, Bert! Are you hurt?"
 
"Don't know as I am. But what a tumble!"
 
"Rusher has run away!"
 
"I was afraid he'd do that."
 
For a minute the two boys knew not what to do. The deep snow lay all around them and how to get out of the pit was a serious question.
 
"It's a wonder we weren't smothered," said Bob. "Are you quite sure no bones have been broken?"
 
"Bones broken? Why, Bob, it was like coming down on a big feather bed. I only hope Rusher doesn't do any damage."
 
"So do I."
 
When the boys finally floundered out of the hollow into which they had fallen, they found themselves in snow up to their waists. On all sides of them were the walls of the sand pit, ten to fifteen feet high.
 
"I don't see how we are going to get out of this," said Bert dolefully. "We can't climb out."
 
"We'll have to do it," answered Bob. "Come, follow me."
 
He led the way through the deep snow to where the walls did not seem to be so high. At one spot the rain had washed down part of the soil.
 
"Let us try to climb up that slope," said the larger boy and led the way, and Bert followed.
 
It was hard work and it made Bert pant for breath, for the snow was still up to his waist. But both kept on, and in the end they stood on the edge of the sand pit, opposite to the side which ran along the road.
 
"Now we have got to walk around," said Bob. "But that will be easy, if we keep to the places where the wind has swept the snow away."
 
At last they stood on the road, and this reached both struck out for Dalton, less than a mile away.
 
"I'm afraid I'll catch it, if Rusher has smashed up the cutter," said Bob as they hurried along.
 
"We did wrong to race," answered Bert.
 
"Humph! it's no use to cry over spilt milk, Bert.............