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There flashed on Varley an ugly doubt of Sam’s courage. Then for a little he forgot everything but the galloping horse, and the part he meant to play in stopping the maddened animal. He leaped over the piled up snow lining the sidewalk, and gave a great bound for the horse’s head. He was not reckoning risk, or chances—or conditions, for that matter. It had not occurred to him that just at this point the frozen road, with its thin, greasy coating was extraordinarily slippery and treacherous under foot. He hardly realized what was happening, when, as he was about to grasp the bridle, his feet shot from under him. The shoulder of the runaway struck him. Luckily, it was only a glancing blow, but it sent him reeling back, out of danger of contact with plunging hoofs or lunging sleigh. Down he went in a heap, sorely shaken and with the breath half driven from his body; and there he lay, recovering his wits and his wind, while he watched Sam, twenty yards away, score success where he had failed.