We were calling Dawson to stop when we saw the coach, careening with the slant of the hill, topple over, and fall to the bottom of a little precipice five or six feet in height.

We at once dismounted and jumped down the declivity to the coach, which lay on its side, almost covered by drifted snow.

The pole had broken in the fall, and the horses were standing on the road.

We first saw Dawson.

He was swearing like a Dutchman, and when we had dragged him from his snowy grave, we opened the coach door, lifted out the ladies, and seated them upon the uppermost side of the coach.