Harper's Young People, February 15, 1881 (Illustrated)

"It's nothing on earth but a pair of bobs. We've rigged that kind of thing lots of times over on our hill. All you need is a couple of sleds and a plank."
"Yes, Rod, and when you've done it, they won't steer worth a cent."
"Yes, they do. Dig your heels in."
"Stop your sled just so much every time you dig. A rudder's just as bad. We've tried 'em."
"So've we, Court Hoffman. I guess there wasn't ever anything much started on your hill till after we'd showed you how, over on ours."
"You never showed anybody how to make a ripper like this."
"Ripper? We'll see about that."
There they stood looking at Courtland Hoffman's new coasting machine. He was the undoubted leader of the West Hill coasters, as Rodney Sanderson was of the East Hill boys.
The new ripper was a beauty, and had cost some money. It was, as Rod said, a pair of bobs, with a plank on top to hold them together. There was room on it for half a dozen boys, and more if they packed, and it was handsomely finished. The one thing about it that no boy in Cuzco Centre really believed in, except Court Hoffman, was the steering gear.
This was a half-wheel, as wide as the sled, mounted on the front bob, on an axle that went down through the plank; and the idea that when you turned that wheel the front bob would turn too, and the ripper be steered by it, was too much for anything. Some of the oldest men in the village had shaken their heads at that sled, and Squire Sanderson himself had remarked to Deacon Rogers, "They didn't spile the boys with any sech nonsense in our day, Deacon."
Cuzco Centre had two hills, one on each side, and they were tremendous affairs. The older people believed they were put there so as to have a valley between them for the village to stand in, but the boys knew exactly what they were really for, especially in winter, and when the coasting was good.
The main street ran through the middle of the valley and the village; but it failed to make a fair division of things, for the river ran a crooked parallel with it a short distance eastward. It was the glory of the East Side boys that the river ran through their ground—fish, swimming-hole, ponds, skating, old bridge, and all—but it cut off the lower end of their long coast from the hill road. No sled in Cuzco had ever reached the bridge, however, so it was just as well; but the West Side boys told wonderful stories of the distances they had buzzed over on the half-mile level at the bottom of their hill. That was what Court Hoffman meant, too, when he said:
"You wouldn't have room for a ripper on your hill. If you want to see how one works, you'll have to come over and look on. Give you a ride, too, if you think you wouldn't be afraid. They go just like lightning."
Rod Sanderson did not say anything, but he looked up the road toward the East Hill, and the high, white, snow-covered ridge seemed to say:
"Look up here. There is as much of me as ever there was. You do your share, and we'll beat 'em."
Court Hoffman made two boys happy by letting them drag his ripper home for him, and Rod Sanderson walked off with an idea in his head.
"There'll be a moon to-night. Never was better coasting. I'll just try it on."
Part of that idea was now lying over in his father's barn-yard, in the shape of an old weather-beaten, worn-out double-seated sleigh, with a goose-neck front. It had been a handsome affair in its day, but it had not had any day to speak of since Rodney could remember. It was drifted under now, and it took a good hour to get it out, even with the help of Put Willoughby.
"Going to make a ripper of it?" said Put, doubtfully. "The runners are all right, but the box is on it yet, and the seats."
"We'll put in buffalo robes and blankets, and fix it fine."
"How on earth'll you steer? There isn't any boy in Cuzco with legs enough to heel it for a sleigh of that size."
"I'll show you. I'm going to rig a boom out astern for a rudder. Steer like a ship."
"You don't say!"
Put had a good deal to say, however, when he saw Rod cut a hole in the back of that sleigh box, and shove through it a long pole with a spike on the end.
"Steer? Of course it will. I could steer it myself. Only how on earth'll we ever get it up to the top of the East Hill?"
There might have been some difficulty about that, if all the boys on that side of the main street had not taken the matter in hand. They were a public-spirited lot, and they were all jealous of Court Hoffman's town-made, new-fangled, fancy-painted gimcrack. They knew it wouldn't work, and they said so, and they pulled and pushed at Rod's wonderful idea that evening until they got it up the hill. Then they all got in, or tried to, and the old ark looked more like a pyramid of boys than anything else.
It was a splendid moon-lit evening, and the West Hill boys were out, every soul of them,