I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fanfiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review.

Go Ahead and Jump, Sid…

Chapter Three: The Heckled and The Hectic

The ride was going fine so far. They were into it a couple of hours already and Frank hadn't started grumbling yet. It was amazing. Nor had he poked fun, except when the Rabbit had strapped on the company-provided seat-belt which he preferred because it gave him more control in driving. Frank, who never wore his, was beginning to get used to the Rabbit and his habits. And the noise of the horses and creaky wheels of the coach made it difficult to hear the passengers whining inside, so all in all it was starting out a pleasant trip. All, that is, except for one thing…Sid put a paw to his mouth and shook away a yawn.

"Hand me that poncho, Frank, will ya?"

"Get it yourself, ya stinking varmint," muttered Frank. But he reached down and grabbed the poncho.

Sid caught the garment in his lap and dexterously dipped his pointy-eared head into the hole, pulling it over him with one paw, all the while managing the reins without waver. The night was promising a chill, and cold temperatures always made him feel sleepy.

Of course, what with the non-stop schedule he'd been through in the last several weeks and all, it was a wonder the big white Rabbit wasn't wakefully dreaming right now. Ever since that first stagecoach accident and the loss of the company's number one driver and team over Ichabod Falls, the pace had been hard on all the remaining drivers. Frank had been riding shotgun on that coach that was destroyed. Somehow he had survived to tell the tale. "Driver went to sleep" was all he would say.

That was funny. It had never occurred to Sid before, but…come to think of it, Frank had also been involved in the second and third stagecoach accidents over the course of the last month as well. The company had been bouncing the man from one scuttled crew to the next, and somehow he kept surviving these great mysterious accidents. Always he was the lone survivor to tell the story. What is it with this guy? thought Sid. Is he bad luck? He looked over at the fat man riding next to him. Frank now dozed in his seat and nodded along with the rhythm of the road. Every now and then the man would mutter something aloud as he dreamed, something like, "Stupid Chihuahuas with their tiny doorbells!" Even in sleep he harassed and complained.

The somber mood gave the Rabbit time to reflect. Westerland Stage company had been getting desperate enough to begin hiring new drivers from all walks of life. It was how he, Sid, had gotten the job. But the company was also under a lot of pressure to keep the news of the wrecks away from the public. They wanted to avoid losing stockholder support. But no one had figured on continuing to lose coaches and drivers. Now they were down to just one driver and the pace had been pretty hard on him.

The Rabbit shook his head. It didn't matter anyway. Frank or no Frank, Sid was in control of this stagecoach. If only it wasn't so shivering cold out here tonight!

"Hey, Frank," the Rabbit said, trying to strike up a conversation just to be doing something, even if it was to talk with the king of insults sitting next to him.

"Yeah, Garden-Rat?" The man never missed a beat. He sat up groggily, pushing the brim of his hat back from his eyes.

"Hey, how come you never applied to be a driver? I mean, you could have had this job, you know. I'd probably be the one holding the shotgun for you instead of the other way around."

The man grinned and spat some tobacco. "Yeah, Rabbit. You know, I am a pretty good driver, too, but…well, for some reason the company Bigwigs think I hold a shotgun rather proudly and all."

The man didn't look too proud about it, though. He scowled as if the memory scraped at old wounds. "I did apply," he said finally. "Don't ask me why, but they said they needed me here. With the shortage of drivers and everything! And they need me here."

The Rabbit thought about this for a while. The man's bitterness was apparent. But…oh what the hey, it was on his mind so he might as well ask. Sid said, "What happened to those other coaches, anyway?" The question hung in the cold wind, like a kite flapping along over their heads.

My, but the desert gets chilly fast, thought the Rabbit. Sid was just considering how to rephrase the question, thinking Frank hadn't heard, when the man suddenly began speaking again. And his reply had a bit of an edge to it, the way a dull knife does, sawing on baggage straps.

"Those other drivers," Frank began, "They started getting tired, each in their turn. I was riding shotgun with them…and…I offered to take the reins, but would they listen? No. So, the next thing you know…er…well, eventually, we wake up and we're going over the Falls. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "…Or, if you prefer another coach, another wreck…we sit up, rub our eyes and see that we're all in flames at the reins…and the whole coach-full of passengers and the baggage are afire beneath our butts. Driver, he goes down with the ship. Me? I happened to fall off by accident…"

Frank's voice began to take on a droning, sing-song appeal as he went on, so the Rabbit began to nod a little. But he managed to catch himself in time and thought of something to interrupt with. He spoke up: "There's some talk that you were to blame for that fire." Even as he said it, he hoped it would agitate the man enough to at least give him some inflection. It didn't work.

"I was not to blame for the fire. I was resting. They say I started the fire. How could I do that? I chew tobaccy, I don't burn it." It made sense only to him and he spat some juice off the side to prove it. The spittle floated down on the wind and in through the window of the coach. Cries of dismay from within were lost in the rumble of the wheels.

Frank's voice, monotonous as ever, went on. "They say I caused the landslide, too, but no one's left around to prove it. They say a lot of things. It is all just a bunch of hogwashhhh…"

This guy could talk a Rabbit to sleep, thought Sid. He was struggling to keep his eyes open. The poncho was feeling warm now. Maybe if he just snuggled down into it a bit more…

For a moment, the night seemed to blur for the driver. The horses out front with the systematic rhythm of their hooves and jingling harnesses played on his dulling ears a hypnotic lullaby. Overhead, the sky was that navy blue, sleepy color, and in the distance a lone coyote wheedled out a mournful song to the moon. It was tranquil…