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Was the rider a bearer of ill tidings? No, there was no rider on the horse. He who rode must have been killed. It might be her brother’s horse; she grew sick and faint, but still she gazed. The horse came nearer; he was slackening his speed. Yes, there was some one on the horse—a man—but he had fallen over on the saddle, and his arms were around the horse’s neck.
To practise these movements, form a circus by placing wattle hurdles on end, leaning outward against the shores or staves; take the stirrups off, tie a string over the flaps and the horse’s head loosely to this a man with a driving whip in the middle. Circus riding, I believe, originated in England, in the time of our grandfathers; in Germany it is called “English reiten.”
The few little cedars, which were so dull and dingy before, now stood out a strong, dusky green. The wind had the burning taste of fresh snow; my throat and nostrils smarted as if some one had opened a hartshorn bottle. The cold stung, and at the same time delighted one. My horse’s breath rose like steam, and whenever we stopped he smoked all over.
The sacrilegious hands of the British soldiers had torn it down, and kindled their barrack fires with the fragments. Further on, he passed beneath the tower of the Old South. The threshold of this sacred edifice was worn by the iron tramp of horse’s feet: for the interior had been used as a riding-school and rendezvous, for a regiment of dragoons.
I followed, gathering wisdom as I went, till I found, by my horse’s stumbling, that I was in a bad road, and that the blind was leading the blind.
Like most Yankees, your word of honor is worthless.” “Did just what I said I would!” yelled back Latham. “You did not. You told me you would hold on that horse’s tail like grim death.” “And so I did. I am holding on to it yet,” and to Calhoun’s surprise Latham shook a large piece of the horse’s tail at him. He had neatly severed it.
Lucinda fled out into the open again. Her footprints of the time before were little oblong ponds now and she laid out a new course parallel to their splashes. She found Joshua sponging the dasher. "She wants you to go straight out again." Joshua flung the sponge into the pail. "Then I’ll go straight out again," he said, moving toward the horse’s head. "You’re to bring Mr.
For hunting I always use a single strap, sewn to the iron, with a =D= above the knee, and with a double strap and buckle between the =D= and the spring-bar. The lady’s stirrup-leather, which passes under the horse’s body, and is fixed to the off side of the side-saddle, is supposed to prevent the saddle from turning round. This is a mechanical error.
Above the throbbing stillness of the desert night, that came to her murmurously, like the imprisoned roar of the sea from a shell, she could hear the regular beat of horse’s hoofs following up the steep mountain grade. She scrambled up with the desperate nimbleness of a hunted thing, but when she attempted to vault to the saddle her limbs failed and she sank clinging to the pommel.
Marcia with sorrowful face and drooping eyelashes stood quiet behind the curtain, while over and over the echo of a horse’s hoofs in a silent street and over a bridge sounded in her brain. She did not need to be told, she knew intuitively what had happened, and she dared not look at David. “Well, what has she done with herself?” said the Squire impatiently.
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