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Updated: May 19, 2025
I rode with my knees doubled and wedged in against the pads, catching the terrible jar where there was bone and tendon and leather to meet and break it, and from long custom I rode easily, unconscious of my extraordinary precautions against the half-bucking jump. The fence rushed past. The trees, as they always do, seemed to wait until we were almost upon them, and then jump by.
When our feet were firmly placed and all was ready, we lifted the blinds from the horses' eyes and then braced ourselves. Digging our heels into the ponies' sides, off we started, at a jerking, bounding, half-bucking pace. Shouting directions to each other, helter-skelter, over and around boulders, we dashed along as if we were after the hounds on a genuine old-fashioned fox-hunt.
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