Kate
now planted herself well in her stirrups to enter Cuzco, almost
dangerously a winner; for the horse was so maddened by the wound, and
the road so steep, that he went like blazes; and it really became
difficult for Kate to guide him with any precision through narrow
episcopal paths. Henceforwards the wounded horse required Kate's
continued attention; and yet, in the mere luxury of strife, it was
impossible for Kate to avoid turning a little in her saddle to see the
Alcalde's performance on this tight rope of the trench. His worship's
horsemanship being perhaps rather rusty, and he not perfectly
acquainted with his horse, it would have been agreeable to compromise
the case by riding round, or dismounting. But all _that_ was
impossible. The job must be done. And I am happy to report, for the
reader's satisfaction, the sequel--so far as Kate could attend the
performance. Gathering himself up for mischief, the Alcalde took a
sweep, as if ploughing out the line of some vast encampment, or tracing
the _pomaerium_ for some future Rome; then, like thunder and
lightning, with arms flying aloft in the air, down he came upon the
trembling trench.
But the horse refused the leap; and, as the only compromise that
_his_ unlearned brain could suggest, he threw his worship right
over his ears, lodging him safely in a sand-heap that rose with clouds
of dust and screams of birds into the morning air.
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