Therefore I had the groom head the
horse down the drive, and the moment he released him, I touched Dr. Bell
with the spurs. The result was magical. He started on a run but kept in
the road where I wanted him to be, giving me, for the moment, a sense of
having something almost like control over him. At the foot of the drive
was a gate which I knew could be opened without dismounting, by pulling
a rope, and as no horse, unless quite out of his mind, will deliberately
run into a gate, I had reason to hope that Dr. Bell would stop when he
got there. Imagine my feelings, then, when on sight of the gate he not
only failed to slacken his pace, but actually dashed at it faster than
ever. Within a few feet of the barrier he seemed to pause momentarily,
hunching himself in a peculiar and alarming manner: then he arose,
sailed through the air like a swallow, came down beyond like a load of
trunks falling off from a truck, and galloped down the highway,
seemingly quite indifferent to the fact that the stirrups were flapping
at his sides and that I had moved from the saddle to a point near the
base of his neck.
My position at the moment was one of considerable insecurity. By holding
on to his mane and wriggling backward I hoped to stay on, provided he
did not put down his head. If he did that, I was lost.
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