He did
not mind it at all. But the man in the motor minded. Annoyed with me for
having stopped him unnecessarily, he shouted something after me. But I
paid no attention to him. Under the circumstances, it seemed the only
thing to do. I might have gotten off; I might conceivably have beaten
him; but I never could have held the horse while doing it, or have
gotten on again.
Presently, when I was changing the position of the reins, which were
hurting my fingers because I had gripped them so tight, I accidentally
shifted the gears in some way, so to speak, sending Dr. Bell off at a
pace which was neither a trot nor a canter, but which carried us along
at a sort of smooth, rapid glide. At first I took this gait to be a
swift trot, and attempted to post to it; then, as that did not work, I
sat still in the saddle and, finding the posture comfortable, concluded
that Dr. Bell must be single-footing. I had never single-footed before.
Just as I was beginning to like it, however, he changed to a trot, then
back to single-footing again, and so on, in a curious puzzling manner.
Except for the changes of gait, we were now going on rather well, and I
had begun, for the first time, to feel a little security, when all of a
sudden he swerved off and galloped with me up a driveway leading toward
a white house which stood on a hill two or three hundred yards from the
road.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144