I must have ridden a hundred and thirty miles before dawn, and the pace
was beginning to tell, even on my strong frame. True, to a man used to
the saddle, the effort of riding is reduced to a minimum when every hour
or two gives him a fresh horse. There is then no heed for the welfare of
the animal necessary; he has but his seven or eight miles to gallop, and
then his work is done; there are none of those thousand little cares and
sympathetic shiftings and adjustings of weight and seat to be thought
of, which must constantly engage the attention of a man who means to
ride the same horse a hundred miles, or even fifty or forty. Conscious
that a fresh mount awaits him, he sits back lazily and never eases his
weight for a moment; before he has gone thirty miles he will kick his
feet out of the stirrups about once in twenty minutes, and if he has for
the moment a quiet old stager who does not mind tricks, he will probably
fetch one leg over and go a few miles sitting sideways. He will go to
sleep once or twice, and wake up apparently in the very act to
fall--though I believe that a man will sleep at a full gallop and never
loosen his knees until the moment of waking startles him. Nevertheless,
and notwithstanding Lord Steepleton Kildare and his ride to Umballa and
back in twenty-four hours, when a man, be he ever so strong, has ridden
over a hundred miles, he feels inclined for a rest, and a walk, and a
little sleep.
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