A CLOSE SHAVE 31 



of a high mountain. Instead of giving me a tat, 

 or hill pony, the Maharajah did me the honour to 

 mount me on a curveting peacocky charger, with a 

 long tail and little else to recommend him. I did 

 not like to object, but I " had me doots " when I 

 started. We had got about two-thirds up the 

 mountain and I was in front of the party, when 

 my steed shied, reared, and over we went. It was 

 the work of a second, but it seemed a lifetime. The 

 horse stood for a second straight up on his hind- 

 legs, then he reared, fell back, and bounded like 

 a ball over and over some 200 feet down the side, 

 half of which was perpendicular, and was smashed 

 to pieces on the rocks at the bottom. When he 

 reared I jerked my feet out of the stirrups, cast 

 away the bridle, and tried to slip off to one side. 

 I succeeded, but I was over the edge myself, and 

 the horse fell all but on the top of me. His side 

 just touched my head. Then I began to slide 

 faster and faster to certain death. I lay quite 

 still on my back and slid faster and faster. All I 

 could do was to spread my legs wide apart, make 

 my heels scrape as much as possible, and spread 

 out my fingers and use my poor nails as claws. 

 Still I went faster and faster. Just as I thought 

 it was to be one quick shoot and death, my heels 

 caught a ridge of grass. I dug my nails into a 

 little loose earth and grass and stopped. I think 

 that was the most trying time I have ever known 

 in my life. I could see between my toes an almost 

 sheer fall of a hundred feet on to the rocks below. 

 I felt the little tufts of grass give, give, give, and 

 I almost regretted not having gone down at first. 

 It was all a question of time. Mercifully the 



