on. There is a gopher hole — that 
means a broken leg for him, a clavicle 
and a few ribs for me. No: on we go. 
Ah, that stony brook ahead we soon 
must cross! Ye gods, so young and so 
fair! To perish thus, the toy of a raw- 
boned Great Goer! 
Pound, pound, pound, the hard road 
rang with the thunder of hoofs. Could 
I endure it longer? Oh, there is the 
stream—surely he will stop. No! He 
is going to jump! It’s an awful dis- 
tance! With a frantic effort I got my 
feet in the stirrups. He gathered him- 
self together. I shut my eyes. Oh! 
We missed the bank and landed in the 
water—an awful mess. But the Great 
Goer scrambled out, with me still on 
top somehow, and started on. I pulled 
on the reins again with every muscle, 
trying to break his pace, or his neck— 
