"No," I answered,--"a careful one. Look at the bit, and my whip, too. I
cut his hind legs when he jumps. Observe that I do not wear a long
skirt. I can slip off the saddle, if need be, without danger."
"That's all very well; but his eyes are vicious; he will serve you a
trick some day."
"When he does, I'll sell him for a cart-horse."
Laura and Redmond rode Jones's horses. Harry Lothrop was mounted on his
horse Black, a superb, thick-maned creature, with a cluster of white
stars on one of his shoulders. Maurice rode a wall-eyed pony. Our
friends Dickenson and Jack Parker drove two young ladies in a
carriage,--all the saddle-horses our town could boast of being in use.
We were in high spirits, and rode fast. I was occupied in watching
Folly, who had not been out for several days. At last, tired of tugging
at his mouth, I gave him rein, and he flew along. I tucked the edge of
my skirt under the saddle-flap, slanted forward, and held the bridle
with both hands close to his head. A long sandy reach of road lay
before me. I enjoyed Folly's fierce trotting; but, as I expected, the
good horse Black was on my track, while the rest of the party were far
behind. He soon overtook me. Folly snorted when he heard Black's step.
We pulled up, and the two horses began to sidle and prance, and throw
up their heads so that we could not indulge in a bit of conversation.
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