“Rubbish, sir; improving fast. Here, up with you again. It’s all strange to you at first, but you’ve got to grow to that horse’s back, till it’s like one animal—horse and man. You’ve got to learn to grip him till you feel as if you can’t tumble off.”
“But I never shall,” I cried.
“Don’t tell me. I’ll make you. Now then; there you are. Now you just trot down to the bottom and back without coming off like a sack of shavings. Never mind the reins. Let him have his head, and you put all your sperrit into your knees. Keep your position and preserve your balance.”
“I know I shall fall again soon.”
“Very well, then, fall. But I don’t believe you will. Now then, once more.”
He gave the order, the horse walked a few steps, then at the second order broke into a trot, and, to my utter astonishment, as I drove my knees into the warm soft sides, away we went, wheeled to the right, then to the right again, and trotted back to the sergeant, who shouted,—
“Halt! Bravo! There, what did I say? Make much of your horse.”
The lesson was kept on for fully two hours, and then, to make up, I suppose, for a good deal of bullying, my instructor was loud in his praise, and, opening the gate after replacing the saddle, he signed to me to mount, but I tried and could not, for my legs felt stiff and stretched, my back ached, and there was a peculiar sensation of soreness about the knees.
“Shall I trot him back?” said Lomax.
“If you would, please,” I said. “I do feel so stiff.”