We found the ponies shivering in the circle of sand where we had left them. In their desire to turn their heavy tails towards the wind for a protection, each pony of the pair had walked around his tethered neighbor till a well trodden path had been produced, a narrow circle out of which they had not stepped. We ate a hasty lunch and mounted. Once down the steep rubble hill, away they went at a gallop, literally at a break-neck speed, for they were cold and hungry and longed for the grass by the brook of the harlequin ducks. I came near to having my neck broken. When we entered the amphitheater above described, I dismounted to take a photograph. The ponies always travel in single file, nose to tail, no matter how fast the pace. If one of them is held back he will whinner and do his utmost to overtake the leaders. Under these conditions of photographing I always thrust my left arm through the bridle rein. If the ponies are together the rein may be thrown upon the ground, the ponies will not stray but allow the riders to approach and remount without their stirring. Sunlocks walked rapidly around me, a somewhat disturbing element in photographing. When I remounted, the other ponies had passed out of the amphitheater and beyond vision. Sunlocks was all impatience to overtake them and I gave him a free rein for the wildest gallop I ever experienced. He followed the trail of the others, tossing the lichens from the resounding shell of lava at every leap. It happened in an instant, a flash. I just remember of thinking, while I was in the air, “Will he hit me with his hoofs?” Then all was a blank. I knew no more till I felt his velvet nose rubbing over my face and his warm breath. How long I lay there I do not know. The crust had broken under the plunging blow of his fore-feet and as he went into the hole I shot over his head down the slope. I landed on the side of my head, straining the cords of my neck which were sore for months, in a bunch of sand and lichens, the only spot in sight that was softer than the rock. Picking up the camera case I remounted after several failures. How I finally accomplished it and rode on I do not know. Half an hour afterwards I overtook the party who had long been waiting and was sending Johannes back to look for me. I was still in a dazed condition when I rode up to Mrs. Russell and when she asked me the cause of the delay she states that I replied with this question,—
“Is my head on straight?”
It was a narrow escape for horse and rider and I have never since ridden the lava sheets at a gallop. Poor Michael Sunlocks! His fore-legs were bruised and he was stiff and lame for several days. Why he stayed with me in spite of his desire to overtake his mates I do not understand. It is a trait of the Icelandic hestr. I have had several tumbles from my ponies since that summer and at no time did any of them leave me. My friends sometimes ask why I extol the Icelandic pony. My explanation is that they are intelligent beyond the intelligence of other horses, the sole dependent of the traveller in a roadless country and that one of them gave up the impulse to join his companions in the grass patch when I was in sore need.
CHAPTER XI
KRISUVIK
… “Whose combustible
And fuel’d entrails thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singéd bottom all involved