But a road that
is good enough for mules and ponies may not suit a thoroughbred English
steed which does not care about putting its hoofs into the tracks of
other beasts; and besides, a hundred paces on level ground is much
shorter than twenty-five up hill. Henrietta vividly experienced the
truth of this when she reached the summit of the hill, for her horse was
sweating from every pore and trembling from the violent exertion. Such
horses should not be used in hilly country: a shaggy, sturdy little pony
would have treated the whole thing as a joke and not said a word about
it.
But the real difficulties of the road only began during the descent,
which was equally dangerous for horse and rider. The track, a mere
channel washed out of the soft sandstone by the mountain torrents,
descended abruptly, the stones giving way beneath the horse's hoofs and
plunging after it. Frequently they had to cross very awkward places, and
Henrietta could see from the way in which her horse pricked up his ears,
snorted and shook his head, that he was as frightened as his mistress.
At last they came to a very bad spot indeed, where on one side of the
road there was a sheer abyss, while the rocky mountain side rose
perpendicularly on the other. The narrow path here ran so close to the
rock that the rider had to bend her head aside so as not to knock it,
and the horse could only go forward one foot at a time.
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