This
strange piercing pain must be what Glenn had called a "stitch" in the side,
something common to novices on horseback. Carley could have screamed. She
pulled the mustang to a walk and sagged in her saddle until the pain
subsided. What a blessed relief! Carley had keen sense of the difference
between riding in Central Park and in Arizona. She regretted her choice of
horses. Spillbeans was attractive to look at, but the pleasure of riding
him was a delusion. Flo had said his gait resembled the motion of a rocking
chair. This Western girl, according to Charley, the sheep herder, was not
above playing Arizona jokes. Be that as it might, Spillbeans now manifested
a desire to remain with the other horses, and he broke out of a walk into a
trot. Carley could not keep him from trotting. Hence her state soon wore
into acute distress.
Her left ankle seemed broken. The stirrup was heavy, and as soon as she was
tired she could no longer keep its weight from drawing her foot in. The
inside of her right knee was as sore as a boil. Besides, she had other
pains, just as severe, and she stood momentarily in mortal dread of that
terrible stitch in her side. If it returned she knew she would fall off.
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