He would ride as lightly and as easily as ever, sitting erect and jaunty in the saddle, his reins held high and loose in the hand whose fingers turn up gracefully, his whole body free yet firm in the saddle with the seat of the perfect horseman.

At the boom of the cannon, when the flag dropped fluttering down to sleep, he would rise in his stirrups and wave his hat to the flag.

Then, toward the edge, out into the evening, he would ride on.

The dust of his riding would mingle with the dusk of night.

We could not see which was the one or the other.