He mounted the Genuine, got lifted into the air once, but sent his spurs home as he descended, and the horse darted away like a telegram.

He soared over three fences like a bird, and disappeared down the road toward the Washoe Valley.
I sat down on a stone, with a sigh, and by a natural impulse one of my hands sought my forehead, and the other the base of my stomach.

I believe I never appreciated, till then, the poverty of the human machinery--for I still needed a hand or two to place elsewhere.

Pen cannot describe how I was jolted up.

Imagination cannot conceive how disjointed I was--how internally, externally and universally I was unsettled, mixed up and ruptured.