His thighs were too round to fit a saddle leather.

We passed a fire in a hollow, the bivouac of some Turkish unit, and all the horses shied violently.

I knew by Blenkiron's oaths that he had lost his stirrups and was sitting on his horse's neck.
Beside him rode a tall figure swathed to the eyes in wrappings, and wearing round his neck some kind of shawl whose ends floated behind him.

Sandy, of course, had no European ulster, for it was months since he had worn proper clothes.

I wanted to speak to him, but somehow I did not dare.