As a horseman, I am a pretty good sack of potatoes.
That was the worst saddle I ever sat in--and Anazeh's second- best! The stirrups swung amidships, so to speak, and whenever you tried to rest your weight on them for a moment they described an arc toward the rear.

Moreover, you could not sit well back on the saddle to balance matters, because of the high cantle.

The result, whether you did with stirrups or without them, was torture, for anybody but an Arab, who has notions of comfort all his own.
They put Ahmed on a wall-eyed scrub that looked unfit to walk, but proved well able to gallop under his light weight.

One of Anazeh's men took my bag, with a nod to reassure me, and without a word we were off full-pelt, Anazeh leading with four stalwarts who looked almost as hard-bitten as himself, six men crowding me closely, and the remainder bringing up the rear.
That is the Arab way of doing things--rush and riot to begin with.

The steepness of the stony ravine we rode up soon reduced the horses to a walk, after which there was a good deal of attention to rifle-bolts, and a settling down to the more serious aspects of the adventure.