He will go to sleep once or twice, and wake up apparently in the very act to fall--though I believe that a man will sleep at a full gallop and never loosen his knees until the moment of waking startles him.

Nevertheless, and notwithstanding Lord Steepleton Kildare and his ride to Umballa and back in twenty-four hours, when a man, be he ever so strong, has ridden over a hundred miles, he feels inclined for a rest, and a walk, and a little sleep.
Once more an emissary of Ram Lal strode to my side as I rolled off the saddle into the cool grass at sunrise in a very impracticable-looking country.

The road had been steeper and less defined during the last two hours of the ride, and as I crossed one leg high over the other lying on my back in the grass, the morning light caught my spur, and there was blood on it, bright and red.

I had certainly come as fast as I could; if I should be too late, it would not be my fault.

The agent, whoever he might be, was a striking-looking fellow in a dirty brown cloth _caftan_ and an enormous sash wound round his middle.