We'd better push on.' He went off at a hand-gallop, and then pulled back into a long darting kind of canter, which Bilbah thought was quite the thing for a journey--anyhow, he never seemed to think of stopping it--went on mile after mile as if he was not going to pull up this side of sundown.

A wiry brute, always in condition, was this said Bilbah, and just at this time as hard as nails.

Our horses had been doing nothing lately, and being on good young feed had, of course, got fat, and were rather soft.
After four or five miles they began to blow.

We couldn't well pull up; the ground was hard in places and bad for tracking.

If we went on at the pace we should cook our horses.