I might have gotten off; I might conceivably have beaten him; but I never could have held the horse while doing it, or have gotten on again.
Presently, when I was changing the position of the reins, which were hurting my fingers because I had gripped them so tight, I accidentally shifted the gears in some way, so to speak, sending Dr.Bell off at a pace which was neither a trot nor a canter, but which carried us along at a sort of smooth, rapid glide.

At first I took this gait to be a swift trot, and attempted to post to it; then, as that did not work, I sat still in the saddle and, finding the posture comfortable, concluded that Dr.Bell must be single-footing.

I had never single-footed before.
Just as I was beginning to like it, however, he changed to a trot, then back to single-footing again, and so on, in a curious puzzling manner.
Except for the changes of gait, we were now going on rather well, and I had begun, for the first time, to feel a little security, when all of a sudden he swerved off and galloped with me up a driveway leading toward a white house which stood on a hill two or three hundred yards from the road.

Again I tried to stop him, but when I pulled on the reins he shook his head savagely from side to side and snorted in a loud and threatening manner.
As we neared the house I saw that two ladies were sitting on the porch regarding our approach with interest.

I hoped that Dr.Bell would find some way of keeping on past the house and into the fields, but he had no such intention.