They rode crookedly, now, for seventy miles at full speed had racked them, twisted them, cramped their muscles.

Scotty kept his head tilted far back, for his spinal column seemed about to snap.

Walsh leaned to his right side which a tormenting pain drew at every stride, and Hendricks cursed in gasps through a wry mouth.

It had been an hour since Mark Retherton last spoke, and when he attempted it now his voice was as hoarse as a croaking frog.
"Boys, buck up! He's done! D'ye see the black laborin'.

D'ye see it?
Hey, Lew, Garry, we've got the best hosses among us three.