Then we faced down into the head of a ravine that ever grew deeper, stonier and rougher.

I shifted from side to side, from leg to leg in my saddle, dismounted and hobbled before Satan, mounted again, and rode on.

Jones called the dogs and complained to them of the lack of snow.

Wallace sat his horse comfortably, taking long pulls at his pipe and long gazes at the shaggy sides of the ravine.

Frank, energetic and tireless, kept the pack-horses in the trail.