have to zig-zag across
the mountain background.

At each angle, out of sight of the audience, there is a railed platform,
large enough for the horse to turn upon and make the next upward rush.

The other horse travelling with Mr. Miles was an entirely different
proposition. He would have been described, according to the State he
happened to be in, as a pie-bald, a skew-bald, a pinto, or a calico
horse. He was very large, mostly of a satiny white, with big, absurdly
shaped markings of bright bay. He was one of the breed of horses that in
livery stables are always known as "Doctor" or "Judge." Benevolence
beamed from his large, clear eyes, and he looked so mildly wise, one half
expected to see him put on spectacles. The boy at the stable said one
day, as he fed him: "I wouldn't wunder if this ol' parson of 'er a hoss
asked a blessin' on them there oats--I wouldn't!"

I don't know whether old Bob--as he was called--had any speed or not, but
if he had it was useless to him, for, alas! he was never allowed to reach
the goal under any circumstances. He was always ridden by the villain,
and therefore had to be overtaken, and besides that he generally had to
carry double, as the desperado usually fled holding the fainting heroine
before him. Though old Bob successfully leaped chasms thus heavily
handicapped--for truly he was a mighty jumper--nevertheless he was
compelled to accept defeat, as Mr. Miles always came rushing up on the
black horse to the rescue. He was very lucky indeed, if he didn't have to
roll about and die, and he was a very impatient dead horse, often amusing
the audience by lifting his head to see if the curtain was not down yet,
and then dropping dead again with a sigh the whole house could hear.

By the way, "the house" is a theatrical term, meaning, on an actor's
lips, "the audience." "The house did thus or so," "the house is behaving
beautifully," "it's the most refined house you ever saw," "what a cold
house"; and so on. I have but rarely heard either actor or actress refer
to the "audience"--and after steadily using any term for years it is very
hard to lay it aside, and I shall long remember the grim moment that
followed on my remarking to my rector, "What a good house you had
yesterday--it must have been a pleasure to pla--to, to--er, er, to
address such an audi--er, that is, I mean congregation!" There was a
moment of icy silence, then, being a human being as well as a wearer of
the priestly collar