In the Whirl of the Rising
"Come here, you infernal loathly brute!" he snarled, making an effort to recover the rein. But for some reason, instinct perhaps, the horse backed away, just keeping beyond reach.
He glared at the animal with hatred, not altogether unreasonable. For when he had been travelling about four hours, and was uneasily beginning to realise that he was lost, he had unslung his vulcanite water-bottle-- which nobody travelling up-country should ever be without--and had placed it on the ground while off-saddling. But somethi