ing reproach one might expect
from a rude awakening of the Sphinx; then the tall ears straightened
and the great bulk rose to the full majesty of its seventeen hands; and
while slats, hip bones, and shoulder blades were distressingly
prominent, a glance got the full story of Sol's wonderful deeds and
matchless record for safe, sure work.

With massive, low-sloping shoulders, tremendous quarters,
exceptionally short of cannon bone and long from hock to stifle as a
greyhound; with a breadth of chest and a depth of barrel beneath the
withers that indicated most unusual lung capacity, behind the
throat-latch Sol showed, in extraordinary perfection, all the best
points of a thoroughbred hunter that make for speed, jumping ability,
and endurance.

And as he so stood, a flea-bitten, speckled white in color, he looked
like a section out of the main snowy range of the Rocky Mountains: the
two wide-set ears representing the Spanish Peaks; his sloping neck
their northern declivity; his high withers, sharply outlined vertebrae,
and towering quarters the serrated range crest; his banged tail a
glacier reaching down toward its moraine!

Sol needed exercise, and that afternoon I was permitted the privilege
of riding him. Mounted from a chair and settled in the saddle, I felt
as if I must surely be bestriding St. Patrick's Cathedral. But at a
shake of the reins the parallel ceased. His pasterns were supple as an
Arab four-year-old's, his muscles steel springs.

Myself quite as gray as Sol and, relatively, of about the same age, as
lives of men and horses go, we early fell into a mutual sympathy that
soon ripened into a fast friendship. At Christmas I returned to the
Club to spend holiday week, in fact sought the invitation to be with
Sol. Every day we went out together, Sol and I, morning and afternoon.
Bright, warm, open winter days, so soon as the spin he loved was
finished, I slid off him, slipped the bit from his mouth (leaving
head-stall hanging about his neck), and left him free to nibble the
juicy green grasses of some woodland glade and, between nibble times,
to spin me yarns of his experiences. For the subtle sympathy that
existed between us--sprung of our trust in one another and sublimated
in the heat of our mutual affection had sharpened our perceptions until
intellectual inter-communication became possible to us. I know Sol
understood all I told him, and I don't think I misunderstood much he
told me. So here