Then the snoring would
start again. He was trusting himself entirely to his horse.
Dusk had fallen now, and Fred decided that it was time to see if his
plan was feasible. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, rolled it
into a ball, and flung it straight ahead, so that it fell, unrolling,
right before the horse's eyes. The effect was inevitable. The frightened
horse reared. At the strain the severed girth gave, and the saddle,
rolling, spilled both Schmidt and Fred into the road, while the horse
bolted. Fred lay still, watching Schmidt, who rose, cursing fluently,
and stood for a moment staring stupidly after his horse. Then he began
to call, and broke into the awkward, lumbering run of the cavalryman.
Fred might have slipped away then, but he was sure that Schmidt would
catch the horse, which must, he thought, be trained to stop even after a
momentary panic. And it was not his plan to seize a chance that might
after all not be as good as it looked. He wanted to make as sure as
possible of getting away. And now, as soon as Schmidt had started after
the horse, he crawled over to the saddle, which lay where it had fallen.
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