SON OF THE WIND
distinguished, only the quality of sound, the piercing quality of warning. Then the strange sensation. Some large thumb and finger of fate seemed to have seized him. He was tossed up and down, now in air, now upon solid ground again, with a grinding shock driving along his spine into his head. After a little his head seemed disassociated from his body, and white stars floated before his eyes. He was not struggling, he was not controlling, he was holding to something, and still he saw the pommel of the saddle jumping beneath his eyes, and a flying rag of the mane. Then he seemed to be no longer upon the horse, but upon a tower, that, for a moment, held itself straight up in the air, then tottered and leaned backward. He was clinging to the under side of it, helpless, spurring. He heard repeated shouts. He had no thought of past or future, or of anything, but that his hands still held to something solid and living, and would hold to that. Yet all rules and laws seemed reversed. He saw the sky where the trees should have been. The curb that should have been tight flew loose against his face. Dark like a shadow came over him. His knees loosened as the mass descended upon him. His hands opened, and, closing, grasped air.
Gradually he became conscious of dull pain, increasing with return of light. His cheek was rest-
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