A child of four, bundled up in a black poncho, rode on a
blanket behind the saddle, and was tied to the woman's waist, by an
orange shawl. The younger woman, who was very pretty, wore a
sailor's hat, leis of crimson ohia blossoms round her hat and
throat, a black holuku, a crimson poncho, and one spur, and held up
a green umbrella whenever it rained.
We were shortly joined by Kaluna, the cousin, on an old, big, wall-
eyed, bare-tailed, raw-boned horse, whose wall-eyes contrived to
express mingled suspicion and fear, while a flabby, pendant, lower
lip, conveyed the impression of complete abjectness. He looked like
some human beings who would be vicious if they dared, but the vice
had been beaten out of him long ago, and only the fear remained. He
has a raw suppurating sore under the saddle, glueing the blanket to
his lean back, and crouches when he is mounted. Both legs on one
side look shorter than on the other, giving a crooked look to
himself and his rider, and his bare feet are worn thin as if he had
been on lava. I rode him for a mile yesterday, and when he
attempted a convulsive canter, with three short steps and a stumble
in it, his abbreviated off legs made me feel as if I were rolling
over on one side.
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