Team, driver and all

Half a dozen fugitives had the same notion, and one, a sergeant gunner, was half-aboard the beast. “Mine, damn you!” roars he, “She can’t take two!”
       “Right you are, my son,” says I, and knocked him flying. I got a limb across that heaving bare back — and that’s all I ever needed. Thank God I’ve never seen the mount I couldn’t master; I wound my hands into the mane, dug in my heels, and went head down for the ravine, just as the gun I had lately left went careering into it — team, driver and all.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.279, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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