But when they saw the Heir-to-Empire safe on the other side, they
consented to be carried across pick-a-back.
So there they were before long eating goats' milk cheese fried like a
beefsteak and drinking long draughts of a sort of sour milk.
One of the shepherds could speak a little Persian, and from him
Foster-father, to his great relief, learned that Prince Askurry's camp
was only a mile or two down the valley, so, feeling certain of being
able to reach it before sundown, he called a halt, and they all lay down
to rest in one of the tents, Baby Akbar between his two nurses for
safety sake. For one could never tell, Head-nurse remarked, what might
happen amongst people who spoke the language of ghosts in the desert,
and kept such strange animals. A great golliwog of a black dog who sat
on one side of the tent like an image, watching them as if he meant to
eat them, and a great fluff of a white cat sitting on the other with her
eyes shut as if she did not want to watch them.
No! Indeed it was impossible to tell what might not happen!
And that is exactly how it turned out. What _really_ did happen no one
knew. It was Foster-mother who, waking first, let loose a shriek while
still half awake. This roused Head-nurse, who let loose another. For
Baby Akbar was no longer between them. The Heir-to-Empire had gone--had
disappeared--was not to be found!
Roy was out of the tent in a second, treading in his haste on Meroo, who
was sleeping outside, and who began to howl confusedly.
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