The little
lad's weight was too much for even four feet; there was a struggle, over
went the little Prince, and both he and Tumbu had to be picked up and
set on their legs again on a fresh, unbroken place.
Foster-father looked in despair at Old Faithful, and for a minute no
one said anything. Then the old man's face lit up. "Lo! I had forgotten
it utterly, but the time and place bring memory back. Firdoos Gita
Makani--who knew all things under the sun--had a favourite horse, that
strained itself falling into a drift. They were for leaving it to die,
but that did not suit Firdoos Gita Makani, who was kind to all God's
creatures. So, having read of the like somewhere, he set us to make a
sort of platform with our lances and blankets underneath the poor brute,
and so we dragged him over the snow, until we reached a place where
there was water and grass."
"We have no lances," said Foster-father, "and there is no wood." He
looked around helplessly.
"My lord has a sword," put in Roy eagerly, "and so has Faithful. If he
were to tie them crossways to the scabbards--" He had already thrown off
his skin coat and was unwinding his long muslin waistband to tear it
into strips to use as a cord.
"It is worth the trying, friend Foster-father," said Old Faithful,
unbuckling his sword.
"Aye!" continued Roy, elated with the idea, "and Tumbu can drag it. He
makes no mark on the snow, so it will be smooth and slippy--and the
curved scabbards will be like runners.
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