THE WINGED HORSE
The next morning at sunrise David started on his journey. The kind
wood-cutter, true to his word, pointed out the trail and even walked
some little distance along it with the boy, instructing him in many
things that would be of value to him later. David held the precious
bridle in his hand. His axe he had wished to leave with the wood-cutter
that he might in some way express his gratitude for all that the old man
had done to help and encourage him.
About mid-morning, after giving him his blessing and wishing him
God-speed, his good friend parted from him. So the lad journeyed on
alone, and it was nightfall before he reached the edge of the clear
crystal pool. But when he saw the spot, there could be no doubt in his
mind that he had found the object of his quest, for the beauty of it
seemed to surpass anything that he had imagined.
A clear, transparent pool lay before him, about one hundred feet wide,
almost circular in shape. White pebbles made a narrow beach on the side
from which he approached. On either hand grew large paper birch trees,
beautiful, soaring, and gentle in their stateliness. On the further
shore the bank rose abruptly to a height of five or six feet, and there
the dark hemlock trees lent colour, depth, and coolness to the water
below. The sand in the bed of the spring looked like grains of silver.
As the rays of the setting sun touched the tree tops and caught the
shadow of the sky’s deep blue upon the surface of the water, it seemed
to David that he had never seen so beautiful a spot. He wished with all
his heart that Ruth were there to share it with him.
Seating himself upon a great moss-covered boulder, he watched the sand
stirred by the water that bubbled up from the very heart of the spring.
The sun set. One by one, tiny stars appeared; and he sought their image
on the surface of the now darkened pool by which he watched and waited.
One after another the stars sank below the western horizon, as still
others rose out of the east to lend their beauty to the night.
A dark shadow fell across a portion of the sky. David thought he heard
the rustle of great wings; but it was too dark for him to see, and the
thing, whatever it may have been, went away, not to return again that
night. At last the dawn came. He watched its glory spread over the
mountain tops--for far, far in the east rose huge snow-covered peaks,
and the air stirred cool with the coming of morn.
So the first night passed beside the crystal spring, and David had not
yet had a glimpse of the great and wonderful creature which he longed so
much to see. Through the day he waited, and the next night, and the next
day, and the next night, with no glimpse of the Wingèd Horse.
On the third day, just as the coolness of the coming dawn stirred the
air, he was startled by a whinny very near at hand. He knelt cautiously
and looked all about him, but could see nothing. There he rested,
sitting back upon his heels, the precious bridle over his arm and his
hands folded. Then, slowly, fearlessly, and calmly, from the depths of
the birchen woodlands before David came the most exquisite creature one
could ever wish to see--a beautiful Pale-Coloured Horse, slender in
build, its neck curved in an arch of spirited pride, its head beautiful
in every detail of proportion and alight with intelligence. Two great
feathered wings lay folded against its sides. Its tail was long and
flowing. David, holding his breath, gazed and gazed.
The Horse walked to the water’s edge and drank. Then, lifting its head
and facing the golden sunrise with ears forward, it raised and folded
its great wings like a bird preparing to fly. Again the sound of its
whinny broke forth, and a wild woodland bird rose close at hand, sending
its answering call as it, the lesser wingèd creature, sailed away. The
Horse dropped its head to drink, closing its eyes as if more thoroughly
to enjoy the cool, refreshing draught.
Quick as thought David rose, sprang forward, grasped the forelock and
mane of the startled creature, the bridle hanging over his arm ready to
be fitted when the right instant should come. The struggle was intense.
The Horse reared, plunged, reared again, but David held firmly to the
forelock and mane. The Horse stirred its wings as if about to fly. At
the same instant it uttered again its whinnying call, which sounded,
this time, petulant, terrified, and wild. This was David’s opportunity.
The impatient sound was checked as the golden bit slipped into the
creature’s open mouth, David holding firmly to the forelock while with
his other hand he adjusted the bridle and fitted it to the trembling,
quivering head.
“I have you! My beautiful Horse, I have you!” he cried. “Ruth shall be
saved!”
[Illustration:
“YOU MUST TAKE ME TO THE BRONZE
KING’S DOMAIN”]
The Horse turned and rubbed its soft velvet nose against David’s cheek.
Yes, David was his master, to be recognized as such. The wonderful
bridle had given them both the power to understand and trust each other.
“You must take me to the Bronze King’s domain, dear Wingèd Horse,” said
David. “We are to rescue Ruth, the sweetest and most beautiful little
girl in all the world. It is for this I have sought and captured you;
for the Bronze King is keeping her a prisoner in his great Palace. I
fear what may happen to her. Come, we must go to the Palace and hide in
the woodlands and watch and wait. Perhaps this very night we can rescue
Ruth.”
Thus David became the master of the Pale-Coloured Wingèd Horse, whose
only desire now was to obey and serve him.