IN THE VALLEY
Roy ran and ran and ran until he was breathless; yet still he ran, until
little by little he recovered his breath again as wild animals do. Every
moment he hoped to see Tumbu either returning or standing still, panting
and waiting for the others to come up. But he saw nothing save,
stretching away as far as the eye could reach, a smooth, not over steep,
snowy slope. So far there was little fear of the sledge being overset.
Then, after he had run a long way, he paused, for there were now two
tracks instead of one. The marks of the bear went up a little side
valley, the marks of the sledge went down the slope. What could have
happened? Had Tumbu in his haste missed the bear's trail? That was not
likely. Having come so far, had he determined to go on? That was not
likely either, unless the children had urged him forward. Knowing
Mirak's bold, adventurous spirit, this seemed possible, and Roy's heart
sank; but he started off running again, knowing that no matter what had
happened he must follow his little master, and follow fast.
But as he ran downward and downward the frost film on the snow became
less and less firm. The sun was rising now, and even its earliest rays
seemed to melt his foothold, and he began to sink at every step. The
sledge, however, appeared from the faint marks it left to have slid on
without difficulty. No doubt, he thought, because of the children's
light weight, and because the platform between the swords and scabbards
which supported them was so large; many times larger than his own feet!
Why, even Tumbu's four broad, furry paws had sunk into the snow a
little, and would doubtless have sunk more but for the pace at which he
must have been going.
The sledge was the thing! How clever it was of Old Faithful to remember
Firdoos Gita Makâni's way of saving his horse; but after all, when one
came to think of it, the thanks were due to Babar the brave for being a
real King, kind-hearted to animals.
And now Roy's task became dangerous as well as hard, for every moment
lessened the firmness of the ice film. And he was now running down a
shallow valley, which was completely blocked up by drift, except in the
very middle, where every now and again you got a glimpse of a roaring
torrent--kept unfrozen by its snowy covering--hollowing its way
downward; but for the most part it was invisible, the only sign of it
being a roar, a tremble beneath your feet. Thus he was, as it were, on a
snow bridge, of which the surface might at any moment give way. And that
meant certain death in the dark pools below. In one place, indeed, he
was all but lost; however, a wild leap landed him on safe ground, and
with a gasp of fear, not for himself, but for the children ahead of
him, he ran on, comforted by the sight of the sledge track going on and
on.
After a while he had to cease running from sheer fatigue; but still he
plodded on, telling himself that even half an hour would have made a
difference in the snow. That where he found danger, the children might
have found safety; and always before him that track of the
scabbard-sledge showed him that so far, at any rate, all had gone well.
And then, as he turned a sharp curve in the shallow, snow-covered
valley, he saw a little below him something that made him turn sick with
fear. It was the sledge, empty, deserted! A second glance, however,
showed him that it was not overset. Those who had been in it must have
left it of their own accord; and the cause of this was soon made clear.
Within a few yards the snow ended and a rocky descent began, down which
the sledge could not have gone. So either Tumbu or the children had been
wise; and they were still in front of him, but how far off who could
tell? The sun was already high, hours must have passed since he first
started in chase; but now that they were on foot there was some chance
of overtaking them before anything dreadful happened.
In his hurry Roy almost flung himself from rock to rock down the
descent; but he had to pause to take off his fur coat, for in this
sheltered spot the sun beat shadelessly, the snow melted as he passed,
the stones ran with moisture, and in the crannies of the rocks young
green things were everywhere starting into growth. The past storm of
bitter cold had ended winter; spring had begun. And now the rushing
torrent, escaping finally from its snowy blanket, dashed over the
boulders beside him, carrying with it great blocks of melting snow.
On and on he went, thinking the descent would never end, till at a turn
he saw below him a tiny valley, just a sort of cup in the hills, through
which the stream rushed, sparkling in the sunshine. The banks were still
brown, but they were patched with great beds of rose-pink primula, blue
gentian, and yellow dog pansies. And on a perfect carpet of these sat
three dark figures! Never in his life was Roy so overjoyed. He forgot
his fatigue, and ran on until he could plainly see Princess Bakshee Bâni
Begum making cowslip balls out of the pink primulas, the Heir-to-Empire
contentedly munching a cold hearth cake, and giving bits of it to Tumbu,
who, with his head cocked on one side, had evidently heard Roy's distant
step. The next instant a furious barking showed that he was on the alert
to defend his young charges, and Roy had to call to him again and again
before he was satisfied that the newcomer was a friend.
"Why, what a long time you've been coming," said the Heir-to-Empire
calmly. "We've had our breakfast, 'cos we couldn't wait any longer. You
can't have come as fast as you could. No more would Tumbu, only we made
him not be lazy, 'cos Head-nurse says--what is it she says, Bija?"
The little girl looked solemn. "She says every one should do everything
as quick as ever they can. So we shouted at Tumbu and pulled his tail
just a liddly-wee bit like the bullock drivers do. And then we had the
loveliest ride, and Tumbu wasn't a bit cross; but he wouldn't go down
the rocks and growled. So we had to get out and walk. And then we came
here, and first of all we picked flowers; then I had hearth cakes and
popcorn in my veil, and so we ate our breakfast, and then you came--and
that's all, thank you!" She had just finished a lovely soft ball and she
flung it full at the Heir-to-Empire. It hit him, but he took no notice.
He was thinking of something else.
"But where," he began, and his little lip went down, "is Head-nurse--and
Foster-father--and Foster-mother--and Old Faithful--and Meroo--and Down?
What have you done with them, slave?"
He was half angry, half ready to cry, so Roy, though his own heart
failed him as he thought of the dangers of the road, had to soothe and
comfort him by saying, as cheerfully as he could, that they would come
before long. But would they? Now that the relief of finding the children
were safe was over, poor Roy began to see the difficulties before him.
If those others did not come, what would he, a mere lad, do? How could
he care for his little master and mistress? They had had their
breakfast, it is true--Roy forgot he had had none himself!--but what
could they have for supper? He could not even think, he felt too giddy
and tired even to sleep; so, after he had rolled his fur coat into a
soft pillow for the little Prince and Princess, who were drowsy for
their mid-day rest, and covered them over with their own, he sat with
his head between his hands, his eyes closed, wishing he were not so
stupid, wishing he could only think of something to do; for in reality
he was quite wearied out. If the others did not come! Of course they
might come at any moment; and yet the moments passed to minutes, the
minutes to hours, while the children slept in the sunshine, and Roy felt
that he was a fool.
And then something cold touched his hand. He opened his eyes and saw
that it was Tumbu's nose; Tumbu, who had something strange in his
mouth--something like a rabbit and yet like a squirrel!
In reality it was a fresh-killed young marmot, an animal that lives amid
the snow and ice and rocks of the very highest hills. Tumbu, having
handed over charge of the children, must have gone off on his own
hunting, found a colony of the quaint creatures, and, as usual, brought
home his bag! Roy did not in the least know what the marmot was, but he
saw it was something to eat! The relief was too much for him! Here, at
least, was supper. He flung his arms round Tumbu's neck and burst into
tears, murmuring with choking sobs that he, Roy, had been foolish, but
Tumbu was a wise, wise, good doggie. And so he was!
After this Roy felt better, and having, as all Indian boys used to have
in those days, a flint and steel with him, began to look around for fuel
with which to light a fire and cook the supper. There were, of course,
no trees and no bushes; but right away at the farther end of the long
valley there were some patches of very dark green. They did not look
promising, but he would go and see. They proved to be a creeping sort of
evergreen plant that trailed its stiff branches right on the very
ground. He picked a bit, and on trying to light it, found to his
surprise, that it blazed up in a fierce flame. For it was juniper, and
so full of resin.
He now had the possibility of fire, so that evening the little cup in
the hills held quite comfortable encampment.
Roy had brought down the sledge, and using the swords and their
scabbards as supports, had made a lean-to tent against a warm rock out
of the strip of shawl. In this he had strewn juniper branches to make a
soft bed, and the children could just creep into it. Then they had the
marmot, roasted in its skin, for supper, and all the three were too
hungry to ask themselves if marmot flesh was as toothsome as rabbit or
as bitter as squirrel! And Tumbu ate the bones with an air as if he
would say, "It is not bad, but to-morrow I must catch two marmots."
After that there was peace and quiet in the camp, Roy sitting beside the
fire and making it blaze up every now and again by putting on a fresh
juniper branch. For he knew that since the others had not arrived by
daylight, they must either all have perished on the road or else be
waiting until the cold of night once more froze the ice-film on the
snow. In this case the firelight seen from afar might be a guide.
So the night passed. More than once Roy fell asleep, for despite his
care the smoke of the juniper branches could not quite be avoided, and
that, every one knows, is terribly sleepifying. He woke every time,
however, before the fire was quite out, and hastened to send up a flare
of flame. As he did so the last time it was answered by a _hulloo_ from
the rocks above, and shortly afterward Meroo, the scullion's, blubbering
voice could be heard as he uttered thanks to Heaven.
"And the others?" asked Roy anxiously, as out of the darkness Meroo
appeared and cast himself at the lad's feet, bellowing joy.
"They come, they come! They are but a short way back. I saw the fire,
and the sight of it warmed the cockles of my heart! Lo! I shall cook
once more! I shall not die hungry in the wilderness. Nay! go not," for
Roy was starting up. "True! the women are nigh dead, and Foster-father
hath his fingers frost-bitten, but--nay, put more flame to the fire,
boy! It is the fire they need!"
He was half beside himself, but he was right. As the fresh juniper
branches blazed up Head-nurse came tottering and stumbling into its
light. Roy sprang to help her, but she pushed him aside.
"The Heir-to-Empire?" she muttered, her lips almost refusing to form the
words. "The Heir-to-Empire, the Admired-of-the-World----"
Roy pointed to the little tent. "There! Safe! Well! Asleep!" he cried;
and the poor woman with a sob sank as she stood, and lay prone muttering
long strings of titles.
Before a minute had passed Foster-father and Foster-mother struggled
into the circle of light, and after a word of question and reply, sank
down also.
Then there was a long pause, but no sign came of good Old Faithful's
tall, gaunt figure. At last Roy spoke.
"Faithful?" he asked in a low whisper. "What of him?"
There was no answer at first; only Foster-father covered his face with
his hands. At last he spoke gently.
"He was faithful to death. He was going first, as ever, cheering us all
with his sayings of Firdoos Gita Makâni. I saw him there one moment
turning to tell us words of wisdom--the next the snow bridge had given
way beneath his feet and he was gone. We waited on the bank of the awful
chasm for a long time, but there was no sound save the roaring of the
stream below. Firdoos Gita Makâni, his master, had called him. Peace be
with them both!"