[Illustration]
Turgen’s heart turned in him as he watched the small body hurtle down
the crevasse. Then, peering over, he saw the lamb lying motionless on
the mountain slope. Quickly, he made his way to the spot, fearing that
wild animals would get there first.
The lamb’s eyes, raised to his, were black with terror. It tried
convulsively to rise but could not.
“Thank God, he’s alive,” was Turgen’s first thought. “There’s a chance
I can save him.”
With that he stooped and lifted the lamb gently.
“Ma-a,” said the lamb in a weak, childish whimper. And from a distance
came a mournful answering bleat. “Ma-a! Ma-a!” that might have been the
old leader. Then fog enveloped the mountain.
The lamb was surprisingly heavy, but Turgen hardly noticed the burden
in his anxiety and excitement. Carefully he made his way to the yurta
through the darkness, and as he went he murmured reassurance to his
patient, who made no further effort to escape.
“It is not far to go. Be quiet. Rest. Do not fear--I’ll do you no
harm.” Over and over Turgen said it, like a chant.
At the yurta Turgen laid the lamb on some soft pelts to examine him.
Noticing fresh blood stains, he looked for a wound and found a flesh
cut under the right front leg. It took but a minute to wash it clean
and cover it with a poultice of plantain leaves to stop the bleeding.
The lamb’s fright returned now and he struggled to gain his feet. But
his hind legs would not obey him.
“There, there, lad,” Turgen soothed him with tender strokes and pats.
“What are you afraid of? I will soon make you well and take you back to
your family. Who am I but an old man? There is no harm in me. Besides,
who would dare to lift a hand against such a splendid fellow? Lie
still. Trust me.”
Pain, weariness, and the strange but unterrifying sound made by a human
voice finally had their effect. The lamb rested while Turgen explored
more thoroughly for possible injuries. There were scratches and
bruises, none of them serious. And one hind leg was plainly swollen.
[Illustration]
“God forbid that it should be broken,” Turgen thought in dismay. For
he was expert with animals and he knew the difficulty of keeping a wild
young thing quiet while bone mended.
Fortunately, he found that the injury was no more than a dislocation,
but extremely painful to the touch. With practiced skill, while the
patient bleated piteously, he swathed the whole body to keep it
immobile except for the head. Then, quickly and deftly, he set the
bone, bandaged the leg and hoof between splints and satisfied himself
that the lamb could do no harm to the injury should he get on his feet.
As he worked the lamb regarded him with fixed and startled eyes. It was
breathing heavily and clearly would have liked to offer resistance.
The bandaging operation finished, the lamb grew calm, fright gave way
to weariness.
“Why,” Turgen thought. “There is the same look in his eyes that I saw
in Tim’s when I set his arm. Children are alike. They suffer more from
fright than pain.” To the lamb he said: “That other little fellow drank
some milk and fell asleep when I had doctored him. And so should you.”
Fortunately, Turgen had only the day before brought milk from Marfa’s
cow. It stood untouched in the cellar. He poured some into a large
wooden bowl and offered it to the lamb. At first the lamb turned his
head away in distaste, but when by accident a few drops found their
way into his mouth he smacked his lips with enjoyment. After that he
drank willingly, with relish, looking at Turgen as if to say: “Really,
this isn’t bad at all.”
Turgen was beside himself with joy as his charge finished his meal and
promptly went to sleep.
“Food and attention--that’s all anyone wants,” Turgen reflected. “Just
food and attention.”
It was late when he himself was ready for bed, and after the agitating
events of the day he slept fitfully. Whenever he wakened, as he did
frequently, his first thought was for the lamb--and this stranger in
his yurta seemed not a wild ram but a person close and dear to him. By
going to his rescue, Turgen had found someone to share his yurta.
It is true, he marvelled, what our people say: “Misfortune can
sometimes bring happiness.”