be
wanting to play with mine, and I won't let you."

But Mirak was busy with the horses.

"I sha'n't want anything but my sword," he replied valiantly. "I'm a big
boy now, and I'm going to play with real things." Then he turned to one
of the troopers with a quaint air of authority. "Your horse is too thin.
When I am King I shall see that my men give their horses enough to eat."

Foster-father, who overheard the child, paused in the hasty arrangements
he was making to look at the little Heir-to-Empire and put up a prayer
that the fates might let him be King; but the future looked black
indeed. The road to Kabul must still be blocked with snow, even if more
did not fall by the way. A likely happening, with the bitter north wind
and the dull lowering sky. And if the young child escaped the danger of
extreme cold and extreme hardship, what might not be before him in Kabul
itself?

Better, it might have been, for those in charge of him, to have risked
all, taken refuge with the old mountain chief, and died like brave men.
There was but one comfort in the whole affair. Prince Askurry must know
that Humayon or his friends were close at hand, or he would not be in
such a desperate hurry to send away the Heir-to-Empire.

And this, indeed, was the truth. The fear of a rescue was so real and
immediate that Prince Askurry had had to make his decision in a minute.
So there was scarcely any time for preparation, and by noon the party
had started for the three hundred and odd miles of mountainous country
that lay between them and Kabul. Only the children's faces were
cheerful; even Roy's showed grave and anxious.

They rode fast and far till dusk fell, when they had covered full twenty
miles. For the last few, both the women, who were mounted behind
troopers, had almost been dropping with fatigue, but the captain of the
escort was under orders to go as far as possible that night, so he
pushed on to reach a place called Robat. Here they were all
unceremoniously bundled into one large room, and by the steady tramp
through the night of a sentry outside, Foster-father judged they were
complete prisoners. Luckily they were given plenty of fuel to replenish
the fire that roared in the wide chimney, so the elders squatted round
it and dozed, holding the children in their laps. They slept as soundly
as if they had been in their beds, and so did Tumbu and Down, who had
both insisted on being of the party; the latter having quite calmly