Frecks had set a fast pace for the sandy wadi, a pace that eventually brought a groan of protest from Nimrud.
wadi“O lady, what is in thy legs that thou art able to move them in the manner of a frightened foal?” he demanded in a melancholy voice as he tagged along behind.
“Ostrich feathers,” answered Frecks cheerfully. “What’s the matter? Can’t you take it?”
“The legs of a man like me were not made for walking,” protested Nimrud.
“What were they made for?” inquired Frecks.
“For gripping the flanks of a thoroughbred mare,” averred Nimrud earnestly.
“Have you ever wondered what the mare thinks about that?” asked Frecks.
“What does it matter what she thinks?” returned Nimrud wonderingly. “Once I am astride her, no power under God—to Whom all things are possible—can move me.”
“This sho
