That of the Saracen, however, though he had been forced into much
the more violent and extended sphere of motion, appeared to have
suffered less from fatigue than the charger of the European
knight. The sweat hung still clammy on the limbs of the latter,
when those of the noble Arab were completely dried by the
interval of tranquil exercise, all saving the foam-flakes which
were still visible on his bridle and housings. The loose soil on
which he trod so much augmented the distress of the Christian's
horse, heavily loaded by his own armour and the weight of his
rider, that the latter jumped from his saddle, and led his
charger along the deep dust of the loamy soil, which was burnt in
the sun into a substance more impalpable than the finest sand,
and thus gave the faithful horse refreshment at the expense of
his own additional toil; for, iron-sheathed as he was, he sunk
over the mailed shoes at every step which he placed on a surface
so light and unresisting.

"You are right," said the Saracen--and it was the first word that
either had spoken since their truce was concluded; "your strong
horse deserves your care. But what do you in the desert with an
animal which sinks over the fetlock at every step as if he would
plant each foot deep as the root of a date-tree?"

"Thou speakest rightly, Saracen," said the Christian knight, not
delighted at the tone with which the infidel criticized his
favourite steed--"rightly, according to thy knowledge and
observation. But my good horse hath ere now borne me, in mine
own land, over as wide a lake as thou seest yonder spread out
behind us, yet not wet one hair above his hoof."