feather from the burning breast of the fire-bird." And the more he
thought, the more he wanted to carry the feather to the Tzar. And in
the end he did not listen to the words of the horse of power. He leapt
from the saddle, picked up the golden feather of the fire-bird,
mounted his horse again, and galloped back through the green forest
till he came to the palace of the Tzar.

He went into the palace, and bowed before the Tzar and said,--

"O Tzar, I have brought you a feather of the fire-bird."

The Tzar looked gladly at the feather, and then at the young archer.

"Thank you," says he; "but if you have brought me a feather of the
fire-bird, you will be able to bring me the bird itself. I should like
to see it. A feather is not a fit gift to bring to the Tzar. Bring the
bird itself, or, I swear by my sword, your head shall no longer sit
between your shoulders!"

The young archer bowed his head and went out. Bitterly he wept, for he
knew now what it was to be afraid. He went out into the courtyard,
where the horse of power was waiting for him, tossing its head and
stamping on the ground.

"Master," says the horse of power, "why do you weep?"

"The Tzar has told me to bring him the fire-bird, and no man on earth
can do that," says the young archer, and he bowed his head on his
breast.