tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony completely lost
his temper and bolted. First one stone became untied and rolled
away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst Moti
nearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its
ragged mane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life.
Then, fortunately the other rock broke away from his other leg
and rolled thunderously down a neighbouring ravine. Meanwhile the
advanced cavalry had barely time to draw to one side when Moti
came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty threats to his pony:

'You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring
your neck! I'll break every bone in your body!' The cavalry
thought that this dreadful language was meant for the enemy, and
were filled with admiration of his courage. Many of their horses
too were quite upset by this whirlwind that galloped howling
through their midst, and in a few minutes, after a little
plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole troop were following
on Moti's heels.

Far in advance, Moti continued his wild career. Presently in his
course he came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or
twelve feet high, big and bushy, but quite green and soft. Hoping
to escape from the back of his fiery steed Moti grasped one in
passing, but its roots gave way, and he dashed on, with the whole
plant looking like a young tree flourishing in his grip.

The enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their
king with them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the
front came a desperate rider at a furious gallop.