The khan's iron-gray being the best horse of the three, and the khan
himself of a more sanguine and hopeful disposition, I make him tie all
his clothes and damageable things into a bundle and fasten them on his
saddle; the rope is then tied to the bridle and the horse pulled across,
his gallant rider clinging to his tail, according to my orders, and
praying aloud to Allah on his own account. The gray swims the unfordable
middle portion nobly, and the khan comes through with no worse damage
than a mouthful or two of muddy water. As the dripping charger scrambles
up the bank, the khan allows himself to be hauled up high and dry by its
tail; he then looks back at his comrades and favors them with a brief but
highly exaggerated account of his sensations.
The mirza and the mudbake deliver themselves of particularly deep-chested
acclamations of "Allah, Allah!" at the prospect of undergoing similar
sensations to those described by the khan, whereupon that unsympathetic
individual vents his hilarity in a gleeful, heartless peal of laughter,
and tells them, with a diabolical chuckle of delight, that they will most
likely fare ten times worse than himself on account of the inferiority of
their horses compared with the gray. Much threatening, bantering, and
persuasion is necessary to induce them to follow the leadership of the
khan; but, trusting to kismet, they finally venture, and both come
through without noteworthy misadventure.
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