"Now who is he who comes so late
What has he brought?"
"I bring a gift from the Black-Horde-chief,
Thy honour's friend,
And lay the hand of a common thief
On thy skirt's end."
The stiff dead hand skimmed through the air,
Lay like a stone.
Of all the court not one did dare
Right to disown.
"Oh! warrior hear! Against the right
Keep thou from strife;
But if the wrong is done then fight
Fight for thy life."
They were, in truth, fighting for dear life. And there was a chance of it ahead of them; for, nigh the top of the great Zerrin pass, lay a cave wherein shelter might be found. At least so said Binâi the guide. But the snow fell in such quantities, the wind was so dreadful, so terribly violent, it needed all Babar's courage not to give in.
But the rosy fluttering wings of Love would not let him yield. He could not lose little cousin Ma'asuma. The very thought of her warmed him; the scent of her hair came to him with the snow.
The drifts deepened, the possibility of path narrowed in the steep defile, the days were at the shortest, with difficulty could the horses be kept on the trampled road, yet all around was certain death in unfathomed snow-depths.
Babar's face was stern. He was nigh his end, and he knew it.
And then, suddenly, a shout from keen-eyed Tengâri, old Kâsim's son. "The cave! The cave! Yonder is the cave."
And it was; but to all appearance disappointingly small. Not large enough to hold one-half of those seeking shelter, though the surrounding cliffs in some measure tempered the bitter fierceness of the wind.