“‘Yes, Master.’
“‘We shall have to ride, then.’
“At that the Gray Mare, my sister, seemed to glide away from me. The Son of Ben Ali had slapped her with his open hand. I went after her with a little rush that never moved the White-haired Master in his saddle. I felt my blood tingling. Whatever the Gray Mare, my sister, was doing, I knew I was going at only half speed, and I longed to show the White-haired Master what I could do.
“I said as we galloped, ‘My sister, this night you will see which of us has the swiftest feet.’ The answer she made was a loud snort, and again she tried to glide away, but I kept my muzzle at the Son of Ben Ali’s knee.
“‘Not now,’ said the Son of Ben Ali. ‘Wait! Wait till we cross the bridge.’
“‘Are we riding or playing?’ asked the White-haired Master. Man, we’ll be too late!’
“‘When we cross the bridge, we’ll go, Master,’ said the Son of Ben Ali.
“Yet the ground was firm and springy, and the road level. I was so fretted that I bit at the Son of Ben Ali’s leg. ‘You won’t play when you come to your journey’s end, Grandson of Abdallah,’ he said. I knew then that we would go fast enough after awhile, and so I fell back a little and settled down to a swift, steady gallop. My easy movements must have pleased the White-haired Master, for he reached forward and gave me a love-lick, saying, ‘Good horse!’
“So in a little while we came to the bridge, a small affair, but rickety. On the other side the Son of Ben Ali leaned forward a little, saying, ‘Now, Master!’ The Gray Mare, my sister, leaped away from me with a snort. I threw my head forward as the White-haired Master gave me the length of the rein, and the Gray Mare, my sister, soon found that she would not have the road to herself.