138 THE WONDER-BOOK OF HORSES 



the Afghan pastures. But every one of them 

 quailed beneath Rustem's iron hand. 



" Whose is that mare that feeds on the plain 

 beyond your tents ? " asked Rustem. " And 

 whose is the colt that follows after her? I see 

 no marks on its flanks." 



" We do not know," answered the men from 

 Kabul. " But they have followed us all the way 

 from the Afghan valleys, and we have been un- 

 able either to drive them back or to capture 

 them. We have heard it said, however, that men 

 call the colt Rakush, or Lightning, and that, al- 

 though it has now been three years ready for the 

 saddle, its mother defends it and will let no one 

 touch it." 



The colt was a beautiful animal. Its color was 

 that of rose-leaves scattered upon a saffron 

 ground, its chest and shoulders were like those of 

 a lion, and its eyes beamed with the fire of intel- 

 ligence. Snatching a lariat from the hands of a 

 herdsman, Rustem ran quickly forward and 

 threw the noose over the animal's head. Then 

 followed a terrible battle, not so much with the 

 colt as with its mother. But in the end Rustem 

 was the winner, and the mare retired crestfallen 

 from the field. With a great bound the young 



