Besides, it would be dangerous to do this, for the wind
was rising, and their hope was to reach a caravansary before
nightfall.
"And it is not yet mid-day," Owen said to himself, thinking of the
endless hours that lay before him, and of his wonderful horse, so
courageous and so patient in adversity, never complaining, though he
sank at every step to over his fetlocks in the sand. Owen wondered
what the animal was thinking about, for he seemed quite cheerful,
neighing when Owen leaned forward and petted him. To lean forward
and stroke his horse's neck, and speak a few words of encouragement
to one who needed no encouragement, was all there was for him to do
during that long day's march.
"If he could only speak to me," Owen said, feeling he needed
encouragement; and he tried to take refuge in the past, trying to
memorise his life, what it had been from the beginning, just as if
he were going to write a book. When his memory failed him he called
his dragoman and began an Arabic lesson. It is hard to learn Arabic
at any time, and impossible to learn it in the rain; and after
acquiring a few words he would ride up and down, trying the new
phrases upon the camel-drivers, admirable men who never complained,
running alongside of their animals, urging them forward with strange
cries.
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