1 Two-Legs began to find it difficult to provide grass for the many animals which he had in the pen.
 
He and his family had long plucked all that grew nearest the cave. Now they had to go a long way to find any and it was hard work getting it home.
 
“We shall have to move,” he said to his wife. “We can’t go on dragging the grass up for all the animals. And, as the grass won’t come to us, we must go to the grass. We must go down to the meadow again. You will have to weave us a woollen tent. Then we will get all the skins we can and dig stakes into the ground and hang the skins over them. That’s the best way. And then the animals can go and graze round about the tent.”
 
“But, when they have eaten the grass in the meadow, what then?” asked Mrs. Two-Legs.
 
“Then we will pass on to the next one,” Two-Legs answered. “We will pack up the tent, load it on the back of the cow and move on.”
 
“If only the animals don’t run away!” said she.
 
“Trust must help me to look after them,” replied he. “And the boys. Then all will be well. They know us now and they let us stroke them. You shall see, they will soon be quite tame.”
 
The next morning, they began to break up the pen.
 
“Is he going to set us free?” asked the cow.
 
“I don’t want to go down to the meadow again,” said the sheep and began to cry. “My legs are stiffer than they were, and I can’t walk as well as I used to. And my eyesight is worse and I have hardly any left: it’s so long since I used my senses. I want to stay with Two-Legs and feed out of his hand.”
 
“You’ve become a slave already,” said the cow. “And you don’t deserve to be free. If I see my chance, I shall be off. He killed my yesterday: I shall never forgive him for that.”
 
“Oh, well,” said the sheep, “suppose we do lose a youngling or two and even risk losing our own lives, what other fate could we expect in any case?”
 
“You have the soul of a serf!” said the cow contemptuously.
 
Two-Legs had finished breaking down the pen. Meanwhile, his wife had packed up all their things. They loaded the cow with as much as she could carry, took up the rest themselves and started on their way to the meadow.
 
“My fears are now being realized,” said the cow, under the unwonted burden. “I am dead-tired in my loins and legs.”
 
And, hardly had they come down to where the meadow began, when she threw off her load and rushed away, followed by the bull. Trust flew after them, but they turned round and showed him their horns, which made him run back with his tail between his legs.
 
Two-Legs threw his spear at them, but missed them.
 
“Time will bring counsel,” he said. “I shall go out and catch them again to-morrow. Let us put up our tent now and arrange our things.”
 
2
They set up the tent on a little hill from which they could look over the meadow. At the foot bubbled a spring. Trust drove the sheep into the meadow and home again. Two-Legs caught the hen, the goose and the duck and clipped their wings, so that they could not fly away. Gradually, he got a number of sheep and goats and a quantity of .
 
 
When the animals had eaten all the grass in that place, he struck his tent and moved to another meadow; and so it went on. It was as if he had quite forgotten the cow. But, one day, his wife reminded him of her:
 
“You must get the cow back for me,” she said. “I need her milk so badly. And both I and the children want new calfskin sandals.”
 
Two-Legs took his spear, hung his round his neck and went off to look for the cow. When he had gone some way, he saw her in the distance; but she saw him too and away[65] at once. The horse, who was a little way off, looked at Two-Legs mockingly:
 
“You would like to have my four quick legs,” he said.
 
“I should, indeed!”
 
“It’s a good thing that there’s something you can’t manage,” said the horse. “It’s dangerous otherwise, the way you play at being master of the forest.”
 
Two-Legs made no reply, but very quietly unwound his lasso. Then, when he had got it right, he suddenly threw it over the horse’s head. It fell round the animal’s neck and he reared on his hind-legs and away wildly. But, at every leap he took, the drew tighter; and Two-Legs did not let go the rope. At one moment, he was dragged along the ground and, at the next, recovered his feet again. He twisted the rope round his hand and it cut into his flesh till the blood came, but he did not let go.
 
At last the horse got tired. He stood still quivering in all his limbs. The flew from his mouth.
 
“What do you want with me?” he said. “My flesh is not nice to eat and my milk isn’t sweet and I have no wool for you to cut off.”
 
“I want to borrow your four legs,” said Two-Legs. “You were boasting of them yourself. Come up! Stand still now! If you’re good, I won’t hurt you.”
 
He wound the rope round his arm and came closer and closer. He patted the sweating horse, then suddenly caught hold of his mane and swung himself upon his back. The horse reared and and kicked his hind-legs high in the air and tried, in every way, to get rid of his rider. But Two-Legs held on to the mane and the rope with his hands and gripped tight with his legs and kept his seat for all the effort it cost him. Gradually, the horse became quieter again and then Two-Legs patted him on the neck:
 
“Now go after the cow!” he cried.
 
He pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks and gave him a . Then they flew in a rousing over the meadow. The cow did not even attempt to run away, but stood staring in at that wonderful sight. Before she had collected herself, the lasso was round her neck and Two-Legs proudly rode home with his capture.
 
When they reached the tent, he sprang from the horse, patted him and thanked him, but he made no of taking the noose from the horse’s neck.
 
“Won’t you let me go?” asked the horse.
 
“No,” said Two-Legs. “But I’ll do better for you. You shall now drink from the spring and then you shall have the juiciest grass to eat that you ever tasted. After that, you shall lie down and reflect that you are now in my service and that you can spend the remainder of your days free of all cares, without the very least anxiety, if only you will be faithful and willing and do the little bit of work that I shall require of you.”
 
He fed the horse and fastened him to the door of the tent. The cow stood tethered close by.
 
“Shall we see if we can get loose?” whispered the horse, when night came and Two-Legs was asleep.
 
“No,” said the cow, shaking her head. “I sha’n’t run away again. I accept my lot. It was a terrible sight to see him on your back. He is the master of us all. No one can resist him.”
 
But the sparrow flew round the forest on her swift wings.
 
“Two-Legs has caught the horse.... He rides on his back.... He has fastened him to his tent.... The horse has become Two-Legs’ servant.”
 
“Have you heard the latest?” the lioness asked her husband. “Do you mean to let him ride on your back too, when he goes hunting?”
 
The lion gave a threatening roar:
 
“He had better just try!” he said.
 
“He knows what he’s about,” answered the lioness, with a . “And you just keep out of his way, coward and that you are!”
 
The lion laid his head on his paw and said nothing, but brooded dark thoughts.