The advice was good, but I could not leave my followers dismounted in presence of the enemy. At last my party began to separate and drop behind. My own horse began to flag. Ján Kúli dismounted and gave me his. I leapt down and mounted his horse, and he mounted mine. At this instant Shahím Násir and 'Abd-al-Kaddús, who had fallen behind, were unhorsed by the enemy. Ján Kúli also dropped behind, but it was no time to try to shield or help him. We pushed our horses to their utmost stretch, but they gradually flagged and slacked. Dost Beg's horse was done up and dropped behind, and mine began to give signs of being worn out. Kambar 'Ali dismounted and gave me his horse. He mounted mine, and presently fell behind. Khwája Husaini, who was lame, turned aside to the heights. I was left alone with Mirzá Kúli Kukildásh.
'Our horses were past galloping; we went on at a canter, but Kúli's horse went slower and slower. I said, "If I lose you, whither can I go? Dead or alive we will keep together." I held on my way, turning from time to time to watch him. At last he said, "My horse is utterly blown, and you cannot escape encumbered with me. Push on and shift for yourself; perchance you may still escape." I was in a horrible situation. Kúli then fell behind, too, and I was alone. Two of the enemy were in sight . . . they gained on me; my horse flagged. There was a hill about a couple of miles off, and I came up to a heap of stones. My horse was done up, I considered, and the hill yet a considerable way ahead. What was to be done? I had still about twenty arrows in my quiver. Should I dismount at this heap of stones, and hold my ground as long as my arrows lasted? But then it struck me I might yet be able to win the hill, and if I did I could stick a few arrows in my belt and manage to climb it. I had great faith in my own nimbleness. So I kept on my course. My horse could make no
