Gobbolino looked at him in astonishment.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “How can wild birds hurt us… if it is wild birds?”
“Supposing it isn’t wild birds!” said the little wooden horse. “Supposing it is.. wild.. things!”
“Not wild beasts?” said Gobbolino. “How could it possibly be? Not lions! Not tigers nor hyenas! Not leopards! And wolves hunt in the forests, yet you want us to go back there!”
“Dogs!” said the little wooden horse flatly.
“Dogs?” screeched Gobbolino jumping three feet into the air.
“Hounds… I On the scent..” said the little wooden horse. “I don’t know what scent.. but if they smell us it could be us. Jump on my back and see if you can tell me which way they are coming.”
Gobbolino jumped on to the back of the little wooden horse, standing up as high on his hind legs as he could stretch himself But far as he could view across the western plain there was nothing threatening in the landscape, and the noise of the baying had quite died away and disappeared.
“I daresay they are not coming in this direction after all!” said the little wooden horse, much relieved.
“Then we can go on!” said Gobbolino happily.
“I still think we should go back and wait till evening,” said the little wooden horse. “By then the hounds will have gone home, and we can travel quite easily out in the open. There will be some moonlight presently to help us.”
“But we shall have lost so much time!” wailed Gobbolino. “We ought to be in the mountains by sundown, and if we go back we won’t be there till late tomorrow. Let’s wait a little while and listen, and if they come no nearer we can go on our way!”
Together they crouched down by the stream where they had eaten their dinner, listening to every sound that came across the plain— the trilling of the larks above, the sizzling of the crickets, the babble of the water and the spasmodic chirp of a water bird. There was no other sound at all.
“We must go on!” said Gobbolino. “Every minute is important if I am to reach the mountains before the sun sets.”
The little wooden horse still hesitated.
“This is where we must part, my kind little friend!” said Gobbolino. “I will go on to the mountains and you must go home. We will both be well on our separate journeys before dark. I have so much to thank you for, and I cannot accept any more of your kindness or your companionship. It is time that we said goodbye.”
The little wooden horse looked very unhappy, shifting from one wooden leg to the other.
“I would gladly go further with you,” he said at last,
“but I have such a very strong feeling that we ought both to go back to the forest and wait till evening.”
“I can’t see any reason for it!” said Gobbolino pettishly “All those miles backwards when we could be going forwards? How can you think of such a thing? Go back by all means, my dear faithful friend, but don’t ask me to come too until I have found my sister and heard what she wants of me. How can youpossibly think of asking me to turn my back on the mountains now?”
The little wooden horse began to paw the ground in an agony of embarrassment and distress. When he saw that nothing he said would move Gobbolino he bowed his wooden head and said very sadly:
“Very well, my friend, we will do as you say] I will go home to my dear old master and missus, who need me even more than you do, and I will wish you the very best of luck on your journey and protection from every danger. For I am very much afraid therewill be danger!” the little wooden horse said sadly, but Gobbolino only tossed his head, while a spark of bravado flashed in his beautiful blue eyes as he exclaimed, “Danger? Why! Haven’t I met danger before? Haven’t I confronted witches and spells and wicked enchantments, and been flown away with on a broomstick and dropped in a raging river? Do you think I am afraid of danger, my little wooden friend? Not I!”
But the little wooden horse was looking forwards across the plain, not north to the Hurricane Mountains. His wooden ears were pricked and listening, although no sound came but the flutter of the wind in the grass, the trilling of the larks, the sizzling of the crickets, the babble of the water, and now and again the sudden chirp downstream of a water bird.
“Goodbye, Gobbolino!” he said quietly. “May your journey be successful, and I hope you will soon find your sister. I shall watch every day for your return once you have helped her. Be sure you come by the cottage on your journey home, and tell us all your adventures. Goodbye!”
There were tears in the eyes of the little wooden horse, and Gobbolino was crying too. He thanked his friend over and over again for his companionship, assuring him that he would never have come as far as this if he had not had his help, and been able to rest his blistered paws by riding on the horse’s back.
Very sadly they climbed up opposite sides of the stream, and set off, one northwards to the mountains, and the other southwards to the forest and home. Every now and again they turned and waved to one another until the tall grasses enveloped them, and the great vast plain seemed as empty as if it had swallowed up the pair of them.
Gobbolino felt terribly lonely, but nothing would have persuaded him to retrace his footsteps, and with every pace forward he congratulated himself on getting nearer and nearer to his goal.
“How could I possibly have gone back to the forest?” he asked himself. “My sister will be counting the minutes till I arrive, and already she will be wondering why I have not come sooner!”
He had trotted on for more than an hour, and had made a wide circle to avoid one of the few farms and villages that were dotted about the plain, when he heard again the strange sound that had so disturbed the senses of the little wooden horse.
From the far westward came the cry of hounds moving up the plain, a long protracted baying that could no longer be confused with the cry of geese, or of any other bird. It was unmistakably the baying of a pack of hounds.
Gobbolino’s heart began to thump. At the same time he quickened his pace, hurrying along on his four paws that were once more sore and aching. The noise was a great distance off, and no doubt the hounds were after their own quarry, and had nothing to do with him at all, but they were closer than they had been when the two friends ate their dinner beside the stream, and it was quite possible that they were coming back to their kennels in the village and might cross his trail.
Gobbolino began to gallop, the little bag of food bouncing up and down under his chin. It became such a burden that he threw it away, and was able to run faster without it, but the baying of the hounds came nearer.
The pack was sweeping up the plain now, and Gobbolino realized at last the honest fears of the little wooden horse, for there was not a rock, not a tree where he could hide himself until they passed. He turned his face towards the village, hoping he might reach it in time to find a shed or a shelter of some kind before the hounds overtook him. He tried not to think of other dangers like watchdogs or youths with sticks, or stones being thrown at him, or similar dangers. The threat behind him was quite enough to concentrate on while he was running.
He galloped along gasping with terror, and now it seemed almost certain that the hounds had found his trail, for the baying grew louder and louder and more terrifying the faster he ran.
And another sound had joined them— a rattling, clattering noise that pursued him and came closer and closer, with snorts and blowings and the thunder of spinning wooden wheels.
Gobbolino was about to fall flat on his face from sheer terror when a familiar voice panted in his ear, “Jump on my back, Gobbolino! Don’t stop for a moment! Jump, I tell you! Jump!”
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“Jump on my back, Gobbolino!”
The little wooden horse overtook him at full gallop, and with a desperate leap Gobbolino gained the painted saddle and they tore on, clinging together as the horse’s wooden wheels spun and clattered across the plain.