CHAPTER 17

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Turgen had but one determination--to see the lamb well again and back with his family.

The first few days were difficult. Although Lad was not as fearful and suspicious as before, he was restive and tried by every trick to free himself of the bandages. At the first opportunity, when the shoulder wound began to heal, Turgen removed the wrappings.

Like a flash, Lad sprang to his feet, shook himself, stretched, and bounded on to Turgen’s bed. Then a look of astonishment came into his eyes as he noticed his wooden leg. After gazing around the yurta he turned to Turgen as if to question him.

“Where am I? Who are you? Why do you live in such a tiny cave, where there is no room for leaping? And why is my leg so stiff?”

Turgen would have sworn that these were the questions in Lad’s eyes. As he filled a bowl with milk he answered softly. “You are surprised, but don’t be afraid, boy. That drone, maybe your brother or uncle, who was behind you pushed you off the cliff. Remember? You have hurt yourself. But in a couple of weeks you will be quite well again. Believe me.”

Lad accepted attention willingly now. He ate and drank with an appetite and submitted with evident enjoyment to being petted. But Turgen knew that he was not to be trusted too far, so he made a collar and leash when he wanted to take the lamb out for exercise.

Upon leaving the yurta for the first time Lad stopped as if thunderstruck by the sunlight and the sight of his familiar mountains. Intoxicated with delight and longing, he plunged forward but the leash held him fast. He turned, called in a piercing voice--“Ma-a, Ma-a....” Then, receiving no answer, he jumped and circled desperately in an effort to be free.

“Come, come,” said Turgen as he picked up the young savage and carried him back to the yurta. “I understand that you are reminded of your home and family. You are tired of this dark cage and impatient to be gone. But there are things that can’t be rushed. Calm yourself.”

So for the next two days Lad stayed in the yurta while Turgen devoted himself to his comfort and was entertained in turn. The lamb learned to take his milk with a mixture of barley meal and water. He learned that grass was good to eat, and how to distinguish the sweet, tender blades from the tough dry ones which pricked and gave no satisfaction. Turgen never tired of watching him. To his fond eyes Lad was beautiful with his proud little head so like the leader ram’s and soft coat of dark brown spotted with white near groin and haunches. A darker streak the length of his long face from forehead to nostrils gave him the expression of a solemn clown.

“Truly, you are a handsome lad,” Turgen assured him.

Lad loved praise, and did not question anything Turgen told him. Free to go where he pleased indoors, he tapped his way boldly about the yurta, thrusting his nose into everything, sniffing, examining like a curious puppy. Only once did he show fright, when a fir log suddenly sputtered in the komelek and sent out a shower of sparks. After that he treated the fire with mixed caution and respect.

Yes, Turgen thought, this four-legged wild creature had made his life over and filled it with a great content.

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