Willie Winkie said that he was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and
went out at a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the
flower-borders.

The devastating track of the pony's feet was the last misdeed that
cut him off from all sympathy of Humanity. He turned into the road,
leaned forward, and rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the
ground in the direction of the river.

But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little against the
long canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had passed
through the crops, beyond the Police-posts, when all the guards were
asleep, and her mount was scattering the pebbles of the river-bed as
Wee Willie Winkie left the cantonment and British India behind him.
Bowed forward and still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan
territory, and could just see Miss Allardyce a black speck,
flickering across the stony plain. The reason of her wandering was
simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too-hastily-assumed authority, had
told her overnight that she must not ride out by the river. And she
had gone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson.

Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw
the Waler blunder and come down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggled
clear, but her ankle had been severely twisted, and she could not
stand. Having fully shown her spirit, she wept, and was surprised by
the apparition of a white, wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly
spent pony.

'Are you badly, badly hurted?' shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as
he was within range. 'You didn't ought to be here.'